Clandestine Affirmation: The Pact

[Syron Ward]

"Ah, the joys of space travel."

Through the fleeting lines of air traffic, a lone Svelte shuttle broke off from the flow and accelerated towards a large, dark building building that was sometimes referred to as the 'Blackmail Center'. It rested peacefully in a shadow, that of a gray-green Pyramid complex. The shuttle cruised on towards it, seemingly oblivious to the fact that many a negotiator had arrived there confident, yet had left as a quivering sack of beaten flesh. The personnel inside the shuttle, however, were well aware of this, and several had promptly broke out into a sweat upon hearing of their mission. They had a galaxy-spanning trip to think it over.

From Dayark there was a grudgingly tedious trip up the Rimma route to Thyferra, from the edge of the galaxy to the center. Then, another jump to Corellia on the Trade Spine with the same name. Those on board has to admit that TSO was a much more hospitable Sith faction then the others in the galaxy, and that the trip through Corellia had been a pleasant one. The lone shuttle had then shot up the Corellian Run, bypassing Vulpter to their main objective.

Imperial Center.

The Capitol. The Fountainhead of Humanity. Coordinates zero-zero-zero. No one on board had ever visited this place before, though everyone knew of it. The black Svelte shuttle was hailed by Imperial Harbor Control and was asked what it was here to do. They were here to discuss. Did they have an appointment with an official? They did. Were they the representatives from Death Fleet? They were. Several seconds passed and they were granted landing at the Special Visitor's platform which led directly into the Imperial Palace. Two TIE/D fighters shrieked up alongside the shuttle. Apparently, droids were good enough for Death Fleet.

As the shuttle landed, a squad of storm troopers stood in rank along the walkway into the Palace. The light reflected off their white armor, the skull helmets facing forward, and their blaster rifles held close. The ramp extended down from the main structure of the vessel, and seconds later 10 blue-uniformed officers of the Gunjikeisatsu marched down and stood in rank along the walkway as well. Following them, another figure strode down the length of the ramp and continued onward, not turning around with eyes wide and gazing at the majesty of the place as some had done before him. Syron Ward's black uniform was clean and pressed, very official and very military. The Gunjikeisatsu followed in 2 columns of 5 behind him as he marched through the Storm Troopers towards the main gate.

[Khendon Sevon]

Khendon truly wasn’t a diplomat, but he, every now and again, enjoyed to moonlight as such, at least that’s what he told himself. In reality, Khendon was one of the only high ranking officials who had time to sit down over brandy and discuss matters of importance concerning the Empire. Many of the other would-be-diplomats either didn’t have enough combat training and experience to talk with the warlords or militiamen that Khendon usually greeted or were busy fighting a war somewhere. Khendon was far too important to use in a meager skirmish, and had enough combat to chat up a storm with the best of them.

The tall, lean figure shrugged his thoughts off, straightened his uniform, ran a hand through his hair, and put on his best diplomatic “smile.” “Lieutenant,” said Khendon to the officer next to him, “how do I look?”

“Fine, Sir.” Said the regulation dressed officer as he handed Khendon his datapad. The trim device was dull silver, its luster having been warn off after hours upon hours of use in the field. Khendon entered his password and tucked the device under his left arm; he would need it later.

The hallway the Vice-Diktat now walked through was lined with brilliant cubes of light, each placed a perfect three meters from each other. Khendon’s boots made slight metallic clanks as he walked upon the recently polished surface. The corridor, all in all, was rather dull, very Imperial.

As Khendon approached the mammoth entrance, it yawned open like a cat stricken with sleepiness, a light screech of pain emitting as it’s hinges rubbed against one another, he’d have to remind the maintenance crew to oil it, landing pad #235q was now visible. Two columns of masterfully trained, white clad stormtroopers flanked several unfamiliar troopers who were dressed in an unusual blue uniform and following a well-kept officer. Khendon knew instantly who the officer was, Syron.

Khendon picked up his step to match that of the advancing troopers and officers, his assistant, the Lieutenant to his right, quickly adjusting his own strides to keep up. As the two groups met, Khendon extended his hand and said as pleasantly as he could, “Welcome to Imperial Center, I trust your trip was pleasant?”

[Syron Ward]

Syron's grim and bloodless lips curved as best they could into a polite smile as he bowed slightly, offering and shaking Khendon's hand firmly. They both knew the game. Act polite and friendly, speak polite and friendly.

"Yes, Vice Diktat Khendon, thank you. We are honored to be here and gracious for the Empire's time."

Syron advanced forward to Khendon's left and nodded to the Lieutenant. The two Imperials turned about and began walking with Syron back into the building. The blue-uniformed officers continued their march as the Stormtroopers respectfully fell in lines behind them.

"I do hope I have not called this meeting at an inopportune time."

"No, not at all. Imperial Center has been rather dull since the Admirals left to conquer Sith space."

Syron did his best to chuckle,"Ah, yes. I suppose it is much more quiet here now."

Khendon returned the 'canned' laughter,"Right you are. Now then, my assistant here will show you to your quarters here in the Palace. There are also rooms for your officers."

"Death Fleet thanks the Empire for it's hospitality. We shall meet tomorrow morning, then?"

"Yes. My officers will arrive at your quarters to escort you to the meeting place at 1100 hours."

"Very good. I must say, from orbit this world was certainly impressive. It appears as if the galaxy's economic woes have bypassed this wonderful place."

"Ah, well. The Empire is no longer as strict as it once was with it's trade partners. I believe that is something you wanted to discuss?"

"Yes, along with several other important issues."

They all strode into a large intersection, with hallways branching off in three directions. Khendon stopped and turned about, facing Syron. His Lieutenant did the same. The Stormtroopers in the back continued marching, fanning to the side to bypass the blue-uniformed officers of Death Fleet. They formed ranks aside Khendon as he spoke.

"This is where we part. My Lieutenant will show you to your chambers. Good day, Executive Magistrate."

He nodded politely towards Syron and turned about, walking down the front hallway with the Stormtroopers in his wake. The Lieutenant stepped forward, and bowed slightly to Syron.

"Follow me, sir."

[Khendon Sevon]

A glow panel flickered on, its yellow light flooding the room with a wash of cool light that placed itself upon Khendon’s closed eyelids, which flickered as the light agitated the sensitive, organic device located beneath. Khendon remained in a state of sleep as the entire room filled with white, harsh light filtered in through the now open curtains which danced around the six windows of his masterfully decorated room.

“Sir, wake up,” said Lieutenant Xerian as he finished opening the last of the windows, “your appointment is in two hours.” Khendon’s eye lids finally lifted, his crystal fragment-like eyes quickly focusing as his mind started processing what his aid had stated.

Khendon lifted his body up and out of bed, “Good morning, Lieutenant. I’ll take my usual morning jog and exercises, and then have the Executive Magistrate meet me for breakfast up on the roof, how’s that sound?”

“Fine, Sir. I’ll notify him.”

“Good, see to it that we have top security, snipers, the whole package.”

“Very good, Sir. Shall that be all?”

“Yes, thank you, Xerian.”

“My pleasure, Sir.” With that, Khendon’s attaché turned on his heel and marched out of the room. Khendon quickly changed clothing and jogged a path chosen by security, two Imperial officers running close behind. The jog went without significant event, as did Khendon’s usual exercise.

Once Khendon had completed his daily routine, he changed into a slim, black dress uniform, the only adornment a small rank clip near his neck. Khendon took the lift to the roof where a small restaurant was located, a majestic view of Imperial Center sprawling through the viewports, which made up most of the level.

The entire room was emptied except for a few security officers who stood straight as maples, eyes scanning for signs of trouble. Khendon took a table near one of the larger windows and sat, he was roughly a half hour early.