The heinous screeching of the TIE engines felt like they tore the skies above them.
Director Phita waited at the main landing pad of the Imperial Palace, just atop the observation spire and barely a few levels below the throne room itself. Cold and contemptuous, her jaded demeanor allowed her to retain some control of her emotions. Yet it was clear to all that she had little desire to be there for reasons inscrutable save only a few.
Just as the starfighter escort departed and flew away, the forming rows of stormtroopers stood at attention without the need for orders. This was a practiced ceremony and the garrison of the palace was among the most elite troopers to be found in all the Empire. Next to her, silent as always, the crimson-robed droid levitated and remained motionless. Like statues, Death Troopers flanked her in stark contrast with the pristine white uniforms and plasteel that populated the platform. The Director briefly glanced sideways to them in a discrete manner.
She trusted none of them.
A few officers of lower rank formed at her back but remained at a further distance to respect the protocol set for the difference in rank. However, all eyes were set upon one notable absence in their cadre. Phita knew well where the defying meaning of this absence and where to find the offender.
Ysanne Isard waited patiently inside the palace, standing next to the throne where now the Grand Vizier sat as supreme ruler in all but name.
With a characteristic hissing, the cooling vents of the lambda-class shuttle discharged all the accumulated heat from the atmospheric reentry. And then the ramp of the shuttle opened wide.
Grand Moff Manko Gaul emerged, his trimmed suit of Imperial black contrasted with a mauve capelet. He took a moment to survey the Coruscanti skyline, breathed in the capital air, largely scented with the artificial byproducts of urban sprawl and excessive traffic. It was a smell much unlike the fragrance of rural Shawken. Yet the sight of true civilization made him smile.
Gaul took slow, practiced steps down the shuttle ramp and onto the landing pad. Etiquette guided him to afford his escort with a nod, their lifeless helmets betraying no emotion. And, he thought, Phita's expression appeared much the same. She was statuesque, in a womanly way, and wholly what he had expected of a female at the helm of an organization like the Imperial Security Bureau.
"Director," he said with a respectful half-bow. "I am honored by your reception."
"Moff Gaul" Phita coldly greeted with barely a nod "Welcome to Imperial Center"
She took one step towards Gaul and extended one hand with a series of datapads while her other hand gestured toward the palace's entrance.
"Here are the intel briefings our supervisors have prepared for you as requested" her head tilted slightly towards the imposing walls of the palace "The Grand Vizier is waiting"
A slight arch of his brow was all that betrayed Gaul's irritation at the improper address. He was, however, all too familiar with the pettiness of capital politics. And he had missed it, in a way.
"Of course, Director." Gaul gently took a singular datapad from her outstretched hand, lingering for a moment with a widened smile. "It has been some time since I entered the Throne Room at the arm of a beautiful woman."
His comment lodged, Gaul stepped just past Phita and bid her to join him with a nod. He forced his eyes to narrow, to smile, but kept them searching Phita's face for a reaction - something, anything.
The Director's perfect cadence in her steps faltered for a brief moment as she raised an eyebrow. Confusion was swiftly replaced by the icy demeanor of her uptight and rigorous mannerisms. She purposefully averted her eyes from Gaul to conceal a grimace before she could reimpose her facade again.
"I'm afraid pressing matters have displaced the social entreatments of this event" she replied "Although a more formal meeting is scheduled later today before the Ruling Council members. The Vizier is… eager to impart his instructions upon the new caretaker of Imperial Center" Phita paused for a brief moment, considering her next words "There is much work to be done."
There was satisfaction in his little victory, Phita's stutter-step just barely perceived, but in magnanimity Gaul stopped prodding. "I understand. No doubt the grief of our Emperor's passing is felt most deeply here. One day, joy may return." He looked now to the grandeur of the Imperial Palace, in awe of its imposing presence even on a world as developed as the Imperial Center. "But indeed, there remains work to be done and we are among the few qualified to do it."
Phita nodded with an almost absent-minded expression on her face and she continued for a few moments in silence as the entourage marched down the platform towards the palace. At one moment, she casually gestured to their escort and the black-clad troopers slowed their pace to make some distance between. Barely a few steps later, carefully calculated to gain distance in the most discreet manner, Phita neared Gaul's ear.
"The chain of command is compromised" she whispered "Trust no one"
Her eyes never moved away, fixed with determination into looking ahead and not towards the man walking beside her. The expression on her face remained unreadable.
Again, a twitch at Gaul's brow - not from anger but sheer intrigue. He followed the example of Phita, his eyes drifting again beyond the conversation and towards the nearing palace. Only a soft cluck of his tongue gave notice that he'd heard her as they strode together in silence. Casually, he responded at last.
"Ahah. And might that include you?" It was a strange non-sequitur to an eavesdropper, until he continued. "That is, are you one qualified and ready to save this Empire?" A question, he hoped, that Phita would read more deeply into that his smiling face implied..
Despite her iron will and perfect countenance, the Director let out a snort of disgust.
"I am still alive" she simply muttered under her breath "Take that as you may"
Gaul chuckled. Survival in the capital was less a function of competence, and more that of political acumen. Which, in his mind, was far more praiseworthy. Together, the two entered the cavernous embrace of the Imperial Palace.
"I'm reminded of a story from my homeworld, Shawken. Shall I tell you?" Gaul asked. Without considering a response, he continued. "In the early history of Shawken, there was a King Morini. He was young, gallant, and beloved among the people. He was the sort of striking figure that the romantics so love to remember."
"And at this time of his coronation, the royal guard wielded a traditional virge known as the getorix. It was a flanged implement, designed to keep the crowd at length and firmly subdued." Gaul gestured at the description, loosely defining the length of the getorix's shaft.
"One would expect a liberal usage of the getorix during crowd-work, most especially at an event so grand as a royal coronation. The royal guard gave little quarter to unruliness. And so it was that the streets were well-bloodied that day, as King Morini rose to his majority."
Gaul extended a single finger.
"On his first day as monarch, Morini was challenged by a noisy quorum of commoners, self-anointed reformers and the like. They said to him that the getorix was inhumane, that the tradition was brutal to the people. They paraded dozens upon dozens of supposed victims, bearing gruesome scars. They roused support from the vocal riff-raff until everyone seemed to have a story about injustice."
The Grand Moff paused for a moment, lowered his finger, and turned, looking seriously at Director Phita.
"Now what do you think King Morini said to these petitioners? What would he do?"
Phita listened to Gaul's words with a deep frown as the two of them continued to walk past the rows of stormtroopers standing at attention. Her lips curved to show the growing displeasure.
"Well yes, I have never heard this story before" she relented despite the fading patience "My guess is that this Morini did something violent or stupid. Probably both"
"On his second day as monarch, King Morini issued an edict: the flanges of the getorix were to be shorn off and the virge cloaked in velvet. The implement was made ceremonial and the rabble were thoroughly appeased. By all appearances, the reformers forced Morini's hand."
This time the Director did not reply but her gaze moved away from Gaul and shifted towards the troops to avoid rolling her eyes. It was plain evident that the tale, whatever hidden wisdom may contain, exasperated her and ate at her already fragile nerves.
Gaul smiled, a knowing smile, an arrogant smile.
"What was not seen was that the haft of the getorix was recast in imported songsteel. And in their hilts were installed vibrogenerators. A decent strike would no longer create a superficial slice; it would pulverize bone and leave its victim permanently lame. And yet-" Gaul began, with an extended finger, "-the people were content."
He stopped and looked into Phita's eyes.
"Why?"
"Because they live in a fantasy world," Phita snapped. "People are never content, Gaul. It's a myth, much like your fairytale. And discontent breeds rebellion. That is why we exists and why the Empire will always have use for us"
Gaul shook his head with exaggerated disappointment.
"You hear but don't listen, Director. What Morini understood is that the people have a near limitless tolerance for toil, for servitude, for obedience, so long as it appears pleasant. Like a child needs their medicine sweetened. The commoners long for a velvet glove over the durasteel fist that governs their life."
At an expansive window, Gaul lingered a moment to the growing chagrin of his escort. Looking into the sky, he continued.
"Tarkin thought a giant, looming sphere would bring the systems into line - that fear alone was needed. And now he's dead, along with his two failed superweapons."
For the first time, Grand Moff Gaul looked at the datapad in his hands, speaking as it tapped away at its interface.
"If Morini does not convince you, perhaps the fate of Tarkin will. Besides," he grinned, "you would look resplendent in chiffon velvet."
At that, Gaul resumed walking, at last with a sense of purpose.
"Perhaps," he suggested, "we should attend to our own briefings before conferring with the Grand Vizier. Unless you would prefer going over this data with me…"
"And perhaps it is you who do not understand" Phita narrowed her eyes "Morini may have not been Tarkin but neither was he the Emperor. For all the velvet in your glove, the fist remains"
The Director took to adjusting her own pace to remain beside the Grand Moff and she pointed with a finger to a particular point in the datapad he was screening.
"Crimson level" she explained "I have placed atop of your list of security concerns pending your personal review. No one except the Royal Guard sets foot on that level of the palace. We have intercepted irregular transmissions from there but only the Sovereign Protector can offer clearance. I am willing to go over all the data with you but I hardly desire to make the Grand Vizier wait…" she paused for a moment and deeply frowned "... nor to have your mind distracted by the image of me wrapped in chiffon velvet"
Above the icy-cold tone she frequently used, this time there was a deeply poisonous note of contempt that she was unable to modulate or hide within her professional attitude.
Manko Gaul held a smile on his face, not in spite of, but inspired by Phita's barbs.
"Then I suppose we should indeed report to the Grand Vizier post-haste. I have missed the company of His Excellency dearly." Gaul slightly nodded his head. "Let us go."
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