Chalice and Altar

[Salem Ave]

Coruscant.

He was a boy again, gazing up at the immaculate spires of the Jedi temple. Each level of the mega-city brought it's residents closer to the stars, but there were few structures that aspired to the height and grandeur of the temple. The flair and finesse of architecture rarely elicited anything more than a raised eyebrow from the young Arkanian, but even he couldn't deny that the sight of it... stirred something in him. Pride, perhaps? He held up a hand against the glare of the sun, which outlined the five pillars in fire.

Lowering his hand, he was no longer a boy. The spires still stood, but now they appeared as fingers straining to tear down the skies. Banners hung still and heavy on the temple's outer walls, the proud wheel of the Empire like eyes, gazing unblinking out at the courtyard before them. The statues that had lined the walkway to the great, grand staircase were gone, replaced with Stormtroopers who stood so still that they might have been carved from marble themselves. Had their heads turned, ever so slightly, at the sight of the small delegation making their way towards the Palace?

Decades had passed since Salem had last stood on Coruscant, but the scale of the place had not diminished. Even the Fountain Palace of Hapes Prime would have struggled to outshine the seat of the Galactic Empire. Had it been a deliberate choice, to deny the Alliance shuttle permission to make use of the Palace's landing platforms? To instead order them to walk through the long shadow that the Palace cast? Imperial officials gave them a wide berth as they approached, but Salem could see and hear their scorn at the sight of the Alliance starbird stitched onto the shoulders of his guards. It was only when they reached the foot of the staircase that Imperial troopers fell into step beside them, forming box around them that could as easily have been a prison guard as it was a shield.

[Miranda Tarkin]

Miranda ended the call with Dr. Saunder, one of the royal physicians, and sighed heavily. She was weary from the news, albeit good news, about her husband's condition, but it still bothered her that Gallus could have been killed on Pallaxides during the terrorist attack by some unaligned Force User. Corellia was already a distraction with the local insurgents and now this? Part of her had doubt of Ave's willingness to speak on behalf of the Alliance and their denial of being involved in the tragic events that had killed dozens of innocent Imperial lives. But for what purpose then to reignite a war that both sides conceded no victory?

She rose from the high back chair within her office and turned off the reminder for the upcoming meeting. One by one she ended the programs that displayed across the black, immaculate, desk to safely tuck away files that were for her eyes only. Black projects and Intelligence documents were the staple of her days in order to find a solution for the Corellian problem. The surveillance footage of her husband's attacker was the last to go, wanting to sharpen her focus on what was at stake today. A reminder of what happens when things go unchecked.

"Come," she ordered, and the two assigned Imperial Knights who had been stoically standing on opposites walls of the room fell in step behind her.

Their destination was one of the large conference rooms where Miranda held smaller deliberations with her Moffs, and now Salem Ave and his party were currently being escorted there. It was a strikingly white room with black trim and monitors. A preference of the Empress as it made her stand out, forcing eyes to gaze upon her. Since her inauguration, Miranda had redesigned her Grand Moff's uniform to jet black unlike the standard olive and had forsaken the stiff flares on the pants. Although she no longer wore a rank bar, her code cylinders had been updated for her current station and the symbol of the Empire had been embroidered on the left shoulder. It gave Miranda an imposing visage despite being petite.

She arrived before her guests and stood before the large monitor at the head of the table. Blue eyes narrowed towards the door, and waited with her guards, hoping that Salem and his delegation were enjoying the 'tour' through the grand palace. Knowing you were inside an opponents territory mattered little until you had to walk through endless reminders of where you were. Miranda wanted to make it absolutely clear that they were at her home and she would use its presence to intimidate and command this discussion if needed.

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

The merest whisper from the Empress was a shout heard across the galaxy, and loyal ears obeyed until death.

Matatek Sel Vissica had scarcely managed to mend her wounds from the incident on Pallaxides before she and the rest of the Knight contingent were summoned to stand by the Empress herself. To the credit of the Imperial medics, the Selonian was back in battle condition by the time the transport had touched down on Coruscant. Not that battle was expected, but the Knights of the Imperial Throne were weapons - each within reach of the hand that controlled them. If Miranda Tarkin wished to display her sheathed swords, this too was divine mandate.

And no small display would it be. Her armor gleamed. Her coat glistened. The Selonian even put effort into standing a little taller than she normally did. Traversing on two legs was no problem for a Selonian, but over time it was less and less comfortable. Their musteloid spines normally had a little slack in their posture when on two feet to compensate for the strain, but until she was dismissed, Vissica would account for every inch of her towering height. She'd rather die than diminish her presence as the Empress's right hand.

Flanking Empress Tarkin on the other side was none other than Kyle Rayner, though the Selonian didn't dare so much as move her eyes in his direction as she stood to attention. He too had passed through the crucible at Pallaxides, and to the surprise of many he had served with distinction. The Empress had demanded her heroes, and one did not question the Empress on this matter or any other.

Now, they stood waiting. Waiting for the enemy. First Minister Salem Ave of the so-called Alliance of Free Planets. Even invoking his name in her mind caused a coal fire to stoke in her belly. Traitor. The foremost traitor of them all, coming here to speak with the Empress as if he were an equal. The only thought of solace that prevented a growl from spilling past her lips was the hope that Miranda Tarkin would ask her to administer justice.

Death to Traitors
Gloria Imperium
For the Queen of My Queen

[Salem Ave]

The path that they took through the Palace could not have been the most efficient, but it was most definitely the most impressive. In the fan of diplomats that followed in his wake, there were murmurs at the sight of the high, vaulted ceilings and the seemingly endless corridors, whose scale was unlike anything most had ever seen, as majestic as it was profane. His eyes didn't wander across the familiar architecture and after an indecent moments gaping, the diplomatic delegation at his heel remembered the Minister's words cautioning them to match his own detachment.

The décor had changed, but Salem knew the place well enough. It felt different, of course. There was... tension in the air. It was a testament to the control the Empress exerted that the Alliance delegation progressed through the Palace hallways without incident.

They were ushered into a large room with dazzling white walls inset with gleaming black monitors. Ahead, a young woman stood waiting, guarded by... non-humans? That was.. unexpected, but then who was he to know what to expect? No doubt there were many who had seen the rise of Miranda Tarkin to her current state of office as a surprise. Salem considered her, solid-white eyes taking in every detail.

As if to mirror the Empress, four figures fell into flanking position on either side of the Minister.

The first was a stout Paladin of Onderon, a forest-green half cloak draped over one shoulder and a stiff cap on his battle-scarred head. The second wore the raiment of the Cizerack Pride, lean and lithe, her fur a radiant bronze striped with copper. The third stood a head taller than her feline counterpart, gleaming in blue and gold plate of the Hapan Chume'doro. The last was a proud son of Dac with mottled salmon skin. Clothed in the tapered pearl uniform of the Mon Calamari Guard, he held his head highest of all, his liquid black and yellow eyes fixed firmly on the face of the Empress.

The only uniformity among them was their stance, as they stood with their hands crossed at the smalls of their backs, and the starbird that had been worked into each of their uniforms.

For his part, the Minister wore no armour, instead favouring a dark suit. A pin of the Alliance starbird perched on his lapel.

Salem took a step forward, separating himself from the protection of his guard.

The weight of the silence was heavy.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Empress What's-her-name. Hal had thus far faked an allegiance to her, but never in his wildest dreams did he imagine he would literally be standing directly beside her. That sort of thing only happened in cheesy fan-written stories about holomovie characters, or in exceptionally hack-ish comic books. The hero never got that lucky, did he?

Yet there he was, standing in his perfectly pressed uniform, paws clasped behind his back, a few adhesive bandages and sutures on his left forehead and temple, while his left eye remained slightly swollen from having been blackened. Despite its reputation as a luxury resort world, Pallaxides had been far from a pleasant holiday for the Nehantite, as further bandages on his arm and around his ankle spoke of, beneath his uniform. How he had been selected over one of the other actual Knights for such an honored duty, he honestly could not tell, and if they knew who he really was, surely he wouldn't have been allowed within a thousand kilometers of the so-called Empress. But they didn't know, that much was for certain. All his hard work, his careful attention to detail and the bonds he had forged with his superior Knights and fellow cadets had built trust among the Empire. Trust of a man who could only barely keep himself from doing the thing he desired most in all the galaxy: getting revenge upon the Empire for ruining everything he had ever held dear, or even just mildly appreciated for that matter.

It would be so easy. He wouldn't even need the blaster at his side, he could simply reach out with the force, grab this poncey bint's head and yank it around backwards. So simple, so clean. Halajiin Rabeak, last of the true old Jedi Order, assassinating the head of the Empire. The Alliance would sing his name for eternity - or at least until Imperial forces broke the truce and went on the offensive to get their own revenge.

That very thought was all which stayed his actions. Killing Emperess Bimbo would be a single death, no matter the importance of her status, but it would set off a series of shockwaves which would no doubt rattle the galaxy to its core, heaving it into a war where billions, possibly trillions of innocents would die. He would not trade the life of Miss Thang on the throne next to him for the life of a smelly, filthy, asthmatic old Rodian pandhandler, or anyone else for that matter. So he stood there, projecting an air both arrogant and aloof, watching as the supreme delegate of the Alliance entered. Would he notice how supremely odd it was that a Nehantite was serving the Empire? Would there be a Nehantite among the delegation who might blow Hal's cover? Hundreds of questions flooded Hal's mind in that moment, but his outward visage remained unchanged. Worries dissipated as no Nehantite came into view, instead a human - one Hal didn't know.

You don't know a lot of things, do you? Hal's base natures asked.

That's not true. I know a lot of things, I just don't know this particular thing. His higher reasoning snipped in reply. Now shut up, I'm pretty sure we're about to bear witness to something really, really, really important.

I want popcorn.

[Miranda Tarkin]

She regarded each member of the delegation one by one, making note that the representative of Dac's stare could have burned a hole through her heart. His rage was palpable through the Force and it felt deliciously exquisite to be the cause of it. Her husband and knights had suffered, so if her mere presence had caused some of the Alliance delegation to suffer too? All the better.

Now eyes fell upon the Minister as Miranda stepped away from her guards to address him. "Minister Ave. Delegates. Welcome to Imperial Center."

A hand swept partly in front of her as invitation as servants arrived with pitchers of water and juice and several trays of meat, cheese and fruits from various systems within Imperial Space. The Empress may have wanted to instill fear and awe as the delegation had moved through the chambers of this great palace, but she was no barbarian, as many in the Alliance would lay claim. This was to be a civilized discussion and the Alliance had traveled far to conduct business at the heart of the Empire itself.

"Please sit. Refresh yourselves after the long flight." Miranda's lowered her hand and clasped it behind her back, waiting for her guests to take a seat or provide commentary. She was curious how the four representatives respected the Minister. Would they follow his lead to the fullest? Interrupt with allegations from the past? Find this meeting a waste of time? Or would they lay blame that the Empire stage this attack as some conspiracy? Who was to say ...

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

The Knights of the Imperial Throne were many things to the Empress. Certainly they were her protectors, but also too were they her Hand, executing her will where it mattered most. There were other talents afforded to Her Majesty's servants that were fruitful, but less obvious. Through diligent training in the force, they acted as eyes to the unseen.

There was little chance Empress Tarkin would call upon Lady Vissica to mete out final judgment against any of these traitors. In the place of that sacred duty and in understanding that Vissica and Kyle's presence spoke to the egalitarian might of Her Empire, the Empress's Knights could observe the unseen.

The Mon Calamari's enmity to the Empress was open like a book to Vissica. She could feel his anger against her as if he wore it branded on his flesh. The Cizerack, by contrast, was a careful creature. She carried no thoughts of hatred, though Vissica could smell the stink of deceit upon her. So too with the Hapan, whose thoughts lay almost equally with Minister Ave as they did with the Empress. An intrigue? Perhaps. The Onderonian man kept his mind in order, focused singularly upon presenting his faction as a bulwark that demanded the Empress's respect.

Lady Vissica's whiskers rose and fell upon each intrusion, winding the air for the scent of emotions that may betray Empress Tarkin's enemies.

And of Minister Ave?

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

The Selonian Knight's gaze focused upon the prince of traitors and his unsettling eyes. What were his inentions? Where was his heart? For all of her talents, Lady Vissica could not scratch the veneer.

This unsettled her.

[Salem Ave]

“There will be no need for refreshments... or pleasantries.” Salem thrust a hand out, fingers splayed, and the Force exploded from his palm. The shock-wave tossed each of the guards, including his own, head over heel, bowling them into the corners of the immaculate suite. There were grunts and gasps as they tried to rise, but the Dark Side pinned them in their place.

Arm still outstretched, he pinched the air and lifted – and in that subtle motion, something snapped around the Empress's throat with the strength and chill of a durasteel vice. It lifted her into the air, as Salem Ave crossed the distance between them in the blink of an eye, a ripple, like a snake darting through grass.

The skeletal death's head of Darth Callidus emerged from within the Minister's features: eye-sockets darkening, every angle of his face sharpening into something gaunt and monstrous. Shadow bled like ink into the corners of his white eyes, until there was nothing but darkness there. Empty black eyes staring into her soul.

“Miranda Tarkin... you have failed this Galaxy.”

Salem blinked and the image - glimpsed by him alone, in his mind - was gone. The room and its occupants remained untouched. His expression remained impassive, his blood running as cold as ever. “Thank you for hospitality,” he said, acknowledging the offering with a respectful nod.

He turned his head a fraction and said, more softly: “At ease.”

With the command given, the guards did not move though Salem took a seat, as invited.

“And thank you for accepting my invitation to meet. It is only... a pity that it has taken so long.”

[Miranda Tarkin]

Her knights employed their talents to gauge the motivations of their guests. Miranda's sensitivity to the use of the Force in the immediate area was growing, but she had no knowledge of what had gone through the Minister's mind, nor that their paths that had paralleled for so long were about to converge - and not merely for this meeting.

Like the Minister, Miranda took a seat as her guards remained standing at attention. None of them wanted to even the playing field unlike their leaders.

"I suppose it is," she remarked.

During the negotiations, Miranda had been on Imperial Center and joined the talks by holo. It was deemed necessary in case the Alliance, or their own insurgents, staged an assassination attempt. The Empire couldn't afford to lose another leader, despite certain traitors that like to believe otherwise. Yet even by holo, she and Salem still had not spoken one word together. Odd considering their respective stations in opposing governments.

"But we are here now." Half smiling, she folded her hands together atop the table. "And once again, we find ourselves at another impasse. This time, with weapons that are not so easily regulated."

[Salem Ave]

Salem watched the Empress as she moved, as she spoke. He had seen her before, of course; on HoloNet broadcasts or in propaganda posters, striking a pose of command and respect. He'd heard the scant few speeches that she had given to her people, delivered eloquently and with acute insight. This was different, however. Their meeting had been staged, the set dressed to maximum effect, but where ordinarily, the Empire dictated, now the Empress was engaging in a dialogue. A conversation.

The Minister reclined somewhat in his chair. After a moment's consideration, he said, "I've not heard the Jedi described as such before."

[Miranda Tarkin]

"Did I say Jedi?" she asked and touched the controls to the holodisplay, curious if that were an admission of guilt.

The projection showed the devastation left in the wake of the Force User that had caused havoc and panic on Pallaxides. Captured images inside the Star Breeze's cockpit were seen, most notably the lifeless legs of the two owners in view with documentation of where their decapitated heads had been found. Next came the devastation in Pallaxides Paddock - the bodies that were decimated by varying freed species, blood caked the walkways, splattered against the ground and walls as one particular view had caught one assistant in the state of absolute fear as he ran from the intercepting Rancor. The very last image was of the man found dead in the Paddock Control Room by apparent suicide. It had been the initial theory that Brack had purposefully let the beasts free and ended his life soon after. But as more and more reports came in of the demonic Force User, it was easy to string together what really had happened.

"Over 30 citizens died that day. Let alone the 100 that were injured during this one attack, including my husband..."

She progressed to the next image. It was not well lit and quite blurred, but it was easy to make out the image of man wearing a mask entering the TaggCo research center on planet.

"... were by the hands of this man. He's not one of ours and thus far we've determined he's not yours." She shrewdly regarded the Minister. "Unless there's something you'd like to share today?"

[Salem Ave]

Right to the meat of the matter then, Salem thought.

"A tragic loss of life."

Salem spoke the words without emotion. As plainly as if he were reporting that the colour of the walls was white. He had seen the reports on the Pallaxides attack already. the words 'terrorist' and 'Jedi' had been bandied about dangerously closely together in the same sentence. Even now, however, he was seeing only what the Empire had chosen to show him. It wasn't that he doubted the veracity of the claim that a figure, clearly capable of using the Force, had attacked the resort world; he was however all too aware of the sophisticated propaganda machine that worked behind the scenes of the Empire.

"You may be certain that this... individual is not acting on behalf of the Alliance or, to our knowledge, with the support of the Jedi."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

"But this individual still had training in the use of the Force. Extensive training, at that." Hal's words came with all the subtlety of a hammer. It was not within protocol for a bodyguard to speak out of turn, especially in audience with the Empress, but he could not keep silent on that point.

"It is known that your Jedi have in their company those who escaped the purge, and we know that others went into hiding in what is now Alliance space. What we encountered on Pallaxides is not what is taught among the Imperial Knights, and there is no other sanctioned use of the Force within the Empire. Be this monster with you or not, the odds are high that he originated and was trained in your space. You say he's not acting on your behalf, or with the Jedi's support, but you don't say you don't know who this beast is, or where he hails from."

There was anger behind the Nehantite's words, that much was certain, but what was not clear was the direction of his anger. Out of everyone in the room, he was the only one who knew with absolute certainty that what he fought on Pallaxides was not anything trained or prepared by any of the current Jedi, but he also recognized elements - old elements - of powers known to the Jedi of old, and to the Sith as well. With the Empire's campaign to eradicate both factions within Empire space, it was only logical that this monster had crept in from wherever he had been trained in secret on the Alliance side. Was there some pocket of Sith remaining? Could he have been trained by the witches of Dathomir? Or was the answer even more brutally simple than that: was that monster simply a powerful mercenary who did not appeal to any one side, and sought only power? Of all the answers, that was the most frightening, as there could be no predicting where he would strike next.

Empire or Alliance factions aside, Hal dreaded the further loss of life such a man could wreak.

[Salem Ave]

An icy stillness, at stark contrast with the heat of Hal's words, settled briefly over the room. If the Nehantite's outburst had inspired any emotion in Salem Ave, however, it was absent from his expression. The Minister regarded the Imperial Knight for a moment, wondering how exactly it was that a Nehantite had found his way into the Imperial Guard, though when Ave spoke his reply was addressed directly to the Empress.

“We have no idea who he is.. or where he came from,” Salem lied.

He had seen the dossier prepared, many moons ago, by the Director of Alliance Intelligence, Grace Van-Derveld. It was a brief yet scathing file, detailing her estranged - and clearly deranged - brother's dishonorable discharge from the Imperial Stormtrooper Corps in the aftermath of the Battle of Hoth. That wasn't the story that Salem told, however.

“Our intelligence analysts believe there may be some connection between this assault and an incident that took place on Doldur (http://sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?17752-Signs-and-Portents-Mirror-On-the-Wall&highlight=vega+miranda), a number of years ago.”

Salem had no shocking holographic aid to jog his audiences memories, yet he suspected this was a memory Miranda Tarkin would have no difficulty in recalling.

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

Lady Vissica kept her tongue on a leash far better than her comrade. The only change in her demeanor at Kyle Rayner's impudence was a stolen glance in his direction before returning her eyes forward to her Empress's guests.

Whether Kyle's words held wisdom or not was irrelevant. This was Empress Tarkin's place to speak. Any words supporting or refuting the claims of these rebels must be given to her discretely. It served no purpose to show such discord in the presence of enemies.

[Miranda Tarkin]

If her guard's outburst had any effect on Miranda, it surely wasn't visible. She held her distaste for the scene and merely rose the hand on side with Kyle to silence him. She could feel Lady Vissica's disdain for his behavior and would speak with them privately about proper etiquette involved in speaking out of turn. It's not that she was tyrannical. Quite the contrary in fact when it came to input. She appreciated Rayner's anger over this mystery abuser - just that there was decorum required to grant Kyle the floor when in the presence of an Alliance delegation.

A fledgling in the Force, Miranda was unable to read the lie but was almost certain that Salem was hiding some measure of truth. Yet that was overshadowed by memories of her attacker on Doldur. The unnamed masked force user that wanted to kill her and when her twin, and her allies, had rescued her. It seems that even now the ghost of her sister's presence would still haunt her. She wanted to petulantly demand for Navaria's whereabouts. To capture every last Alliance representative and torture them until they gave her what she wanted! Damn her people and the transgressions forced upon them by this monster! She wanted her sister now!

Instead, Miranda lowered her hand and studied the captured image, seeing traces of familiarity. The slender frame had bulked in considerable muscle but the ghastly, white skin with tendril blue veins had not changed at all. She zoomed in and felt her heart clench in memory at those lifeless eyes staring her down when his abrasive voice boomed out her name in condemnation years ago.

Sevon's pet. Damn. After all this time he's alive.

She keyed a message to her assistant to bring up the old records that remained of Sevon's experimentations to unmask this thing's identity. It would probably turn up empty like it had years ago, but it was worth to revisit.

"I can see the resemblance, yes," she conceded. "But even after the attack, even severely wounded, the Empire was unable to locate him. The same has occurred once again."

She powered down the image and regarded Salem. "This is a problem. We cannot leave this brute, or any others, unchecked."

[Salem Ave]

Was it wrong to take some satisfaction from the knowledge that the vast, monolithic Empire could not capture a single, injured assassin? Though Salem inclined his head at Miranda's words, he did not explicitly agree with her. This brute, or others, she'd said. It was the 'others' that gave him cause to think twice. He folded his hands in his lap, considering the peculiar figures of the Imperial Knights before he posed a question.

“And how would the Empire propose to proceed in this matter?”

[Miranda Tarkin]

"To expand on the services of the Imperial Knights. Allow more ... liberties where they operate," she suggested quickly. "Not only highly skilled soldiers, they've been trained to defend against Force Users, and I'm convinced that the trail went cold when this particular fugitive escaped Imperial territory. Our jurisdiction only goes so far after all ..."

It was said with a polite smile because either side knew what it would meant to be caught crossing borders in this time of forced peace. The Empire and the Alliance both knew that using the Starkiller missiles upon each other was a lethal nightmare, but there were some itching for an excuse to use them.

"We need to find common ground and allow our people to do what's necessary to keep this populace in check."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Talk. Talk talk talk, so many words, but no one was saying what they truly meant. Halajiin Rabeak had always hated diplomacy, as it seemed that both sides would always send the person least suited to the task, in hopes of tricking the other side by virtue of boredom or sheer luck. If Hal wanted a sandwich, he would simply say he wanted a sandwich, not dance around the concept of theoretical deli meats, the prospect of pickles and lettuce, vague notions of tomato, neatly folded between slices of mutually beneficial bread. No, I want a sandwich, you can make a sandwich, I will give you money for the sandwich, and we are done. Come to think of it, perhaps sandwich artists should be the new form of delegate. They might wind up just as boring, but at least no one would be hungry at the end.

But there were no sandwiches, no sandwich artists, and all Hal had eaten all day was another wretched plate of meal cubes. To his knowledge, his outburst had been the only actually interesting thing to happen in the entire conversation, and it had served to at least speed things up and get both sides to the point, whuch they had seemed quite keen on avoiding until that point. Sure, he'd get reprimanded, and have to do physical punishment (because that's all that Vissica could ever seem to dream up. Were it Palara, an essay might be involved, but Vissica only knew the physical, it seemed.), but to Hal it was worth it. And, as he was sure to get in trouble as it was, the Nehantite decided it might not be unwise to double down on infractions at the moment.

This Salem character was someone he had never met, or even heard of, but if he represented the Alliance and was here about a matter involving a Force adept, surely that meant he would be able to get in touch with the Jedi. After months of isolation on Coruscant since his capture on Phindarr, Hal finally found an avenue through which he could communicate to Ossus.

While the delegates spoke, Hal retained his calm, yet slightly annoyed expression, while inside his own mind he spun up gears he had not worked in some time. The Nehantite brain was considered primitive and undeveloped by most races, when it came to the subject of telepathy, and Hal would not deny that assessment even the tiniest of bits. To attempt to read one's mind resulted in a headache for both parties which grew more severe the longer it went on, and even telepathic messages would not be wholly without discomfort. But he had to try. Aiming soley for Salem's mind, Hal kept his message as brief as possible.

"Sir, I am sorry, this will give you a mild headache, but please do not make it apparent to the others. Many months ago, the Jedi lost one of their own inside Imperial space on an Alliance intelligence mission. That was me, Halajiin Rabeak, the furry yellow one. I have been hiding in the ranks of the Imperial Knights under a false identity, but I don't know how long I can keep it up. I need assistance in escape from Coruscant. I am gathering intel while I am here, but my days are surely numbered. Tell the Jedi that Hal is alive."

It was a longer message than he had hoped, but it was as concise as he could make it. Hal only prayed that it got through, and that this Salem character would know what to do with it.

[Salem Ave]

At the moment that Halajin's voice entered his mind, Salem was – not for the first time – grateful for the fact this eyes would never give away the focus of his attention. Their pure-white colouring, free from any distinguishable pupil, gave him the solid foundations of an excellent Sabacc face and a career in politics had done the rest.

He paused a moment to consider both his next words and the implication of a Jedi posing as a member of the Empress's elite guards.

“I hear what you're saying,” he began, answering both the Nehantite and the Empress.

“Of course - as you say - the Imperial Knights cannot be permitted access to Alliance territories, however competent they may be. That does not discount the potential for there to be a degree of... co-operation between us, however.”

As he spoke, Salem could almost hear the roar of disapproval from the floor of the Alliance Senate.

“Our intelligence agencies, for instance, would be better equipped to deal with this threat were they to have access to Imperial data banks.”

[Miranda Tarkin]

The Empire gaining access to Alliance data banks was a glaring omission, though she was certain Salem was implying that the information would flow both ways.

The Empress leaned back in the high back seat with a bemused smile. "We're here, together, because of a common threat. Not unlike the agreement of a ceasefire. To suggest that level of acceptance so soon is quite idealistic, Minister Ave. No. Other arrangements will have to be considered with Imperial Knight involvement. The level of threat we're up against requires their expertise."

[Salem Ave]

The smile on the Empress's face was not matched by her counterpart. The Arkanian's eyes wandered over the faces of the Knights as he spoke.

"That is a matter that I will have to discuss in more detail with my colleagues in the Alliance Senate. Certainly, the discussion would be easier if you were to provide me with a more in-depth understanding of the inner-workings of the Imperial Knights... how are they recruited, how are they trained, to whom to they answer."

[Miranda Tarkin]

Viable information to bring back to the Alliance so they could discuss it in greater detail while the Empire received nothing in return. No. That would not do at all.

"I can provide a point of contact for you but that is all. A show of good faith if you will. But, the Alliance would have to provide something in return if this is going to work, because all I've heard suggested so far is what information the Empire can give the Alliance. This is to work both ways, Minister."

It made it appear that this meeting was to dig for Imperial information so the Alliance could have a strategy against her Knights, let alone the bold suggestion of gaining access to their databases. She felt that the Minister was not going for that but so far that was unintentionally being projected.

[Salem Ave]

“Indeed.”

An apology was born and died on the tip of Salem's tongue, unspoken. He held the gaze of the Empress without blinking.

“To the heart of the matter, then. Tell me what it is that the Empire wants... and the concessions that you are willing to make in return.”