Thirty-Two
The Citadel, Dromund Kaas
17 ATC
"I'm not happy, Lynet," Darth Ravage said.
Lynet Vrine stood tall with her hands clasped neatly behind her back, her auburn hair hanging in a braid over one shoulder of her black Intelligence uniform. She met Ravage's gaze squarely, showing no sign of fear.
"I apologize, my lord," she said calmly. "I've done the best that I can."
Ravage scowled. "And you think that's good enough? You've had three damn years to work on this, and you're telling me that you found nothing?"
"Darth Nox is cunning, my lord. She has doubtless erased any data on her past that she does not wish to be known."
"I'm quite aware of how cunning she is," Ravage growled. "You're an Intelligence analyst. You're supposed to be able to find things people don't want found."
"I'm sorry, my lord. I'll keep looking."
"That's assuming I don't kill you where you stand."
Lynet raised her eyebrows slightly. "I don't believe Lady Vrine would appreciate that, my lord."
"I am a member of the Dark Council," Ravage snapped. "I'm well within my rights to kill anyone who fails me. My sister can still have more children. Perhaps another Sith, this time, instead of an anomaly like you."
Lynet flinched almost imperceptibly. "I—I did find one possible lead, my lord. It's not substantial, which is why I didn't mention it in my report."
Ravage crossed his arms. "I'll decide what's substantial and what's not. Show me what you have."
Lynet silently produced a small datapad from inside a pocket of her jacket and held it out.
Ravage walked over and took it, examining the screen. It showed an old-fashioned two-dimensional digital image of a woman standing in an elegant garden.
"I fail to see how this is relevant," he said.
Lynet took a deep breath. "This image was displayed a few years ago in an Alderaanian news broadcast—they prefer to use flat images rather than holograms. Something about the classic look." She shook her head. "The woman in the foreground is Countess Leraine Organa; the broadcast was commemorating the tenth anniversary of her death. If you'll look more closely at the image, my lord, in the background off to the left…"
Ravage frowned. There were two other women in the picture. Handmaidens of some sort, judging by their clothing. But one of them—
"I thought one of Organa's ladies in waiting bore a remarkable resemblance to Darth Nox," Lynet said. "I wasn't sure, however, and the image is too small for me to run a proper scan—"
"It's her," Ravage said.
It was unmistakable. The high cheekbones, long, narrow nose, mouth arranged into a mysterious half-smile discernible even in the small, indistinct image. He would know that face anywhere.
But what was she doing as the handmaiden to a Republic-allied Alderaanian noblewoman?
"I looked into it, my lord," Lynet said, "and the woman in question is identified as Katilya Mavess, a member of a middle-class Alderaanian family who worked as a domestic servant and was employed by House Organa for about six months up until the countess' death."
"And what happened to Katilya then?"
"Unknown, my lord. Leraine Organa's demise was officially ruled a suicide, but the circumstances were apparently suspicious, and a number of her household staff vanished around the same time."
"Politics," Ravage said absently, his mind racing. "Another reason why Alderaan really should ally with us; we have so much in common."
Was this Nox's true origin? Had her noble mistress fallen victim to a power play, and she had been sold into slavery in the Empire to keep her silent? Time spent among the Alderaanian nobility, even as a servant, would explain much: her cultivated elegance, her understanding of politics, her knowledge of history.
And yet something was missing. He could feel it.
"When is that image from?" he asked.
"About twelve years ago, my lord. Two months before Organa's death."
Ravage thought it over. The timeline matched up fairly well with the first documents he'd dug up listing the sale of a slave named Kyalah Vern to a lesser Imperial nobleman as part of a mass purchase of labor for his small, remote agriworld. Unfortunately, said nobleman had lost his life in an ill-advised political maneuver, so Ravage couldn't question him.
He would not be deterred, however. He would uncover the mystery of who Darth Nox really was and where she had come from. The woman had entirely too much power, these days. He needed every advantage he could find.
"You've done better than I thought, Lynet," Ravage said. "I'll even let you live."
"You are most gracious, my lord," Lynet murmured, bowing.
Ravage hoped she wouldn't tell her mother that he'd threatened her, or he'd never hear the end of it. This was what he got for involving family.
"If I require your assistance again, I will inform you. For the time being, return to your normal duties."
"Yes, my lord."
Ravage waved a hand. "You may go."
Lynet bowed again and left in a hurry. Ravage sat down behind his desk and began contemplating his next move.
Kaas City Spaceport, Dromund Kaas
17 ATC
Minister Verani was bringing only a small party to the Ascendancy, a few trusted members of the Diplomatic Service. They arrived one at a time, gathering in a small cluster near the ship, giving Thaera a wide berth. She stood off to one side, near the entrance to the secluded hangar, and watched them all silently. Vector and Verani stood somewhere equidistant between them, talking softly.
A small part of Thaera was jealous; being a diplomat had always been important to Vector, and it was something that she had never been able to share with him. The arts of persuasion in which she had been trained were far less civil.
She pushed down the jealous feeling. It was ridiculous and unfounded, and she couldn't afford to let such nonsense distract her. Ascendancy politics were just as ruthless and cutthroat as those of the Empire; the only difference was the degree of subtlety. Thaera had left in no small part out of a desire to avoid such things, and now she was leaping straight back in.
Well, things would be different, now. She was different, now. Would anyone back home even recognize her?
The door to the hangar opened, and Kettrien Byrd stepped inside.
Gone was the slightly timid, but earnest girl who had begun Intelligence training three years ago. In her place stood a woman who exuded confidence and assurance as she sauntered across the hangar towards Thaera.
She wore a dark purple jacket with long sleeves and a hem that ended halfway down her torso. Beneath, she sported a low-cut red garment that covered the rest of her midriff, followed by a tight black skirt that fell to her mid-thigh and black, high-heeled boots that laced up to a few inches below the skirt. Her blue-black hair fell in thick waves around her shoulders, and a small grin played over her full lips.
She carried a small suitcase in one hand. Thaera looked at it as she approached.
"That had better have a different change of clothes, Agent," she said as Kettrien stopped a meter away and saluted her smartly. "You're here as a Sith."
"Of course, sir," Kettrien said. "Thought I'd start off civilian just in case."
Thaera inclined her head. "I've seen the reports from your instructors; you were exemplary during your training. Your first field mission was also a success. By all accounts, you're proving to be quite the proficient operative. That's why you're here."
"That, and you needed a Sith who wouldn't ruin the negotiations in a fit of pique," Kettrien murmured wryly.
Thaera stifled a sigh. "Your instructors also reported that you have difficulty keeping your opinions to yourself."
Kettrien shrugged. "I know when to be honest and when to stay quiet. Don't worry."
"I worry that someday you'll misjudge those times, and get yourself killed."
"Well, right now is obviously a time to stay quiet, yes?"
"Correct," Thaera said coolly. "Do try to find some decorum."
"Don't worry, sir." Kettrien grinned. "I'll switch from Agent Byrd to Sith Lord Byrd. It'll all be fine."
"Just stay in the background and let Verani and I handle the Chiss. We know what we're doing." At least, I hope Verani knows what she's doing. "You don't."
"Yessir." Kettrien's demeanor abruptly transitioned from cocky to serious. "I promise I won't be the one to kark it up, sir."
Thaera shook her head. "I'm holding you to that."
The last of the diplomats finally arrived, and the group boarded the ship. Thaera had a small cabin to herself, which was fine with her; it would take several days in hyperspace to travel to Ascendancy territory, and she would need all of that time to think and prepare herself. Hopefully, she wouldn't be needed for more than the occasional cultural explanation or reliable translation, but if complications arose, she would be ready.
The entire situation felt more like a trap than anything else. The Imperials were traveling to a location of the Ascendancy's choosing, with no idea as to who or what would be awaiting them there. They weren't going to Csilla; Thaera had her homeworld's coordinates memorized, even now, and they didn't match their destination. More likely they were being taken to a Defense Force warship.
In the interests of showing good faith, Verani had opted not to bring any military personnel apart from their pilot and copilot. If the Chiss wanted to hold them hostage, they would easily be able to do so. Thaera knew her way around a fight, and they had Kettrien, who had the advantage of the Force, but numbers were not in their favor.
Too many uncertainties. Thaera didn't like it.
She sat down on her bunk and began taking out her hidden knives one at a time, checking the edges of some and reapplying toxic compounds to others. Best to prepare for the worst, just in case.
