A/N: Oh my goodness! It's been so long! I apologise for my lateness but I've been busy with so many things. Not a good excuse but it's the best I've got… Anyway, I do hope you enjoy this new chapter. The Bad Batch has reinvigorated my love for Krennic so hopefully updates will be semi-regular :)

Stark white corridors threatened to swallow her. She blinked, kept her head low, and walked on. The sign for the canteen was a welcome sight: she'd already been reprimanded by forgetting — or not bothering — to greet a commanding officer. For some reason, she'd told herself that her relationship, if that was the right word, with Krennic gave her special dispensation. Obviously, it didn't.

Ophelia joined the queue, and tried to listen to the conversation of the officers in front of her. Something about promotions and training. As expected, really.

Imperials really were dull.

Moments later, a blob of porridge-like food was dropped onto her tray. She peered at it, turned her nose up, and managed to at least find a seat. A painful sense of envy would've risen in her stomach as she imagined Tarkin dining in some five-course meal in the comfort of his own quarters. But she was used to eating like this; on Tatooine, there were days when she would have killed for a spoonful of porridge.

Stress, Ophelia realised, often stole one's hunger. For a while, she simply sat and toyed with her knife and fork, pushing the slip around her plate. It looked bland, and she found, tasted equally bland. At least the caf had a vague flavour, and at least it was relatively hot.

She looked over the rim of the cup, surveyed the hundreds of faces in the canteen. And then she noticed him.

Fortnum.

Guilt and embarrassment overtook whatever hunger she may have had, and she downed the caf in one. She was on her feet in no time, already stalking back down the corridors.

"Officer."

Head down, she carried on. Walked on.

"Officer!"

Ophelia had assumed, with her hair drawn back into a tidy ponytail, that she'd look like every other Imperial on the ship. Apparently not. She couldn't ignore him; besides, in the corridor, people were starting to look.

She span around, the taste of the caf cloying and sticky in her mouth.

"What?"

Fortnum squared his shoulders, an attempt at looking assertive. She saw that he was sweating.

"What do you think you're doing here?"

Ophelia blinked, tried to concentrates on anything but the caf. "I don't know what you mean."

"You're not Imperial. You're a spy."

An officer walking past cast them a curious gaze but said nothing. Ophelia sighed. She pulled Fortnum to the side, catching him unawares.

"Congratulations," she hissed. "I'm a spy. You caught me."

He frowned. "You held me at gunpoint, took my uniform, and then you disappear in some shuttle. And now here you are again." He paused. "Do you want to tell me what's going on?"

"Not really."

"That wasn't really a question."

"Well, that was my answer." She shrugged, turned to leave, but her grabbed her. "Take your hand off me."

"I'll report you to Krennic."

"Whatever." Ophelia sighed, took out her data pad. She gave it to him, pointed at the screen. "Look. Here. My instructions from Krennic himself."

Fortnum furrowed his brow, eyes working slowly over that information. "You're working for him."

She snatched the data pad back. "Yes. I am. Satisfied?"

He stared at her. "I suppose."

Again, she turned to go.

"One other thing." He had a sort of expectant look on his face. "Will I ever get my uniform back?"

Despite herself, she smiled. "Uh — I doubt it. I was wearing it for two days straight in a jungle on Ryloth." A beat. "I'm leaving tomorrow."

His eyebrows came together, and she knew he now had another burning question, so she slunk away while she could.

Back in her quarters — the quarters — Ophelia was thinking. She wanted no time taking off the cap and taking her hair down. She sat cross legged on the bed, and her gazed roved over the data pad. The guidance. The instructions. The orders.

Outside, through the window, night was constant, and the stars were tiny, distant, blinking fires. She sighed, looked back down at the data pad.

Infiltrate rebel base on Tatooine.

Locate missing data pad.

Obtain information.

Report to superior.

Easy enough. Four directions. Then she laughed quietly, suddenly becoming aware of the madness of the whole thing. She threw the data pad down, and that laughter turned to anger. Furious, she was on her feet and marching back down the corridors. The white walls and polished floors seemed to echo around her; she marched and marched and marched.

At last, she came to Krennic's office. Two Stormtroopers stood guard outside.

"You don't understand. I'm Ophelia Lacemaker. I'm working for Director Krennic."

The Stormtroopers seemed to shrug; it was hard tell with all their armour. "Sorry, ma'am."

Ophelia shook her head. "Fine. At least tell him I'm waiting outside."

"The Director is in a meeting at the moment."

Great.

"Well, can I at least wait inside?"

"The Director isn't in his office at present."

She sighed. "I guess I'll wait here until he shows up."

The Stormtroopers didn't seem to care one way or the other; they only moved when Krennic at last came round the corner and waved them away.

"Ah — and you are here because?"

Ophelia blinked, snuck in behind him before he could escape. "I wanted to ask you for something."

Krennic lowered himself into his chair and wearily gestured for her to take a seat opposite him. "Yes?"

"I wanted a weapon."

He grinned. "A weapon?"

"Yes, it's a thing used to shoot people."

His grin dissolved, and now his face was stony. "What makes you think I'm going to give one to you?"

"I think you want me to succeed in this mission. And I know how important this data pad is to you. Without it, you're going to lose Tarkin's favour."

A beat.

She leant forwards. "Am I right?"

Krennic swallowed. She wasn't wrong. "Fine. I'll tell the armoury to expect you. You can take one vibroblade and one blaster."

Ophelia stood up. "You still don't trust me, do you?"

"You're wearing an Imperial's uniform. You should at least try to act like one. Don't you remember our conversation in the shuttle on Ryloth?"

She smiled. "Which one?"

He caught her eye. "I told you I was chosen by the Empire. They reward ability. If you are successful in this mission, you'll certainly be on Tarkin's mind."

"And that's a good thing?"

"Regrettably, yes, it is."

For a second, Ophelia detected a strange sort of vulnerability in Krennic's voice, a sense of self-doubt.

"Serving the Empire is not a question of trust. Nor is it a question of loyalty," he continued.

She frowned. "So it's selfish?"

He nodded. "If you like."

Ophelia held his gaze for a moment longer, and then she made for the door. "I'll head down to the armoury then. And I'll let you know when I've left for Tatooine."

Behind her, the door slid shut. She was soon back at her quarters, and she'd managed to avoid any more run ins with either Fortnum or Tarkin. Finally, then, she was alone, and away from the lights and the noise.

She packed a small bag with some clothes and the data pad, and turned to leave again. She groaned, sighed. She didn't know how long she'd be. Days, weeks? Maybe months? How long would it even take to infiltrate a Rebel cell?

She nearly laughed.

What a question to be asking.

So she tossed in a few more things, closed the bag, went to the refresher for one last time.

Now she left.

Ophelia found the shuttle in the main landing bay. It was small but it was new. She'd been assuming she would be given some old, scorch-marked death trap. Anyway, she knew it wasn't her who they considered important.

It was the mission.

A Stormtrooper ambushed her before she could inspect the shuttle any further. "Clearance?"

"Uh — of course." She fumbled in the bag, showed her clearance.

He nodded.

And she was gone.