From On High

[Amés Falcon Liszt]

Looking down. Such a simple and yet powerful concept; a trick of psychology at it's finest. Not the metaphorical, idiomatic form of it, mind you; not the aloofness born of ego and displayed by those surrounded by social lessers; but rather the literal act of it, the origin from which the term was born, the experience of peering down and seeing geography and society and the culmination of one's work all placed within their proper context, so small when compared to a larger world.

For some it was uplifting: it fueled their ego and their self-importance; how significant am I, that those beneath me should seem so small? For Amés Falcon Liszt however, the effect was profoundly different. He did not need to peer down upon the training fields below, watching COMPNOR's finest and the Imperial Knights hone each other's skills. He did not need to witness the might of the Imperial Security Bureau, nor the veritable army of unwavering loyalty that waited to act upon a single word from him. He did not need such tokenism to instill a belief that he was important: he was important. He was Amés Falcon Liszt, Baron of Achillia, heir by marriage to House Cadriaan, and the Minister of the Interior of the Galactic Empire: by rights one of the most politically powerful souls in all the galaxy. His significance did not need to be proven by ceremonies and gestures: it flowed through his blood, and was woven into his bones.

No, for Baron Liszt, the feeling it provoked was far different. As he regarded the men and women at arms beneath him, he did not swell with pride and self importance: instead it steeled his resolve, a potent reminder of just how small his achievements were, just how minor an impact his efforts to date had made. The Galactic Empire was dying, cleaved in two by the deceptive treachery of the Alliance, and rotted from within by the corrupt and the disloyal; yet for all that danger, for all that threat, this small token force was as much as he and his ally Rossos Atrapes had been able to rally to the Empire's defense. Good men they were, of that he had no doubt; but they were few, and their opposition would only grow.

A faint sigh escaped from the Minister as he turned away from the scene for the briefest of moments, enough to cast a glance towards his companion. As one of the Nobles of Tapani, Amés had been raised to appreciate the finer aspects of society. He had grown with nobility on all sides, and had learned to distinguish between the different breeds. There were those who played at nobility, those who knew the dance and performed the steps, but had no feel for the music; those whose superiority was constantly shown but never proven, whose status was assured but never earned. Then there were those for whom nobility was merely a byproduct of existence, who exuded it from their soul with each breath, and seeped it from their pores. He knew little of the man beside him - more than most, he wagered, such was the boon of commanding the Imperial Security Bureau; but far less than he would have preferred - but he knew the cloth from which the man was cut; the very same fabric from which he himself came.

Imperial Knights, they called the Empire's new champions. For Atrapes at least, the honorific had found shoulders upon which it belonged.

"A steep rode lies ahead of us," he mused aloud, his gaze returning to the Citadel training fields below. "For all our sakes, I hope that we have enough strength to climb it."

[Rossos Atrapes]

The Knight-General, hands loosely clasped behind his back, stood next to the Minister. He did not look at the man as he answered, his eyes fixed on the sight below.

"Two insurrections quelled, thanks to Knight Vissica, near Thalassia and Maltha Obex. One fleet surrendered simply due to Vissica taking the remnants of the previous warlord's fleet and combining them with her own to attack. The Admiral of that fleet has been brought to Imperial Centre for questioning. Knight Alexia has crushed all opposition in Lipsec, Virgilia, and Sump. There is nothing salvageable of those fleets, nor any prisoners taken; the Empress has already sent her appointees to fill their empty positions. Knight Cain has been instrumental in maintaining public morale and eliminating various traitors before they could flee. Knight Iscandar has reported that sightings of Imperial ships in the former Corporate Sector are on the rise. Warlords are fleeing. We are still unsure if they are joining with some still unaccounted for rogue Inquisitors. Despite the trouble such forces will pose to the Alliance in the Corporate Sector, they may defect with their ships, or launch raids and attacks across the border into either the Alliance, or into the Empire. Knights have also bolstered the agreeable factions in the neutral systems at times. However, we are stretched very thin."

Atrapes had known she would; he had trained Veskasa Vel Aath himself after all, and she had taken to his teachings with a verve and competence that even Iscandar couldn't match. She, after all, was not so unwilling to use the Dark of the Force.

"The Citadel is flush with cadets. Of the forty-three new students taken in since COMPNOR campaigns and templates for systematized Force testing have been implemented on various worlds, four are now in field training, paired with Knights to give them proper experience and guidance. The youngest will be training here and elsewhere for years before we can properly field them. We have fifty potential candidates for next group, though they are still being tested. What remains in question is not whether we have enough strength, Lord Minister. It is whether we have the endurance to make the climb in as little time as we have available. We need time to train our Force Sensitive cadets into Knights and capable of utilizing Intelligence agents to their best ability. Time to train Intelligence agents in methods for observing and neutralizing enemy adepts, and how to work best with the Knights; with the number of former Inquisitors within your ranks, we shall see progress there shortly. Time to bring the malcontents to heel, before conflict starts to spread even farther within the Empire.

"And these," he gestured to the soldiers and soldiers in training below them, "must have the strength of mind and body to carry us through to that point. We are few now, but our goals are clear, as is how we are working towards them. And fortunately, the Alliance is not without its own dissenters. They are not quite able to capitalize on our weakness."

Atrapes watched the Knight Cadets step forward, white blazing sabers ignited, while Imperial Security Bureau Troopers marched along behind them in formation. A strong and formidable force even with their training incomplete, but they numbered less than one hundred all told.

They would have to be enough, despite everything.

[Amés Falcon Liszt]

All true, what the Knight-General had said; but then Amés had no reason to expect anything but truth from Atrapes. Like the Jedi Generals of old, the Knights had achieved swift and decisive victories: it was an asset that their enemies had not expected to confront, and the element of surprise had worked well in their favour. The Knight-General was correct though: the time that they had available was short, and much would be lost if COMPNOR, the Security Bureau, and the Knights could not succeed in their efforts in time. Were the dissidents given time to entrench themselves, to rally, to adapt their tactics to resist the advantage that the Imperial Knights provided, the Empire would find itself divided still further by yet more civil war. Worse, if the Alliance was given enough time to consolidate, to overcome it's petty differences, and to integrate it's militaries into an effective force, the Empire could swiftly find itself fighting a war from without as well as within: should the worst come to pass, should Starkillers be brought to bear, the Empire had far more to lose than an Alliance that had faced the threat of easy extinction for it's entire existence. Amés doubted that the Imperial people had the stomach to endure that kind of war.

"A shame that the Treaty excludes us from so much of the Outer Rim," Amés mused, to himself mostly. His thoughts dwelled in particular on the installations concealed within The Maw, but many similar facilities had been scattered across the Empire's extremest reaches, keeping the Empire's most discrete research away from the prying eyes of those who adhered to the rule of law too strongly, and lacked the resolve to do what must be done in the name of victory and the Empire. "A few of the projects we were forced to abandon there would have proven quite useful to us now."

He let out a small sigh as the marching COMPNOR soldiers presented arms towards he and the Knight-General as they passed, musing over how much easier this would be if the law would only permit him to duplicate these fine and loyal soldiers: to inject their minds and genes into a thousand copies each, to pump their blood with therapies and cocktails to augment them beyond what nature had intended, to replace their fragile flesh with durasteel and cortosis, or to do away with organic armies entirely and stamp out column after column of robotic foot soldiers to wage their battles the way the Trade Federation and the Confederacy had done - not to mention a few thousand years of precedent from Republic history. So much limitation was placed upon them by the squeamish regulation of the Galactic Senate that the Empire had not yet seen fit to overturn; so many lengths of chain binding their hands and limiting their options.

"What do you need, Rossos?" Amés asked quietly, his voice thick with sincerity and determined contemplation. "What must the Empire do for it's loyal Knights to see this mission through to it's end?"

[Rossos Atrapes]

"The Empire must endure, Minister. That is all that is necessary for our success. As long as there is an Imperial Throne we will carry through."

The parade below was ending, and the groups of Troopers were standing neatly in columns with a Knight-Cadet at their head, facing the Minister and the Knight-General as the parade music died down.

"Perhaps we may be able to send some people to retrieve those projects you speak of. At the very least to keep them from the hands of others who may use them against us."

[Amés Falcon Liszt]

Amés let out a faint breath of laughter. Was it benevolence or opportunity that led the Knight-General to make such an offer? A desire to provide assistance to a political ally, or a seized possibility to uncover secrets beyond what Atrapes already knew? The Minister had not yet learned enough about his counterpart to ascertain such motives; and even if he had, he was not foolish enough to presume that any of his assumptions were genuine. The Knight-General was a hard man to read, and seemed the sort who might manipulate such a fact to his advantage.

Not that it mattered; not in this instance, at least.

"A trusted operative has already attended to the situation," the Minister explained, choosing his words carefully. "Recovered all that could be salvaged, and -" He paused for a brief moment, searching for the right terminology for projects that had often been as much about wetware than hardware. "- scuttled the rest. The Empire's secrets are safe, for now."

He fell silent, letting the break in conversation stretch out as long as he dared. An opportunity had presented itself, to satiate one of his ancillary objectives in being here; but Amés was cautious, careful not to seize the opportunity too quickly. It needed to be presented in just the right way: a beneficial offer, rather than an inconvenient insistence.

"The operative might prove useful to your efforts, in fact," he added after a short time, as if the notion had only just occurred to him. He doubted the deception would be fully effective against someone whose perceptions were enhanced by the Force; and so Amés allowed his intentions to make themselves fully apparent in his mind - the ones that he wished to convey to Atrapes, at least. The desire to help, coupled with the desire not to overstep; respectful hesitance, rather than veiled reluctance.

"A former Inquisitor. A former Jedi, in fact. A Padawan, apprehended during the Purge, and convinced to dedicate himself to the Empire's cause. He has been a trusted custodian of many of my Ministry's secrets for years. I trust him implicitly; and his skills, training, and exposure to unorthodox strategies and technology should prove quite advantageous to your movement."

[Rossos Atrapes]

"You sound like you are trying to sell him, Minister," Atrapes said without a trace of humour. "All that is necessary is your word that he can be useful. I will find a use for him, even if it not what you or he may expect."

He stood and stepped forward as the Knights in training lifted their lightsabers and activated them while the Troopers behind him held their weapons in front of themselves, as if offering them to the two men looking down from on high.

"Knights," he called, his voice echoing down into the plaza below clearly, not only due to the technology specifically installed for that purpose, but due to the architecture that focused the sound above below. "Imperial Knights. That is what you are. You represent the Empire, its drive, its tenacity, its will to endure! Soon, you will be sent out into the galaxy, along with these soldiers, to combat traitors, dissidents, insurgents, and those without who wish to destroy everything within. You are the first and last line of defence against such chaos, for you will be there at the first and will be there to the last. I know this because I will be there also. I will stand against every foe that throws themselves against the daggers of our Star Destroyers, onto the barrels of our blaster rifles, and into the glare of our lightsabers.

"I look upon you now with pride and anticipation. You are the future of the Empire, and any fear I may have had about the future is gone, as long as you stand with these soldiers, with me, and with the Empress!"

The Knights and soldiers belted out a quick cheer. Like everything else about this whole event, it was practised, efficient, and clean. He glanced back at Minister Liszt.

"Do you wish to add anything, Minister?" he asked.

[Amés Falcon Liszt]

Amés offered the closest thing to a genial smile that he could muster. Speeches were an essential part of politics, of course, but he had never quite managed to find the same pleasure in them as many of his peers had. At one time, in his youth, stirring words had inflicted their desired effect upon him, kindled the ember of patriotism in his chest and set him upon the path that he now walked. Between then and now however, he had peeked behind the veil. He knew how strategic such words could be: how the truth was mutated and moulded, not always to disguise and obscure, but certainly to manipulate. You spoke the words that would inspire the reaction that you wanted; true, false, or otherwise. You vilified and venerated, steering the opinions of those who listened in the direction that was most advantageous to you.

It was necessary, of course; and Amés was hardly the sort of man who took moral exception to it. Propaganda had always been an essential component of the New Order, right from it's very inception with their white lie about the circumstances of the Jedi's fall. He did not judge those who manipulated words in such ways, and did not resent their right to do so. But it was not his way. He was a man of contemplation, a man who advanced his goals with whispered words in the right ears, achieving with subtle utterances to one or two what others achieved from podiums to thousands. Neither tactic was better per se; the Empire thrived because it exploited both. Amés simply understood in which of the two his expertise lay.

"They are your Knights, General," he replied, with a deferential bow of his head, "And it is your words they hang upon. It would not be right of me to intercede upon that."

[Rossos Atrapes]

"They are the Empire's Knights, Minister," Atrapes answered. "Not mine."

He turned back to the assembled soldiers below.

"Dismissed."

Even when pitching his voice to carry, he managed to somehow keep it from seeming like he was shouting.

"Minister," he said, as he watched the Knights and Troopers march out. "Your agent. I take it he is on Imperial Centre presently?"

[Amés Falcon Liszt]

Amés watched quietly as the assembled troops departed, a testament to precision and obedience. His thoughts strayed idly to the myriad efforts the Empire and its forebears had made over the centuries to perfect such loyalty in its soldiers. Droids. Clones. Eugenics. Cybernetics. Indoctrination. Slaves. All manner of covert projects to which the Minister was privy, that would palour the skin of even the most resolute observer if they were ever to see the light of day.

Yet here, all it took was a cause paired with the right figurehead. Devotion to a monarch that was everything Palpatine was not. Grace. Beauty. Heritage. He wondered how much sooner order might have been imposed upon the galaxy had someone thought centuries ago of placing an attractive young woman on the throne: someone who appealed to the lust and loyalty of men rather than merely preying upon their fear.

A faint smile graced the Minister's lips as he turned back to Atrapes, more polite than anything else. "He is," Amés answered, with a slight nod. "My manners are too deeply ingrained for me to visit a man's house without bringing a gift for my host." His hand reached for a pocket, and plucked free a small comm device. "Shall I send for him?"