A/N: Many thanks to Buttercup for her wonderful beta job! And many, many thanks to everyone reading and reviewing – each one is definitely appreciated. I hope you enjoy the chapter!

The Dutiful Wife

WendyNat

Chapter Two
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A couple of months later, Natrie stood out on the balcony of her home, staring at the light fixtures with exasperation. She had searched for ones like those she'd seen that night, the night that wouldn't leave her memory, but could find nothing of the sort. Well, that wasn't entirely true: she'd found similar items, but nothing exact. And she had the urge to match them exactly.

It wasn't as if she could match anything else she'd seen or heard on that balcony. A rebellion… her heart yearned to know more, to find out about those two men, but she couldn't come up with a way to do so. They consumed her thoughts, those memories of the overheard conversation, the image of the smokestick being lit by a shadowy figure, the face that had entered the light for a short time; there was little else to occupy her mind, after all. She sighed, leaning against the railing, watching the speeders and transports pass by.

Then, her husband's voice interrupted her musings. "Natrie? Oh, here you are. I added a few things to the grocer's list. You might want to go ahead and enter it – we're out of some things."

"Yes, of course." 'Some things' meaning things he wanted, she thought sourly, looking out at the city one more time before heading back to the great room to start on yet another mindless task that took far longer than it ought.

She rubbed her forehead, thinking rather unflattering thoughts about her husband as she took a seat at the small silver-toned desk. The grocery list each week seemed to grow, and he was specific about the brands of items she should purchase, which required her to scroll through long lists on the main communication system's screen. The metal desktop was cold on her forearms as she leaned on it, and with a sigh she lifted one hand to start the ordering sequence, bypassing the 'general choices' selection with regret.

As always, the everyday motions of the mindless tasks she must perform – a wife's duty – seemed to bring the memories on – while she sat in front of the bright glow of the comm system's viewscreen, punching in the order for their groceries and scrolling through 'new and fabulous brands', her mind replayed the image of the smokestick's glow, surrounded by darkness. Every week there was more to scroll through. The sweetcakes list, in particular, had grown long, and she sighed as she pressed the scroll button over and over again.

"Sweetcakes?" her husband said as he passed through the room. Mierie had requested his assistance with her homework, and he hadn't even stopped to change his clothing. He did pause long enough to give her a peck on the cheek, though, and she bit back a sigh.

"Mierie likes them," she murmured, her eyes seeing the different brands scroll by while her mind watched – and listened to – something else entirely. A smokestick was lit, the deep voice of a shadowy man agreed to meet someone organizing, or assisting in organizing, a rebellion. He saw through the lies, as did the man organizing it. As did she. However, the man that now stood behind her, squeezing her shoulders affectionately as he watched her go about her tasks, saw nothing – not even his own wife's loathing. How could he be so blind?

"You always pay such close attention to us both," he murmured, leaning down to kiss her cheek again. "You should get something you like, too."

"I will, love." She paused in her scrolling and turned, smiling up at him. Just leave. I'd like that best of all.

"Unfortunately, my other beautiful young woman is waiting for me, so I'm afraid I've got to depart for now." He touched her cheek, and she nodded, softening her smile into what she hoped was an affectionate expression as he turned and walked from the room.

Thank goodness. Once he'd gone, she turned back to the screen, scrolling through two more pages before finding the sweetcake brand Mierie preferred. Mierie had become more selective in her tastes as she grew older, rather than more open to new foodstuffs, as her mother had predicted. Yet one more thing that her mother had predicted wrong, she mused as she scrolled through the fruit assortment. There had also been some nonsense about openness and honesty being critical in any marriage; had she been open or honest with her husband, the results would certainly not have been a more solid union. Of course, her mother had meant any successful marriage, so that nonsense might actually have some basis in fact. Just not for Natrie. She sighed, punching in her selections for the next week, only half hearing her husband speak with Mierie about her homework.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on the view, she had a good amount of experience in hiding her true thoughts, and so her distraction over the past months had gone unnoticed by her husband. It was rote, now, to put on that mask every morning, to bid her husband farewell and wish him luck for the day, to feign disappointment when he would be late returning home or was sent on assignment to another system. Those were some of her favorite nights, when he was held up with work, and she and Mierie could relax and speak freely. And, after Mierie was in bed, she could relax and think freely without worrying about maintaining her mask.

Her memories continued to trouble her, but her daughter brought her joy, and when her husband was gone they often sat up late into the night, discussing various subjects. Frequently, conversation turned to the Jedi and their history, and the many facets that could exist of the truth. Mierie was bright, and very perceptive, and so Natrie did not fear that she would upset her father with such topics. Still, she reminded her daughter to only speak of these subjects with Natrie, and not with her father or her instructors.

With a sigh, she sat back and stretched. Preparing the week's grocery order was a necessary task, but it was boring, and frustrating when the merchant kept adding new brands to an already-long list. And, each week, it seemed the Empire's taxes rose. They were exempt, of course, being the family of an Imperial officer, but she noted it with a twist in her stomach every time she ordered items over the systems. How did other people make do?

She shook her head, catching a bit of conversation between father and daughter. They were discussing political history, always a tricky subject for Natrie. She worried, sometimes, that Mierie may accidentally let something slip. To protect her daughter – and herself – if such a slip occurred, Natrie made a point to stress that there were many interpretations to any event, and that the history Natrie relayed was just one of them. If the situation did arise, either at home or in her classes, Natrie believed she could explain away any indiscretions as a lesson in philosophy, and not as treason.

Yes, she loved it when her husband was sent away, and those times would be a complete enjoyment if not for the sadness that hung over her daughter. Mierie missed him, for she loved her father, and that was his one saving grace in Natrie's eyes. The two doted on each other, and in his daughter's presence he showed a facet of personality that, if not for his rigidness and consuming ambition on all other occasions, could have brought Natrie to love once again. He loved his daughter, and she him, but Natrie wondered, late in the night, whether even that would be enough to sway him if he ever had to choose between his family and his ambitions.

The fact that she could even wonder such a thing, much less suspect that his ambitions would win out in that contest, solidified her feelings towards him. She rose and walked to the entranceway, standing back out of sight as she watched the two figures bent over a datapad, Mierie in sleepwear and her husband still in his crisp uniform.

His life, his very being, depended so much on his career and rank that it frightened her, once she came to recognize it. When she forgot herself and questioned the Emperor's methods, or wondered at the true path the galaxy was taking, his expression froze, a steel door slamming shut, and he would snap or – even worse - just watch her with that dangerous stare that made her wish, above all else, to be far from him and his anger. She had thought to leave him, had thought it time and again since that night when love first began the downward spiral into hate, but she knew it would be folly. The few women who dared to leave husbands of rank did not survive long, but she would have risked it, if not for her daughter.

A few months after she had first heard the word 'rebellion' uttered with conviction and meaning, her husband was sent away again – this time for three days. She had bid him farewell that very morning, and as evening fell, she began to relax in earnest after verifying that the transport shuttle carrying her husband had indeed reached the Star Destroyer.

After dinner, during which Mierie woefully mentioned – only twice, this time - how it was too bad there were no sweetcakes, they settled in Mierie's bedroom to watch some HoloNet programs.

Natrie leaned back in the small armchair beside the bed, smiling as she looked at the walls and curtains, a light sea-foam edged with cream. When she'd passed her first decade, Mierie had determined that she was too old for frills and lace, and her father had immediately taken her to choose a new, more fitting, decoration for her bedroom. The furniture was simple but eye-catching, with deeply grained wood shaped into crisp, clean lines. Each piece was handmade on one of the heavily-forested planets near the Outer Rim, and they were all quite pricey. Her husband spared no expense when it came to his daughter… or her status. When friends came to visit, he maintained, they would note the elegant furnishings and see the awards on the wall, and know that she was not only from a prosperous family but also talented in her own right.

Once the HoloNet program ended, she drew her attention back to her daughter. Mierie sat on her bed, staring at the now-empty projector pad. It had been a history program, one of the many that catalogued the Emperor's rise to power after the Jedi's "betrayal." Her daughter was silent, which was unusual; generally, her mouth moved so quickly that Natrie could hardly keep up.

"What is it, Mierie?"

"Mom, why would the Emperor claim the Jedi tried to assassinate him? That would've been against their Code and a lot different from everything they've done before." Mierie was always interested in patterns, and she'd found history and politics engrossing since she was a young child. It was unusual to see in someone so young, and Natrie was relieved that her daughter was able to analyze events objectively but still with compassion. Mierie frowned and, before Natrie could answer her question, she stated, "It's got to be a lie."

Natrie sighed and shifted her gaze to the window. "Power affects men in different ways, sweetling. Some rise to the occasion and prove their worth, paying back the ones who helped put them in power by being the best ruler they can be. Others just want more and more power, and don't care what they have to do to get it." The explanation was simple, perhaps too simple, and Natrie knew the time would come when Mierie would recognize her father as belonging to the latter group. Natrie didn't, in all honesty, have any idea how she would respond when that time came.

"So the Jedi, they were like the first type, and the Emperor is more the second type," Mierie said, propping her chin on her knees. "I don't like him."

"I don't either, sweetling, but don't let anyone hear you say that."

"I know." Mierie looked down her nose at the coverlet, and sighed. "Tomorrow night, can we watch some of those old HoloNet recordings that great-grandmother left?"

"If your father hasn't returned by then, yes," Natrie said. Though she expected her husband to be gone for three days, these special meetings sometimes finished sooner, depending on the topic. Also, as he'd said before leaving, depending on whether or not an Admiral or other high-level officer was in attendance. There had been meetings that dragged on for days – caught in debate - until a high-ranking officer joined them. Natrie could remember how surprised she'd been when he first began to tell her the details of those meetings, late in the evening after Mierie was in bed; it was fascinating, and her unfeigned interest had spurred him to tell her more of what happened behind those closed doors. "Now, Mierie, please remember not to mention these things, if it comes up in your class gatherings-"

"Mo-ther." Mierie shook her head, lips pursed, and the gesture was so like Natrie's own that she had to suppress a laugh. "I know. It would only hurt Father's career, and no one else would understand, and it could bring the Emperor's wrath on our family."

"It's nice to hear that you do listen, on occasion." Natrie raised an eyebrow. "Not like yesterday, when I told you to come straight home and you took a small detour by your friend's house instead."

Mierie's eyes widened. "How did you- I mean, um… I didn't go anywhere."

Now Natrie did frown. "Don't try to lie, Mierie. There are more eyes around than you'd expect, and you'd best remember that."

"And ears."

"And ears, yes. Don't lie to me. Don't ever lie to me."

"But you tell me to lie to Father."

Natrie bit back her initial response and took a few calming breaths. "I know." How to explain? "There are things… things called white lies, sweetling. It would only hurt your father, if he heard you speak of another truth-"

"But it's the real truth." Mierie held up her hands, once again over dramatizing the gesture, as young people often did. "I know, Mom. He doesn't care about what's real, only what the Emperor says."

Natrie froze. She opened her mouth, intent on smoothing that view of her husband, but she stopped at the clear gaze from Mierie. Don't lie to me, I said. Then I can't lie to her. Not about this, she realized. Especially since she already knows.

"That's true, love. Some people… some people aren't as concerned about the real truth, and they only want to see what they're comfortable with." Natrie watched her daughter intently, then added, "Though, you know, it is true that your father is safer, not questioning anything the Emperor says."

"I know. That's why I won't say anything."

"Thank you, sweetling." She patted her daughter on the shoulder, then stood. "Now, you should get some sleep. Tomorrow is another class day."

"Okay, Mom. I love you."

"I love you, too."

It wasn't until she was back in her own bedroom that she realized how deftly Mierie had switched the flow of conversation away from her transgression of the previous day. Natrie knew she ought to be irritated, but instead a feeling of pride threaded through her at the realization. She was, indeed, her mother's daughter.

Her husband returned the following night, and so the viewing of the old HoloNet recordings had to be put off until another of his trips. Some things, however, could not be pushed aside so easily. Upon his return, he gave her news she dreaded to hear.

"Another large function?" Her surprise was genuine, as was her displeasure; there was usually a little more time between these events. The smaller social gatherings were somewhat bearable, if only because they didn't last as long, but for an event such as the one her husband was describing… she foresaw hours of boredom and cramped facial muscles in her future.

"Natrie, I know you don't like these functions, but we'll be invited to more and more, as time goes on. I'm being given more responsibility, and one of the Admirals is returning here to the Imperial Center."

She turned away from the closet, scowling. "But why can't you just-"

"It is final. A man in my position-" As he spoke, each word grew more and more clipped, and she knew she had to stop it before the frozen tirade began in earnest.

"I know. I'm… I'm sorry, darling." The endearment tasted like bitter ice in her throat, but she still smiled. Anything to force that tight, irritated expression from her husband's face. It was inevitable, after all. She had to go, and they both knew it; resisting would simply make everyone miserable. "I'll just make sure the sitter can stay with Mierie for the evening."

As quick as a dragonsnake's strike, his entire demeanor changed. She watched him in wonder - it still awed her, how he could switch from one mood to the next in the blink of an eye. Each emotion was as true as the other; he did not falsify these moods, and that's what surprised her the most. He raised his hand, and stroked her cheek, and his smile would have seemed warmer to her had she not just experienced the chill of his displeasure. "You're too good to me, Natrie."

One week after that conversation, she stood, once more, in the middle of a crowd. This time the room was laid out like a giant auditorium, with cleverly placed tables creating more intimate spaces for conversation. Nevertheless, everything else was the same – simpering wives in fancy dresses, trying to work their wiles on one another, hoping to gather some sort of inside information to assist their husbands; men in sharp gray suits milling about, pretending to laugh at jokes from superiors, or feigning interest in the concerns of underlings. And then there was Natrie.

It had been going on for two hours already, and she was ready to be out of her uncomfortable shoes. However, she was grateful that, for once, her husband had listened when she complained about the straps of the previous dress. He'd ordered this one too, of course - a deep, rich blue made from some thick fabric that she couldn't identify. If it had been up to her, she would have saved the credits and worn one of the other dresses that still hung in her wardrobe, but he insisted.

She sighed and took a sip of her drink before remembering that it was that sickly sweet concoction that Sera enjoyed. The young woman caught her early in the evening and pressed a drink into her hand before she could gracefully decline, and so she had been stuck, sipping at the drink, listening to the updates on Sera's husband.

This time, however, Sera had insisted on not monopolizing Natrie's time, and had moved on when the wife of a higher-ranking officer passed by them. She had never been so thankful for the appearance of a higher-ranking wife before, she thought, sipping the drink again by accident. When a server passed by, she smiled and stopped him, taking one of the flutes of light wines and leaving him with the remains of the syrupy drink. He looked shocked when she actually spoke to him, and she once again seethed inside at the way the serving people were treated. These gray suits and stuck-up women can't bother themselves to even speak to someone that can't help them in their careers. How did I end up a part of this?

She knew the answer, of course. It had only taken a few ingredients to create this recipe for her life's disaster: youth, love, stubbornness… and the Empire. Sighing, she moved to the side of the room, skillfully avoiding two young women who appeared intent on speaking with her. From the edge of the room, she watched the colorful dresses moving about, their faces blurring together into one identical mask. A mask that she, herself, wore – though she got no joy from it. She considered them silently, wondering how they could go through life not even questioning the things that happened around them. Of course, she pretended to do the same. Perhaps some of these others were like her…

"Finally, someone that looks as bored of all of this as I feel."

In surprise, Natrie turned. At her side was a handsome woman in her middle years, dark hair streaked lightly with the brightest white Natrie had ever seen. She wore a bold red, and Natrie had to admit that it quite suited her strong features.

"Well, I don't know that I would say bored, exactly-"

"Oh, don't bother pretending. I've been watching you, my dear. You're above all of this," the woman said, waving her crystal glass in a wide arc. "I could tell from across that room."

"I don't know that I would say above it." Natrie glanced around and took a sip of her drink. "Beside it, perhaps."

"Not a part of it."

"Yes, exactly. I just-"

"You just can't. I understand completely, my dear." The other woman raised an eyebrow and waved her glass in the direction of the room. "I just can't, either. I detest these things."

Natrie smiled, her second sincere smile of the evening. "Really? That's such a good thing to hear, I can't even explain. I always thought I was the only one, or it seemed that way, at least. It would be all right, actually, if not for all the…"

"Opportunists?"

"Yes… opportunists, sycophants." Natrie's lips twisted, and she hid her grimace by taking a sip of the colorful liquid. "Most of them mean well enough, I suppose-"

"If you consider ambition and desperate attempts to gain favor by talking a poor woman to death to be 'meaning well enough,' you'd be right." The old woman eyed her closely. "I, however, think they are just self-serving… droids, for lack of a better word."

Natrie laughed aloud at that. "Droids only? Oh, no, I'd say they were at least clones."

"No, no. Self preservation, that's all a droid cares about, and that's all these droids care about. See, that one over there? She's just recognized me. Notice how she's looking this way, trying to decide what we might be talking about, and how it could affect her own husband's career." Natrie followed the woman's pointed gaze and smiled slightly. It was Sera.

"She's young, yet. Newlywed. She'll tire of the game eventually."

"Perhaps. Most never do, though."

Natrie chuckled. "I was tired of it the very first gathering. I decided then and there that my husband's career would progress, or not, without my maneuverings."

"And that's what I liked about you – I could sense that, that quiet confidence." Natrie tilted her head as the other woman spoke. In all the years she'd attended these functions, she'd never heard any of the other wives speak like this before; it was a welcome surprise, but also a bit disconcerting. "It's an aura that some of us have. You were meant to be an admiral's wife, my dear. These others, they can sense that. It's a threat."

"They don't seem too threatened most of the time." She wished they were; it would save her from those tension headaches caused by maintaining that fake smile.

"Ah, but watch them now!" The older woman scanned the room, then glanced back at Natrie with a twinkle in her eye. "We can help each other, I think. You stay with me, and they'll be too intimidated to approach. They'll never dare interrupt my conversations. But the entire time, they'll wonder at the game we're playing. What am I talking to you about? How did you dare to speak to me at all, much less smile and laugh?"

"Dare to speak to you? Are you that frightening, then?" People near the door began to mill around more than normal, and Natrie looked across the room in curiosity. She couldn't make anything out, though.

The older woman's eyes crinkled as she glanced at Natrie. "To some." Nodding in the direction of a fuschia-bedecked woman, she raised an eyebrow. "Look at that one. See how her husband approaches, whispers in her ear, a warning. Everywhere, they're doing it. My husband has made his appearance."

A slight chill went down Natrie's spine – a chill of caution. "Your… husband? Madam, may I ask-"

"You may."

"I probably shouldn't be talking to you, should I?"

The woman lifted an eyebrow, her lips twitching. "I'm certain not."

Natrie sighed. "I was afraid of that."

"And yet here we are," the old woman smiled. "Having the most sincere discussion in this room."

"I imagine you're right." She noticed the bustling of the room, again, and wondered just who this woman's husband was. She saw her own husband in the mix, and he cast a glance in her direction, his expression freezing when he saw who she stood with. Who is this woman? Taking another sip of the drink, she breathed in deeply and asked, "Just how bad of a breach of etiquette is this, then?"

"Oh, none at all. The Admiral's wife creates her own etiquette, wouldn't you say?"

Natrie closed her eyes for a moment and sighed. A breach of etiquette didn't even cover this event. The difference in rank between their husbands was immeasurable, and the social rules were unstated but clear: someone of her level would not speak at length with an Admiral's wife. A polite hello, perhaps. A smile and a bow. Not a conversation. But Natrie found that she didn't care. This was the first time in a long while that she'd actually enjoyed speaking with someone at one of these interminable events.

"I'd have to agree, Madam. The Admiral's wife likely sets her own etiquette." The other woman smiled slightly.

"Call me Trienne."

"Thank you, Trienne. I'm Natrie." She caught someone staring at her from the corner of her eye, and turned in the direction of the yellow blur. The woman quickly looked the other way, feigning interest in the wall decorations.

Trienne laughed softly. "They fear me. And now they'll fear you."

"It won't keep them from cloistering around me." Natrie caught another woman staring out of the corner of her eye, but she didn't turn, this time. "Maybe even more, now."

"Perhaps. Unless I'm around, running resistance. Now that we've been officially reassigned to this location, I think I'll be seeking you out at these gatherings as often as I can. If nothing else, it'll keep the - let's just call them what they are, and say boot-lickers – away from us both."

Natrie couldn't hold back a laugh at that and the other woman smiled broadly, leaning close. "Look there, you see that one? In that dreadful light blue that does nothing but wash her out? Her husband is a level below mine, and since we returned to the Imperial Center, she's bothered me unmercifully with stories of her society dinners – ones that I always miss – but she even doesn't realize that it's hopeless. He'll always be second in command." Trienne pursed her lips, shaking her head. "He sends her out to do it. I'll tell you this, if a man is so unsure of his own abilities to lead that he sends his wife on social functions to curry favor, then he is not fit for the upper ranks."

Natrie nodded. "I couldn't agree more. It's one reason why I refuse to play that game."

"I could tell that by talking to you, my dear. He's a lucky man, indeed."

"Thank you." Natrie didn't mention that her husband had often tried to encourage her to mingle and socialize more with the other wives, but she'd resisted. It was one thing she had stood firm on, even as a newlywed.

"So. Which is he?"

Natrie pointed him out, and the older woman nodded, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Lieutenant Commander. At his age, that's quite respectable." Trienne studied him critically for a few more moments, then said, "Your young man will go far. He seems sure in his own skin."

"Too sure, sometimes," Natire muttered, then realized what she'd said. But, thankfully, the other woman laughed.

"Well, now, we do have to keep them on a tight reign, don't we?" She smiled. "What is our job, if not that?"

What is our job, indeed, Natrie thought with a small sigh. Then the conversation moved to other topics, and as the hours passed, Trienne's predictions were proven correct: for the rest of the night, none dared approach them, and Natrie found that the evening flew by. In fact, it was the first time at one of these events that her husband had to signal his readiness to leave to her, rather than the other way around. She was surprised that he didn't approach, but it slipped her mind as she turned to Trienne.

"And there he is waving me to come along. I have to thank you, Trienne. Normally these functions are unbearable, but I've had a wonderful time tonight."

"It's been thoroughly enjoyable, my dear. I'm looking forward to seeing you at the next boot-lickers' convention," Trienne announced, and Natrie laughed. "Now, run along, don't keep a man waiting for too long." Trienne winked. Smiling quickly, Natrie nodded and then left to join her husband, a bit taken aback by his tight expression.

She couldn't determine why he was so stiff with her as they headed home. The small transport pilot stared at her in shock and shook his head when she offered him a tip, and though she hadn't expected him to take it, she still sighed. She wasn't certain she liked being one of those that everyone else feared, but there was little she could do about it. Trienne's comments from the evening ran through her mind, and she smiled slightly. Perhaps being feared wouldn't be a terrible thing, if it kept the simpering opportunists away.

When they were in their bedroom, after checking on Mierie and thanking the sitter, she stared at her husband's back as he unbuttoned his uniform. The stiffness hadn't receded; in fact, it increased when they found themselves alone, and she sighed inwardly.

"Beloved, what's bothering you?"

"I am unable to decide," he said tightly, pulling off his uniform with sharp jerks, "if you are purposefully trying to undermine my career, or if you are just too simple to understand the normal chain of command. Imagine my surprise when I saw you speaking to the Admiral's wife. I can't believe you approached her, and then to monopolize her time the entire evening! You should know what a breach of-"

Too simple?

Natrie dared to interrupt him. "I didn't approach her! She came to me!"

He stopped, turned. "She… she came to you?" His voice was frankly disbelieving, and it both offended and infuriated her.

Natrie scowled, not even trying to smooth her expression. After putting up with all those sycophants, for all those years, she finally found someone she enjoyed speaking with at one of these functions and he dared to chastise her for it? "You always go on so much about how aloof I am at those dreadful gatherings, but-"

"They are not dreadful-"

"As I was saying," she said, her voice deliberate and increasing in volume with each word. Then she saw her husband's face, really saw it, and cold reality slipped past the heat of anger. She suddenly realized that she was treading too far from shore, from safety, and if she allowed her temper to continue she might let more slip than she intended. Caution, always. Caution.

She scowled again, but this time there was no true anger behind it. Mind racing, she worked on the phrasing even as the words fell from her lips. "The Admiral's wife cited that as the very reason she approached me. She said I was obviously above all the rabble, that she could tell I was confident enough in my husband's abilities not to play fool games to try to help your career."

He looked at his coat, hanging crisp and straight in the closet, and then turned back to face her. "She said that?"

"Yes, she did." And now, the killing blow to his anger. She smiled slightly, forcing a note of pride into her voice as she continued, "Trienne said I was meant to be an admiral's wife. And that – how did she put it? Oh, yes, and that 'that young man of mine will go far'."

She saw the news click into place, saw his expression shift from simmering displeasure to elation – a look she only saw when he heard positive news of his rank, or his work. She sighed as he rushed to her and picked her up, spinning her in a circle. It was a sigh of relief, but he read it differently, and she acquiesced without complaint when he pressed against her with a new sort of fervor; it was far easier to spend a half hour seeing to his pleasure and then have the evening blissfully free while he slept, than to talk her way out of it.

As she lay there beside him some time later, she wondered how she had come to this place, how she had ignored all the subtle warning signs and the not-so-subtle words of her grandmother, those years before. But youth was wise, in its own eyes, and she had already known too much to listen to those older than herself.

---

The next time a function appeared on the social calendar, Natrie didn't balk. She saw that the Admiral's wife would be there once again, and for the first time since she was a starry-eyed newlywed, she was looking forward to the evening. She tried to tell herself that Trienne's presence was the only reason for her lifted spirits, and that the small matter of the function's location – at the same hall where she had overheard that secret conversation about 'rebellion' – had nothing to do with her excitement.

But she knew the truth.

Her husband watched with barely suppressed surprise, and not a little pride, when she rejected two of the gowns that were presented to her for the event. It wasn't often she took notice of what she wore, beyond the comfort level, and it had been a very long time since she'd cared how she looked at one of these events. Mindful of what Trienne had said about light blue, she suggested a deep burgundy – which Mierie seconded - and when it arrived she knew it was the right choice. Bold but tasteful. Confident.

And dark enough that she could linger outside without a shimmer of fabric to give her location away.

---

The gown proved to be the right choice. Soon after they entered the room and took some flutes of Nubian wine – the servers, this time, bore gold-toned trays - her husband became engaged in conversation with one of his senior officers, and she was left free to her own devices.

Sera approached immediately. "Natrie, I love that color on you!"

Natrie smiled, relieved that she'd already secured a flute of wine, and as she did so she wondered how long it would be before the Admiral and his wife appeared. Her cheeks would surely cramp if she was forced to keep this up for long. "Thank you, Sera. And you look stunning." It was the pure truth. The younger woman was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, and the soft lavender gown suited her features well. Really, it was a shame – as Trienne stated during the last gathering – that such a pretty package held so little inside.

When Sera suddenly stopped speaking and stammered an excuse to leave, Natrie knew the reason. Turning with a smile, she saw Trienne behind her, and the two women immediately moved to the side of the room to speak more privately.

Natrie had to stifle some of her louder laughs as Trienne made pointed comments about some of the dresses the other women were wearing. It was fun to act like teenagers on occasion, and enjoying the other woman's biting wit was well worth any guilty feelings of immaturity.

"Speaking of unusual clothing, who is that man that's talking with the Admiral?" Natrie took a bite of the small sweetcake, narrowing her eyes as she studied the tall figure next to the Admiral. There was no crisp gray uniform hanging from his slender frame – on the contrary, he wore a rather casual civilian outfit. Well, perhaps not that casual, considering the latest styles, but certainly more casual than she would have expected. Rather than appearing uncomfortable at his lack of formal attire, however, the man was the very air of confidence.

"Charming man – there aren't many that can pull a sincere laugh from my husband's mouth," Trienne said, smiling. Natrie grinned at her. "He's a journalist, actually – a HoloNet reporter. Vrindo Larzin."

"Really? A reporter?" Intrigued, Natrie tilted her head. She was careful not to stare in the same direction for too long, but her gaze continued to scan over the man's back as she waited impatiently for him to turn. Perhaps she would recognize him from some of the broadcasts – Mierie would be excited, if it was one of the reporters that she knew.

Trienne nodded. "Yes. My husband invited him tonight to meet some of the officers. He has it in his head to do a series on the men of the Imperial military – with the Emperor's permission, of course."

"Of course." Natrie frowned. "What sort of series?"

"A profile of certain officers, actually. Something to… how did he put it? Lessen the intimidation factor? It's public relations." The other woman took a long sip of her drink, watching her husband and his companion critically. "The Empire's still young."

"It needs the support of the populace," she murmured.

"Exactly. And he's the best choice to do it – that young man has a deft touch with interviews, not so garrulous as those others that the HoloNet employs. If anyone can humanize this group of gray suits, he can."

Natrie barely held back a snort, and might have responded with a quip had the man not turned at that very moment and exposed his face to the light. Her heart stopped.

It was him. The man with the smokestick, from the balcony. The overheard words rang in her mind once again – now months later, but no less clear from the passing of time: It's real. Not everyone believes the lies. Not everyone has forsaken the truth… We have some people on the inside… but we need more for a successful rebellion.

Rebellion. It was this man, then, this very man…

She was overcome with the urge to speak to him, to meet him, but she knew it would be impossible. He couldn't approach her, not at an event such as this, and she certainly couldn't approach him. But perhaps… thinking quickly, she took a sip of her drink, trying to formulate the correct phrasing.

When she lowered her drink, she turned to Trienne and said, in a casual tone, "If he wants to see the more personal, human side of the officers, perhaps he should interview the wives, not the gray suits." One wife in particular, she added silently.

Trienne eyed her speculatively. After a few moments, the other woman nodded. "It's not a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all. Come along, let's suggest that to the Admiral."

"Oh, I don't think-"

"Nonsense! It's a perfect idea, and even if it wasn't, I'm not letting you go. One of these empty-headed arm accessories will swoop in immediately and start bowing and scraping and offering me drinks like some ridiculous protocol droid."

Natrie gave a gasping laugh as she was pulled through the crowd; she was equal parts excited and intimidated – normally rank mattered nothing to her, but this was the Admiral, and she could feel all eyes in the room on her as they headed to his position.

"So sorry to interrupt-" Trienne began, but the Admiral cut her off.

"Of course you aren't!" The Admiral turned, smiling, and Natrie was struck by how genuine that smile was. He looked at his wife and she looked back at him, the air of affection between them palpable. And, for the first time in many years, Natrie felt true envy.

"You know me too well, my love." Trienne wove an arm around the Admiral's elbow and nodded towards Natrie. "I thought an interruption would be in order. My friend here had the most wonderful idea." She turned to the reporter, one eyebrow lifted. "One I think you might be relieved to hear."

Vrindo Larzin then shifted his attention from the Admiral to Natrie, and his stare hit her like a blow to the stomach. A flash of recognition crossed his face, mingled with surprise, and she froze when he said, "Ah, yes. Natrie, isn't it? Wife of Lieutenant Commander-"

"Oh, you know each other?" Trienne asked, looking from Vrindo to Natrie.

"I don't think-"

"Not officially, Madam-"

Trienne shook her head and reached out, touching his arm. "I believe I told you to call me Trienne."

Vrindo smiled, and thankfully his gaze shifted away from Natrie. "Not officially, Trienne. But I've followed her husband's career, you might say." Natrie relaxed, then. Of course he didn't recognize her from that night – she had been in shadow, and far from his location on the other balcony.

The Admiral spoke, then. "As pleasant as this is – I'm curious to hear what idea you had, Natrie."

"Yes, Admiral." Natrie took a sip of her drink, but her throat still felt dry when she continued, "Your wife was telling me what you and Mr. Larzin was hoping to accomplish with the HoloNet series." The Admiral nodded encouragingly. "Well, if you want to show a personal, more human side of the officers, perhaps you may want to have some interviews with the wives, also."

"Or even have them as the primary focus," Trienne said.

Vrindo sent Natrie a measuring look and then nodded slowly, glancing at the Admiral. "It has merit, and it would certainly make my task a great deal simpler. If the Admiral is open to the idea, of course."

The Admiral looked at his wife and then Natrie. Eventually, he said, "It's a good idea. Do it."

"Thank you, Admiral. I'll begin planning for that, then." Vrindo bowed to the Admiral, then turned to Trienne and took her hand. "Until next time, Trienne."

"Don't make it too long, Vrindo. I'll be interested to see how all of this turns out."

He smiled and nodded, then took Natrie's hand. She almost jumped at the feel of his fingers, warm and smooth and strong, and then chastised herself for acting like a teenager. Chuckling over fashion was one thing, but this…. Her self-lecture was interrupted when Vrindo spoke. "You will, of course, agree to be the first interview?"

"You mean the first victim?" she asked, smiling.

"You catch on quickly." And, with that, the tall man left the hall.