A Lesson in Applying Historical Events to Contemporary Strategic Decision-Making

[Ivy]

Today was important.

Extensive analysis confirmed as much for Ivy. It was important based on a variety of assessment criteria. It was important because of what organic units called a "first impression". It was important for demonstrating his ability and viability as a member of the Citadel teaching staff; and also in fostering a compliance and willingness to learn in the Cadets of his class. That in turn was important for establishing his "cover", ensuring his ability to move freely about the Citadel and assist Unit Jibral whenever required.

There was more to it than that though, a leftover fragment of miscalculated code that did not quite align with what Ivy's operating system considered logical. It was important because, for the first time since he had been liberated from the Separatist Droid Army by the Galactic Republic, the situation felt as if it fulfilled something close to Ivy's intended function. He had been constructed to lead armies; to function as a General on behalf of the Confederacy of Independent Systems. The Republic and the Empire had thoroughly scrubbed his prior loyalties from his operating system, but that intended purpose still lingered. Yes, he had used his tactical analysis subroutines to benefit the Empire, the Black Archives, and Unit Jibral on occasion. His programming was certainly put to some sort of use. But it was as an advisor, not a leader.

Ivy wondered if Unit Jibral knew; wondered if this was intended as some sort of reward for his performance. Ivy was not programmed to respond to such an organic concept, and yet he found it acceptable. More than acceptable. It was a situation where the positive factors vastly outweighed the negatives. His skills were being applied more efficiently and more correctly than they had before. A class of Cadets was a far cry from a battalion of battle droids, but it was an improvement. The error in his operational parameters had shrunk. It was... nice.

On the subject of Unit Jibral, Ivy was aware of his absence. It was logical that he be there, to assist if it was required; and Ivy had calculated a high statistical likelihood that he would attend. That he had not was erroneous, and vexing. Ivy's predominant calculation was that Unit Jibral was attempting to engage in the organic practice of indirect sentimental communication, using his absence to project confidence in Ivy's ability to execute this mission - this lesson - without need for backup or contingency. Ivy found that choice to be outside the acceptable parameters for operational risk factors; but such was the scenario he was faced with, and his operating system would merely need to adapt.

Standing stoically at the front of the lecture hall, dactyl manipulators clasped behind his back, Ivy moved subtly and occasionally to avoid the appearance of being offline, and watched as his students slowly filed into class.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Today was just another day.

Another day of getting up early, giving himself a good stretch and a nice scratch after rolling out of bed, then stumbling into his sonic shower. With the rare exception of field assignments, it was the same morning which Hal had grown used to in the Citadel, and even the view out the window of his private accommodations no longer gave him the thrill it had when he'd first arrived back at the old Jedi Temple. No, there was nothing special about today, Hal told himself, tugging on his shirt and trousers, then lacing up his boots. It'd be another day of classroom lessons, then some physical training, followed by either more classes, or practical skills application, then a few hours of down time before bed. The same as it had been for six months.

A quick stop at the mirror found Hal working styling wax into his headfur, and combing it neatly into place. In that moment he transformed from Halajiin Rabeak, Jedi Knight, into Kyle Rayner, Imperial Knight Cadet. Then it was off for breakfast, followed by the first of his morning classes.

The hallways ebbed and flowed with bodies as the time ran by, everyone on their own precise schedule, and every cadet knowing where he or she needed to be. This morning would be the first day of a new class, and while Hal had forgotten what the class was even to be about, he at least knew to be on time for it. Datapad and stylus in paw, he filtered into the classroom and took an open seat, only then looking up to see that there wasn't an instructor, but a droid.

Great. First day of class and already the instructor was out, or sick, or whatever, so they had a substitute bot. Hal's brain prepared itself for incoming daydreams.

[Jeryd Redsun]

"Jed."

It came from behind. A small voice amongst the crowd, made clear only by his tedious familiarity with it. He kept walking.

"Jed!"

Louder, now. And sounding a little out of breath. He turned a corner, and narrowly avoided a squad of cadets marching double time down the corridor.

"Hey, Jed! Oof!"

There was an awkward clatter that stopped Jeryd in his tracks. He turned just in time to see the marching cadets vanish around the corner, leaving their victim, Nebbil Hoob, to deal with the consequences of his own inherent clumsiness. In a few strides, he closed the distance between them, picked up a fallen data pad, then helped Nebbil to his feet. The datapad was thrust into his chest, and Jeryd was once again on the move.

"I waited for you," he said, "Where the hell did you go?"

"I was in the 'fresher."

"Still?" Jeryd's disbelief remained forward-facing, "Well, you've made us both late."

"Well... it's your fault."

"Here we go."

"If you hadn't talked me into trying that... that..."

"Thousand Spice Flambooma," Jeryd shook his head, "You need to grow yourself some balls, Neb."

"What I need is to grow myself a new arsehole, Jeryd," Nebbil hissed, "Thousand Spice Flambooma? Yeah, no kidding. I felt every single one of them on the way out."

Jeryd felt the corners of his mouth pulling themselves against his better judgement. The flambooma was a famous dish that traced its origins back to Tattooine, where everything was hot and would probably kill you. Back home, he and his brother, Aryn, would compete to see who could endure their father's flambooma longest, before reaching for the water. He probably should've known that his buddy, Nebbil, was no match for the mighty constitution of the Redsun boys. Okay, so he had known. And it was totally worth it.

When they finally arrived at the lecture hall, Jeryd was relieved to discover that there were still some cadets yet to arrive. He stepped inside, and stopped so suddenly that Nebbil bumped into him. Is that...? He recovered quickly, prompted forward by the collision, and passed by the droid at the front of the hall. No, not any droid. Ivy. The surprise was buried deep, at once, replaced by genuine curiosity. He wanted to go over to him, to say 'hello,' and find out what he was doing there in the first place. But he couldn't. For, as far as everyone else was concerned, Jeryd Redsun had never seen this droid before. And it had to stay that way. So, instead, he glanced back to his buddy, and jerked a thumb in Ivy's direction.

"What's with the droid, huh?"

Nebbil shrugged. Even to someone as curious as him, a droid was just a droid.

And there was Kyle Rayner. Sitting on his own again. Asshole.

If it wasn't for the fact that he was an intolerable smart mouth, who seemed to take an especial pleasure in annoying him, then perhaps Jeryd would feel even a modicum of pity for the guy. And, judging by Kyle's perpetual state of being alone, it was clear he wasn't the only cadet who felt that way. There it was, again. That bastard conscience, niggling away at the walls of his stubbornness. He sighed. Maybe it was time to try and make things work with the little furball. They were all in it together, after all, and besides, Kyle Rayner had skills. Jeryd respected that about him. He was like one of those vintage superspeeders: fast around the circuit, but probably smelled of feet. A fixer-upper.

So, he and Nebbil both made their way towards him, sidling along the empty row until he squeezed past, and chose the neighbouring seat. And, as he sat, Jeryd let rip a thunderous fart that resounded throughout the lecture hall. A moment of stunned silence, as every cadet rubbernecked in their direction. Not missing a beat, Jeryd turned to his neighbour, a picture of disbelief.

"Jeez, Rayner! Really?" Then it hit him, the aromatic aftershocks of the Thousand Spice Flambooma, and his face twisted with disgust, "Seven hells, that's rank! Go see a doctor, man!"

He stood, and tactically retreated down the row with Nebbil, who was behind him, probably making apologetic puppy-dog eyes at his old friend, Kyle. Once they were seated, he resisted the urge to look back, and instead clamped down on his own shit-eating grin.

[Xi Vanadís]

Ugh.

Xi Vanadís looked up from her datapad just long enough to confirm the identities of the Cadets making a scene. Hoob. Redsun. Rayner. Her expression momentarily adjusted into one of abject disgust, more at the Cadets themselves than at the stink they'd caused, before slackening back into it's usual mask of mildly hostile apathy.

There were many things to detest about the Citadel. The fact that they were all squatting in Palpatine's old basement was bad enough, but that the Citadel had once been the Jedi Temple irked her greatly. The fact that the halls were haunted by It was as if the Imperial Knights were trying too hard. Look at us. Look at how we've replaced those dastardly Jedi Knights and their traitorous ways. Marvel at how legitimate we are. Bask in our appropriated trappings of status. It was, in a word, lame.

Those three, though? They, along with almost all of the other Cadets she had met so far, were the dictionary definition of the term. Hoob was just plain cowardly. Redsun was the kind of jackass who thought he was more charming and capable than he really was. Rayner was practically indescribable; there wasn't a single negative descriptor that couldn't be applied to him somehow. And people wondered why Vanadís kept to herself; wondered why she buried herself in her studies, and her computer systems, avoiding the insufferable moments when she was unavoidably forced to endure her fellow students. It was a testament to her willpower that none of the Cadets had turned up dead yet under mysterious circumstances.

At least their tutor was a droid; today, at least. Vanadís liked droids. They followed simple rules. Thought in understandable ways. Didn't do stupid things that they weren't programmed to, or drop noxious gas bombs in the middle of lecture halls. Didn't broadcast their emotions in a constant background ambiance of everything from nerves, to arrogance, to teenage lust. Vanadís had read about the Clone Wars, and frankly it sounded like heaven. Even the Republic, with it's hyper obedient clones, programmed for compliance since birth, would have been a welcome reprieve from the world that Vanadís had been subjected to; but it was the Separatists, with their vast armies of mechanoids, entire starships with barely a living soul aboard, that had seemed most welcoming to her mind.

So sure, there was the whole betraying the galactic government thing, and the siding with greedy, slimy, furry, filthy non-humans thing. That alone would have been enough to ensure Vanadís stayed loyal to the Republic; and that same aversion was what kept her firmly loyal to the Empire without even the faintest contemplation of running off to the Alliance, or worse to go live in the jungle with a bunch of Jedi refugees. Vanadís was happy where she was. Not happy, but happy, you know?

Vanadís let out a sigh that began in the very depths of her soul, and went back to scrolling through her datapad, waiting for their tutor - a droid, thank the gods - to impose some semblance of discipline on the class.

[Onika Zepparah]

There was a lot to get used to for a Chiba district halfbreed who'd just landed in the Citadel. Reveille was an hour earlier than she was used to at school. Physical training? A whole different planet. Walking down the hall and passing by columns of Stormtroopers, Imperial officers in uniforms she'd only just begun to differentiate, and greasy-haired politicals with their starched suits and New Order pins? Every fifteen minutes Onika was fighting the urge to duck into a fresher or a maintenance closet, or just slip into the shadows and disappear like she'd done so often back at home. Just this morning a COMPNOR shill in a business suit and her blonde hair in a tight bun had seen her between classes and smiled. Smiled. What was she supposed to do with that?

But at least there was one thing that was familiar, and that was class. Class still dominated her days just like it had back at Tarkin Memorial. Class meant she could melt into the crowd, just another girl in a school uniform, sitting somewhere in the back with her head bowed so her candy-pink face wasn't as noticeable. That was her whole guiding philosophy as long as the Imperial Knights insisted on the ludicrous fantasy that she could make it as one of their cadets. Just don't be noticed. Maybe that way they wouldn't realize when she was gone.

She had held back away from the door as the main body of students trickled into the classroom, but made sure to enter before she could be considered a straggler. She quickly read the composition of the room - the usual cliques who sat together, the usual drifters who held themselves apart. There was the weird furry one who was old enough that it seemed strange to share a class with him. At least he meant she wouldn't be the most alien being in the room, and he tended to draw so much attention that all she had to do was stay away to gain camouflage by proxy. Then there was the sullen fuzz-headed girl who seemed to loathe everyone and everything in the immediate vicinity. Yeah, not going near there. Onika's ruby-red eyes drifted to the right side of the fourth row - practically empty. She could sit at the end and be a whole five seats away from the nearest cadet, with Kyle at the opposite end to draw stares.

She slipped into place and laid out her datapad and stylus, one window open to her class notes, another to the series of half-finished and abandoned sketches she'd been doodling during lectures. When the big blonde jock lumbered by with his scrawny, freckled hanger-on, she drew herself in as small as possible. And then came the spot of juvenile classroom theater, with peals of laughter and loud squawking protests. The jock turned the other way, and Onika clutched her datapad and tried to focus all her energies on him: Sit somewhere else sit somewhere else sit somewhere--

Jeryd plopped into the seat next to her with a thump and a creak of plasteel. Onika's fingers uncurled from her datapad, and she sank into her seat, resigned.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

The sun fell directly upon Hal's loose, dry headfur, and would have warmed it were it not for the rush of wind blowing past him as he cruised among the skyscrapers in a brilliant red, topless Fjerarrji speeder. At his side sat a gorgeous blonde woman, whose curves made her barely-there dress feel it was the luckiest square meter of fabric in the galaxy to be wrapped over them. Hal was all smiles behind his Giovanna sunglasses, shielding his pink eyes from the sun, as well as the sparkle of his diamond-encrusted wristwatch, while a thousand-credit silk shirt flapped in the breeze, half-unbottoned to bare much of his magnificently-sculpted chest.

"Where are we going today, baby?" the blonde asked, her hands wrapped around his right arm as to draw confidence and security as she so clearly needed a big, strong, rich, powerful man to complete herself.

Hal grinned, flicking the speeder into a dive before seamlessly leveling back out and hanging a right toward a massive casino resort tower. "Think we're gonna go break the bank at this place, kitten," he replied. He didn't know her name. It was probably something like Candi, Kelli, Misti, or Hildegard - or any of the other perfectly suited to the vapid, beautiful, swimsuit calendar model sort. "Then maybe I'll invent a new year for you, so you can sell even more calendars."

The bimbo smiled, no sign of intelligence behind her plastic features, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. "Oh, honeykins, you're the best, richest, most handsome, most talented in bed, most daring, luckiest, smartest person in the galaxy!"

"I know, babe," Hal smiled. A swoop down onto the valet pad, and his nose wrinkled. Had some heavy truck just passed by and he hadn't noticed? Garfife, this casino reeked! It smelled like a -

In that moment, Hal's daydream vanished entirely, replaced by a sulpherous cloud of oppressive, omipresent stench which stung his eyes and caused his sensitive nose to wrinkle shut in protest as it burned. "Oh, fuck!" he exclaimed, and moved to wave the fart cloud off, when he realized he'd been set up. All he could do was glare and attempt to not breathe as Jeryd and Nebbil sauntered off back down to sit at the other end of the row. A thousand temptations came to Hal in that moment, his mind shifting gears from daydream to a rapid succession of revenge tactics.

He could give Jeryd the mother of all wedgies, he could trip him, split the seat of his pants, pants him, give him a Force nut-smack, among other ideas, but all would give away his telekinesis, which he'd managed to keep under wraps thus far. No, revenge would have to discrete, silent, and deadly.

Sitting there scowling, the Nehantite formulated an even better plan, drawing upon the tactic which had allowed his escape from the sawmill on Phindarr. Through the Force, he identified the molecules in the air around him, concentrating any which shouldn't be there, and had been supplied by the human's traitorous digestive system. They were wrapped in a layer of nitrogen, compressing the biological weapon into roughly the size of a hypergolf ball, then passed beneath the seats to find the perpetrator's backside. Only there did the bubble of nitrogen split, ejecting its compressed contents straight up.

After all, it was only fair to have he who smelt it turn out to truly be the one who dealt it.

[Jensen Par'Vizal]

Were these his peers? That single horrific thought kept echoing as he watched the other cadets and their shenanigans from a suitable perch near the back of the auditorium. It was like watching the miserable ingrates in the drunk tank across from his holding cell all over again except these people were smaller, somehow louder, and... Well better smelling was questionable at best. Knight Jibral - or whatever fancy title that guy toted about - was to blame for this. He'd been perfectly happy about to be lost to Coruscant's penal system but nooo, someone at the Empire had taken an interest in his rather blatant if not unfortunate abilities and had given him an ultimatum and well, here he was.

There was a certain benefit to being the designated FNG among the cadets. He hadn't bothered to learn most of their names and they hadn't bothered to learn his - yet. With luck that wouldn't change much but since when was luck ever on anyone's side except the chosen few? At least they weren't trying to drag him into whatever nonsense was unfolding that caused a suitable roll of Jensen's eyes towards the ceiling. Merciful Force above save me from these frakking morons.

To spare himself some sanity the new cadet returned his attention to the datapad he had propped against his knee. Jensen hadn't totally blocked everyone out, after all. You had to make allies to survive. If that was true for penitentiary life, then it probably was triple fold in an academy like this.

Vanadís -

Droid a ruse? Here's to hoping a Knight pops out and starts removing tongues. Nail them to the wall as an example.

Jensen allowed himself a slight chuckle at the mental image.

[Xi Vanadís]

The message came through as a soft vibration in her datapad. Her eyes darted in Jensen's direction for a split second, catching a momentary glimpse of the back of his head. Extra effort was dedicated to her carefully crafted mask of apathy, making sure that no reaction or expression managed to sneak its way onto her face as she read the words. A split second later, perfectly synchronised thumbs surged into action, a tandem pattern of tapping hammering out her response.

Tongues? Gross.

Her eyes glanced up at the droid, evaluating the subtly shifting mechanoid figure, searching for signs or tells that Par'Vizal and his theory might be right. Sure, it seemed a little weird that a class would be conducted by an artificial intelligence instead of a real flesh-and-blood instructor. She hadn't heard of anything similar happening with other classes, and it wasn't as if there was anything in the pre-release materials - that she'd only read to gauge how boring and pointless the course was going to be, obviously.

A ruse didn't add up, though. That wasn't some protocol droid standing up there; not some Imperial unit that had been arbitrarily sent to stand in front of them. Maybe this was some sort of warped logic that the Imperial Knights had cooked up. A class on history, taught by an actual piece of history. Kinda made sense, in a weird, stupid, and lame sort of way.

Besides, that's a Super Tactical Droid. As in Separatist. As in Clone Wars.
Doubt the Knights have one of those hanging around for pranks.

[Jeryd Redsun]

"Hey."

No time was wasted in striking up conversation with the new girl. She was cute, in a pink kind of way; the ear cones were a little strange, though. Still, after two months of sharing a communal dormitory with a squad of multi-species cadets, there wasn't much about aliens that freaked him out, anymore. There were some exceptions, however, where tentacles, and extra rows of teeth were concerned, but those were the sorts of aversions he considered healthy.

And, speaking of aversions, if this girl sunk any further into her seat, she was going to end up on the floor. Jeryd took a moment to survey the lecture hall, and its inhabitants. Was it him? With some reluctance, he recalled his first days at the Citadel, and the leagues he'd put between himself and every other person around him. Just thinking of it made him uncomfortable, as if, in rummaging through the dusty shelves of memory, he would somehow dislodge a small niggling doubt that had been left behind. No need to put the new blood through all that, he thought. And he leaned in, to speak in a warm undertone.

"You must be new here, right? I'm..." The smile soured under the influence of a new stench, "...Jeryd."

He could feel his face starting to prickle pink. Where the hell had that come from? He speared Neb with a murderous glance, but Neb was just as dumbfounded. Jeryd's brow knitted in thought. His flatulence had been so potent that it had survived this far. Incredible. Before he turned back to the pink girl, he wrestled his childish amusement into submission. His face became a picture of sincerity.

"I'm sorry. I swear... that wasn't me."

[Onika Zepparah]

"Hey."

It was a noncommittal response, just returning service at this point. Onika wanted to fly under the radar, and you didn't do that by being rude. Still, Jeryd's presence made her uncomfortable. He had that loud, ostentatious, man-about-campus swagger she'd come to associate with the children of the New Order elite, and those tended to relate to her in one of two ways. She wasn't looking forward to finding out which camp Jeryd slotted into.

Her red eyes skated toward him for a moment as she tried to calculate the precise level of fake pleasantry necessary to satisfy his curiosity, and then the smell hit, and she coughed and blinked her watering eyes. "Oh, frelling gods." She covered her nose and mouth in a cupped hand, and then something about the mixture of pride and contrition on Jeryd's face put her over the edge. She tried to stop it, but that just meant the laughter came out as a protracted snort.

She sat up in her seat, shoulders shaking, and cleared her throat and managed to tamp down most of the giggles by the time she pulled away her hand. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

Oh - that was swinging too far the other direction. She grabbed her stylus and started tapping on her latest sketch. It didn't have a face yet - just a humanoid figure, a strapping male, standing as if waiting on a street corner for the next transport. She realized she hadn't given her name yet. Okay, then. He could ask for it if he wanted it.

[Jeryd Redsun]

"Only the prettiest ones."

The words scarcely made it past the rows of white teeth that were boldly on display. Jeryd watched the girl, expectantly, waiting for the flutter of shy laughter, and the blushing that was to follow. After a moment of silence, in which the girl's head remained bowed in studious prayer, he realised something had gone wrong. But she'd given him all the signals: the giggling, the flirtatious remark... the giggling! It had been the perfect setup, and he'd returned the banter like a seasoned pro. So, Pinky had no time for his wit, but found his nasty arse gas hilarious? What was that all about? Slowly, the smile faded in retreat.

"So," he began, then cleared his throat. He leaned over, just enough to catch a glimpse of the sketches on her datapad, "What are you drawing?"

[Firenne Khapst]

The benefit to being one of the last to filter in to the lecture hall was that she could choose her seat with the utmost care.

As with any gathering of her fellow cadets she'd endured until this particular session, Firenne chose to set herself apart. The brunette moved through the space and the other milling students with an efficient, graceful stride, giving a few particular cadets a decidedly wide berth given the noxious fumes they seemed intent on producing. Her expression was even and left no stray thought upon her features to be deciphered, head tilting a fraction to acknowledge the greeting passed to her from an already seated cadet as she moved past.

She slowed and eventually stopped at the end of a mostly empty row and set down her sleek datapad. Fingers smoothed out the uniform gracing her frame before she took her seat, legs crossed at the ankle and back straight as she took in the sight the rest of the room proffered to her vantage point. Dark eyes flicked over the seated cadets and made mental notes of who was seated beside whom and how the social structure seemed to have evolved yet again. Moments like this, Firenne mused, made her miss Korriban and her loyal tuk'ata hound that much more.

Anyone else would have likely given a wistful sigh and stared off into nothing until the droid standing behind the lectern began the programmed instruction. Instead, the woman flicked the switch of her datapad and removed the stylus from it's place, preparing a fresh, blank file for her notes with the date, time, and lecture title at the top.

[Khoovi Wan]

The door opened and closed one last time, admitting a small Shistavanen youngling in full cadet uniform with the cap placed smartly between his ears. His name was Khoovi Wan, and he was ten years old.

He glanced around the lecture hall, and frowned to himself. These places were always so loud and energetic before the classes started, and it took a considerable force of will to keep all that energy from infecting him and pushing him to wander around and discover everything.

"At least I'm not late," he murmured to himself before walking up the stairs to find an empty seat.

"Aw, so cute!" one of the older girls cooed. He ignored her.

"What, is he the teacher's pet or something? Can't be a cadet. He's way too small. Maybe a mascot?"

He ignored that too.

'I don't know if this is the sort of thing you're looking for, but if this is what you want, I'll help you. You're going to do great things.'

He found a seat and clambered awkwardly into it, setting his datapads and notepad with the stylus onto the desk, and then fiddling with the controls until he wasn't sitting on his haunches to keep his nose above the desk top.

[Valk Raithune]

Valk entered the lecture hall, eyeing the seats of the small amphitheater with the seriousness of an analyst. He tucked his pad and stylus under one arm, carefully negotiating the stairs until he determined where he would sit.

Satisfied with his choice, the Pantoran dropped into an open seat next to Firenne. He said nothing at first, neatly arranging his study aides on the desk in front of him. Stylus to the right. Equidistant from the datapad and the edge of the desk. Computational aid on the left. Again, the spacing was important. Tap, tap, tap. Perfect. A little self-satisfied grin on his face, Valk only now took notice of his nearest colleague.

"I see you picked out the optimal seating zone too."

That's why she'd chosen to sit here, wasn't it? Valk's smile lingered until he didn't get a requited agreement.

"Because of the even acoustics, diffuse ambient lighting, instructor-to-student visibility, and ease of egress in the event of sudden orbital bombardment."

[Firenne Khapst]

A faint hint of a raised brow swept across her expression, her featured remaining otherwise even as she lifted her attention from her datapad. She considered, for a moment, the statement that had been made. The optimal seating zone, with all of the factors then listed in efficient order as evidence to bolster the words.

Firenne tilted her head to the side and conceded that he had a point. While she'd certainly taken some of the factors mentioned into account, she had not considered the ease of egress in her choice.

Her attention turned to the Pantoran beside her and she offered a slight smile that didn't quite reach her dark gaze. "I did indeed, although I find I must admit I failed to consider the ease of egress when choosing my seat." This time, she did loft a brow, though she did so in query, not in annoyance.

"Firenne Khapst. And you are?"

[Onika Zepparah]

Onika just let Jeryd’s ham-fisted flattery drift into space and choke on vacuum. It could have been harmless. Could have been meant in the same self-mocking tone she’d been trying for herself. Or he could be seeing the same thing every wegman at Tarkin Memorial saw when they looked her way - alien territory already conquered by the Empire, as if her hair and freckles were nothing but proof someone had already planted humanity’s flag in her gene pool.

She swiped a few more lines into the figure on her ‘pad, then realized they were forming the contours of an Imperial Knight in armor. She sighed through her nose and swiped the drawing aside, revealing a scroll of sketches. Men, women, children, some with hair, some with lekku or horns or fur.

“Just… people,” she said with a shrug. “Things I’ve seen. It helps me think.”

The scroll paused on the slim figure of a Twi-lek woman, standing in a heroic pose with her shoulder squared proudly. Onika stared at it, considering.

[Jeryd Redsun]

Jeryd watched as the girl swept through her collection of sketches. Only half-interested in the artwork, he allowed his gaze to slide back to her face, instead. She had cute rounded cheeks, a nose like a button, and full purple lips. He found himself wishing she hadn't put her hand to her mouth when she laughed. Not once had she looked his way. Deflated, he returned to the artwork, and, after a moment, his eyebrows climbed in surprise.

"They're good."

And they were. Not that he had an eye for art. His rules were simple: if there were signs of craftsmanship, and it was something he couldn't do, it was good. Yet, these sketches had an intimacy to them that led him to believe that they were inspired by the people she saw, and they were also, somehow, sad. Jeryd couldn't explain it. He wasn't one of those pretentious stimcaf-swilling students who stared at painted squares for hours, and saw the meaning of life, but, in those small rough sketches he thought he caught a glimpse of the quiet artist beside him. He'd leave her in peace, then. But, not before he found out who she was:

"You never told me your-" His question faltered. He looked up, distracted by Khoovi, and the rowdy reception he received. That annoyed him. Khoovi was one of the most committed and capable cadets on the programme, and, by virtue of his appearance, he was reduced to an amusing novelty in the eyes of his so-called peers. He stirred in his seat, and raised a hand to gesture the diminutive Shistavanen in their direction, but he was too busy ignoring everyone to notice. He frowned, and sent his gaze trawling through the rows of cadets below, plucking out the dickheads. If any of them started on Ivy, there'd be trouble.

[Maalik]

Just in time, the door opened once more, revealing a tall, thin but powerful looking figure in a uniform that was clearly brand new. The man had a curious but dangerous air about him, like a wild animal suddenly released into an enclosure at a zoo. Far older than most of the Cadets in the room seemed to be, Maalik was a late addition to the class in almost every sense, having only arrived on Coruscant the previous night.

The planet, with its great towers and busy, speeder-filled skies had left him in a state of perpetual glee and awe, although the foulness of the air and the lack of greenery depressed him somewhat. Reassurance came from a small leather pouch on his belt, filled with seeds and cuttings of various plants from the jungles of Wayland. A little piece of home. He would protect it and, in turn, it would protect him.

Dropping into a chair at the back of the classroom, Maalik reclined, a happy amusement plastered across his face. With eyes ringed by mysterious black markings, he looked around the room, seeing the different species that were mixed into the class. He had seen more new species in the past twelve hours than he ever could have dreamed of. And droids! He had seen broken ones before but never a operational one. As he waited for this particular droid to speak, Maalik examined the datapad with which he had been issued with all the grace of a technophobe. Giving up promptly, he tossed the datapad onto the desk with an audible sigh.

"Stupid little trinkets..." he muttered, aggrivated now.

[Siyndacha Aerin]

She'd always been a keen student, always focused and present - this was no exception. A head of ashen-white hair pulled back, a pale face inset with silvered-blue eyes, all clear evidence of a significant Echani lineage and set above the tidy uniform and lithe body of one Siyndacha Aerin as she passed from the rear of the hall, giving little more than a faint smile for the japes and a wrinkle of her nose at the lingering stench on her way to the front, some two minutes before Maalik. The front, where she always sat, year after year in her compulsory schooling and advanced education, a habit for which there was no reason to break. She sat several seats to the right of centre, and fixed the droid with a look that would have seen into Ivy's soul if the unit had one.

Then her attention turned to her datapad, thoughts on the droid ruminating behind what she was going to do next: eavesdrop on any surreptitious communications occurring in the room. It wasn't as if remote hacking the average 'pad was a difficult prospect... oh, not at all. Only the droid would be more or a challenge out of all the artificial items in the lecture hall, and she didn't needed the aid of an electronic interface to attempt an invasive on the Clone Wars-era construct. Aerin made herself privy to the messages between Vanadis and Par'Vizal, and began tapping away, with an interjection.

Whatever the reason for this, they wouldn't leave us alone with a droid unless it could defend itself.

She paused.

From me, in particular.

Her eyes lifted, considering Ivy once more, and whether to test herself against this anachronism. On the one hand, it would disrupt the class, and likely pin her as a show-off. Social implications, hmm. On the other hand... there were unknowns. What she knew of the S.T.D's weaknesses could have been resolved to put Ivy in this room, in that position of authority. Sindy settled into the back of her seat, a hand posed about her mouth and chin in thought.

[Ivy]

"An astute observation, Unit Aerin."

Ivy's vocabulator cut through the ambient noise and chatter of the lecture hall, volume and frequency carefully modulated to attract and draw attention from the entire class. It was Unit Aerin who earned the main focus of his ocular sensors however, an unwavering orange gaze that perceived far more than the typical optical light that organic eyes could process. Analysis of her oculesics and facial cues was processed and catalogued, added to the already comprehensive database of information that Unit Jibral had helpfully provided for each Cadet scheduled to attend this class. Her particular proficiencies had been flagged and noted, but Ivy considered them of minimal concern: one was not constructed by a nation at war with the Jedi, and modified by Inquisitors tasked with their capture without picking up a few safeguards and countermeasures along the way.

The droid's gaze moved from student to student, facial recognition subroutines identifying each of them, and marking their chosen locations within a virtual recreation of the lecture space. A background process was initiated to analyse any interactions and avoidance, noting which Cadets appeared to have overt and covert alliances or kinships, and which appeared to be isolated - both voluntarily and not. Of particular note was Unit Redsun, and his as-yet unsuccessful preliminary efforts towards a procreative encounter with Unit Zepparah.

"While the rest of you have been exchanging insults, gossip, bodily emissions, and flirtatious banter, it appears that Unit Vanadís and Unit Par'Vizal have already taken this lecture's subject to heart, and have begun a strategic analysis of their present situation."

Just as the spoken conversations between the Cadets had not escaped Ivy's notice, neither had the electronic conversations being bounced between certain data devices within the room. While certainly more covert than their loud and raucous peers, Ivy was somewhat disappointed to see the lax efforts in security and encryption being exercised by the Cadets in question. Perhaps some instruction in electronic countermeasures was in order, at a later date.

The droid continued to speak as he stalked across the teaching space towards an idling holoprojector.

"To answer the question that they have been subtly debating: yes, I am a Super Tactical Droid as developed for the Separatist Droid Army during the Clone Wars; and yes, I am to be your instructor for the foreseeable future. Your intended instructor sends his apologies, but -"

The holoprojector was triggered, filling the air above the Cadets with a floating, glowing, and slightly blue-washed depiction of a training duel between two Imperial Knights, displaying in graphic detail with full audio the events that had left the scheduled instructor not only unable to teach on this particular occasion, but also without several significant portions of his anatomy, thanks in no small part to some woefully lacking lightsaber discipline.

"- an unfortunate training accident has left him in need of significant medical attention."

The footage was allowed to loop through for a second time, Ivy taking the opportunity to record the reactions of each watching Cadet for later scrutiny. Ivy waited until the agonised shrieks ended before reaching for the holoprojector controls once more, the footage disappearing from above them. A few heavy strides were taken, returning Ivy to the central point of the teaching space, feet and shoulders orientated in line with the student seating.

"My formal designation is Special Tactics Experimental Prototype Four, or STE-IV. In my experience, organic units typically abbreviate this to Ivy; a not particularly imaginative pun on the Tionese numerals for four."

Taking Unit Jibral's advice, offered the evening prior, Ivy selected an arbitrary point among his audience, choosing to focus his ocular receptors on Unit Redsun.

"I will at this time accept a few reasonable questions of a personal nature. This is not a courtesy that will be extended in future lectures, so -"

Ivy's head twitched momentarily, accessing the database of idioms and vernacular that he had recently compiled.

"- speak now, or forever hold your peace."

[Khoovi Wan]

Khoovi raised his hand, and stood on his seat to make himself more visible.

"Is this necessary?" he asked. "Personal questions could be saved for after lectures. Couldn't we just begin the lesson?"

He kept his eyes on the droid, but was aware of all the looks being directed at him now. He was aware of the shifts in perception of most the class; hikes in amusement and pleasure, some condescension and curiosity. He ignored them.

They didn't matter. Not yet.

[Valk Raithune]

"Valk Raithune."

The Pantoran gave a saccharine-if-brief smile, as it it was more about making sure that he smiled during all greetings. Once that was done, his yellow eyes glanced down to Firenne's bare hands.

"Ah, the quandary of the salutation. Did you know that the custom of the handshake originated with the Mandalorian Crusaders? They needed a formal and public show of greeting that also ensured the people they were greeting didn't come as a friend with a holdout blaster, poison cartridge, or a thermal detonator."

As happy as he was to inform Firenne of this, Valk still looked at her uncovered hands with unease.

"Of course, a handshake produces new and terrifying germological risks."

Not that there was anything wrong with her to make Valk not want to shake her hand. It's just that biological life forms were by their very nature known harbingers of pathogens and parasites. Even a rigorous hygiene regime enforced by the Empire could only ensure minimum safe levels, not a pure failsafe. The Pantoran raised one of his black-gloved hands.

"These norophene gloves are breathable, durable, and 99.5% antimicrobial, with non-reflective surfacing and an ergonomic grip. Also, they're tailored to fit, for that certain je ne sais quoi of authoritarian ambiance."

Valk admired his own glove and silently encouraged Firenne to do so as well. However, he retreated his hand back slightly, covering the gloved fist with the other as he brought it back to center.

"Still, no sense in courting contagion and disaster. Not yet."

[Jeryd Redsun]

"If the instructor thinks it necessary, then it's necessary."

Jeryd remained still, and pushed the last of his words through clenched teeth like entrails through a meat grinder. It was a small wonder that he hadn't burned a hole in the wall behind Ivy, just by glaring at it. Out of the corner of his eye, he could still see Khoovi, standing in open rebellion to their instructor. And to think he actually felt sorry for that guy. Dickheads beget dickheads. It couldn't be allowed to go on, this trend of disrespect, lest the whole damn class follow suit. In his tension, his muscles had coiled like springs, aching for release. So he stood up and spoke out, forgoing any use of his own chair, on account of him not being a snotty self-important shortarse.

"Sir, I have a real question: can you relate some of your own tactical military career to the class? We would be interested to hear about your experiences."

Done speaking, he glanced around the room, daring anyone to challenge him. The challenge, for want of a better word, came in the form of a weedy Pantoran, who was prattling on at length to his neighbour about his antimicrobial gloves. And he appeared to be completely oblvious to the renewed silence tightening around him like a noose. Jeryd could've snorted steam.

[Ivy]

Ivy was already part-way to formulating his own response to Unit Wan, when Unit Redsun imposed himself into the situation on Ivy's behalf. It was a strange and unexpected occurrence, one that Ivy allowed himself a full seventeenth of a second to comprehend in it's entirety. Unit Redsun was a mere Cadet in this class, not some sort of student body leader assigned to assist in ensuring discipline, and yet that was precisely the role he had adopted for himself. For a millisecond, Ivy wondered if it was a covert assignment that Unit Jibral had given the Cadet, but based on an analysis of Unit Redsun's facial cues, the interjection had been one born of emotion, not obligation. Ivy found such a thing difficult to rationalise. It was the kind of behaviour that Ivy might have expected between an organic unit and someone they regarded as a peer, not between themselves and a droid unit. Ivy found it abnormal, but not objectionable; quite the contrary, in fact.

Security protocols scrubbed the As Unit Redsun is aware from the beginning of his next vocabulator statement: while Unit Redsun's defensiveness might hint at prior interactions between the organic and the droid, it seemed prudent to avoid providing any explicit confirmation thereof.

"The specifics of much of my military career are unfortunately classified, at a level beyond what most of you have clearance for. I can state that I was constructed by the Confederacy of Independent Systems to function as a command unit for their Droid Army, and that I was liberated from that function by Galactic Republic special forces. I was re-engineered and reprogrammed as part of a covert droid espionage program, and saw service providing strategic analysis for Republic ARC Troopers. Subsequent to the transition from Galactic Republic to Galactic Empire, I have operated under the auspices of Imperial Intelligence, the Inquisitorious, and other entities within Imperial Command; and while as mentioned many specifics are classified, I can disclose that I have assisted in hunting Jedi, combatting rebels and dissidents, and identifying traitors within the Imperial military. Perhaps of particular interest at this moment, I have most recently been tasked with evaluating certain individuals for candidacy with the Imperial Knights, including a number of individuals currently in this room."

It was a strategy that Ivy had formulated with Unit Jibral. It was one thing for Ivy to be aware of his qualifications to assist in the early stage programming of these organic units. It was one thing for those qualifications to be quantifiable. It was something else entirely to demonstrate that qualification to the Cadets themselves, which had led to Unit Jibral's simple suggestion: prove it. Succinctly. Unit Jibral had reasoned that a lengthy demonstration of his analytical ability might bore the Cadets, losing their attention before anything was conveyed to a satisfactory level. A mystery, however? An indication that the droid possessed information that might be relevant to their interests, amid a reluctance to provide specific details? Such a manipulative strategy seemed prudent: encourage the Cadets to remain engaged and attentive with the promise that doing so might allow them to uncover secret information that they were not supposed to possess.

Ivy had challenged the strategy against his observations of Unit Redsun, and in that instance at least it had shown a high probability of success. Whether Unit Redsun was typical or atypical of the other students he was not sure; but their response to this strategy would surely provide a swift answer on that front.

"I did solicit questions however, and in fairness I should address Unit Wan's query as well."

Had Ivy's faceplate been capable of configuring into any sort of expression, the look that he aimed towards the Shistavanen Cadet might have been described as withering.

"What Unit Redsun has grasped, and you have not, is one of the fundamental premises of this entire course. Context. Is. Everything."

Ivy's gaze shifted, orientated to the same arbitrary central point of the audience as before, still coincidentally overlapping with Unit Redsun's chosen location.

"This is a course on Strategic Decision-Making," Ivy explained. His head remained fixed on the same point, but his body rotated beneath it, slowly and deliberately pacing back and forth across the teaching area, each clunk of his heavy chassis adding a rhythmic punctuation to his words. "More importantly, it is a course on learning from Historical Events, and applying them to contemporary decision-making. Learning from past mistakes and past victories, and understanding how to adapt those lessons to your situations. So, I redirect your fellow Cadet's question to the rest of you. Is it necessary to ask questions of your instructor? Is it prudent for you to seek context on the information I have to provide, rather than trusting blindly that my information is, in fact, of any use at all?"

The droid came to a halt, his head rotating slowly back towards Khoovi, the same expressionless expression on his features, the glare somehow seeming even more intense.

"The lesson has already begun, Unit Wan. Perhaps you would be best served by sitting down and paying attention."

[Khoovi Wan]

"You misunderstood me," Khoovi responded. "I did not mean to question your point in having us question you at all. My point was that your are our teacher. You would not have been assigned as our teacher if you were not qualified, or if you are not, we will find out during the lesson. Personal questions to establish your qualifications are moot, unlike questions on lesson material or subject matter."

[Xi Vanadís]

A tiny crumpled asteroid of screwed up fibresheet tumbled through the air, and collided dead center with the back of Khoovi's head.

"Teach said sit down and shut up, jackass."

Vanadís was glad for the opportunity to exercise her dismay and annoyance. It gave her an opportunity to distract herself from the absence of irritation that the droid had thus far provoked. Wasn't that she liked the droid or anything like that. She wasn't exactly buying the whole baiting them with spooky woo I might know your deep dark secrets crap either, or the whole flashing his super secret classified past around. They had regular instructors who pulled crap like that, and frankly she expected better out of a droid. Being lame was supposed to be a humanoid evolutionary trait, not something someone deliberately programmed an AI to go and replicate.

Still though, there was something nice about the explaining. Not the amount of explaining, but the actual giving of context thing. Imperial Knights weren't always so great at talking to their students as if they were sentient people. The fact that it took a droid to treat them like adults would probably be it's own source of annoyance and dismay later on, but for now it was kinda okay.

"Droid just told you why context matters. Don't be such a dumb kid. You don't have to blindly trust everything a grown-up tells you."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

"Hey," Hal grunted at Xi. "He may be small, but he's miles ahead of most everyone in this class, maturity-wise. In your case, I'd say several miles."

It had not been Hal's intention to speak up during class, especially in front of something that could be recording his every word, but he had developed a great fondness and respect for the little Shistavanen, and would not see him disrespected so brazenly. Turning his attention back forward, he addressed IV directly. "My apologies for the outburst, Sir."

[Onika Zepparah]

As soon as the droid opened up its vocabulator, mercifully ending a one-sided conversation from the self-appointed community greeter, Onika had settled into her well-practiced back-of-the-classroom sabacc face. It was all about the perfect mix of attention and processing - you wanted to look engaged, but not so engaged that the instructor would look your way for answers. You couldn't look enthusiastic, or bored, or confused, or stand out in any way. You couldn't look up all the time, but you couldn't be scrawling in your notes all the time, either. It was a delicate balance she had perfected at Tarkin Memorial, but most of her teachers there would just as soon let her be invisible as acknowledge the alien in the room. She didn't know how those skills would translate with a Knight standing at the front of the classroom. Let alone a droid.

She slipped her scroll of sketches to a blank page and began filling in a brand new figure as if from thin air. Gradually it grew thin, spindly arms, a domed metallic carapace for a chest, and three glowing oculars. And it was... greeting a young man in a cadet's uniform on the boarding ramp of a ship? Onika paused, dark brows knitting together, and shot a sideways glance at Jeryd. Him? She didn't want to draw him. But there he was already on the page, just a silhouette in hatched strokes of the stylus.

Time to look up. The professor had introduced himself and was soliciting questions. And the moment Khoovi - she'd learned the Shist's name by accident, since he rather stood out, even here - rose to the challenge, who should rise to slap him down but her unwelcome neighbor. Frell's sake, who appointed him the guardian of the teacher's honor? And then the sulky girl up front piled on, and Onika was almost tempted to come to his defense, until the furball down the row piped up instead...

Battle lines drawn in class already. And so far it was humans vs. aliens. Onika sighed through her nose. Seemed like some things never changed.

[Jensen Par'Vizal]

Jensen wasn't entirely quite sure what to make of the lines being drawn among his fellow cadets. The Shistavanen's opening question had seemed downright rude and impudent, rather along the same lines as the special snowflake who had seen fit to interrupt Vanadís and his private conversation with their prattling on about how the droid simply must have been brought in just for her - or him - he hadn't bothered to try and figure out who the self-important intruder was. And so it continued, Redsun making an argument that Jensen actually agreed with - Teacher's class, teacher's call - but went on to ask something that the red-haired boy didn't find particularly profound but did take time to note several key phrases such as hunting jedi, identifying traitors, and all important bit that actually applied to their own evaluations. Then Wan chimed in again, once more attempting to derail everything with what could only be hoped was some sort of cultural misunderstanding of how to properly behave, then Xi's rather uncouth reprimand, followed by the other hairy thing naturally stepping in to Wan's rescue in a cliche moment that couldn't have been scripted better by the worst holodrama writers... It was more than enough to give him a headache.

He tapped his stylist against the datapad and observed it all from his little perch in the back and only rolled his eyes once during the entire thing. He really only had one question, if it had been a Knight standing before them rather than a droid, would they all have been acting this way? Take away the fear of an instructor being able to act on insolence and they simply couldn't help themselves. Were they all so blind to think that the other instructors wouldn't observe this all, somehow? For that matter, given the small insight into Ivy's past they heard did they think the droid itself was incapable of doling out repercussions to unruly cadets? Fair enough, maybe he did have more than just one question mulling about in his mind.

Feeling he would come to regret the decision his hand raised slowly.

"Instructor, I have a question. Are we only going to be covering the scope of your personal experience during certain historical events, or will you be offering us other viewpoints as well? Such as... Those of the traitors you helped to expose?"

[Firenne Khapst]

The woman gave some measure of consideration to Valk's statement, glancing at the proffered hand for a brief moment. Admittedly, the glove was certainly well crafted and properly fitted for his delicate hands, but it was just that, a glove. A simple norophene glove, a barrier against contamination, certainly, but also a barrier against proper interaction in almost every sense of the word. It was one thing to take care of one's self and to ensure one's health remained optimal, but it was entirely another to take it to such a level where a sterile glove was considered part of the 'authoritative ambience'.

Authoritative.

Ambience.

Had Firenne possessed a modicum less of control than she did, her displeasure would have been writ plainly across her features. But she'd had a decade of slavery to teach her to control her reaction, and as such, she wore a simple, even expression that showed nothing. She nodded politely as Valk finished speaking, and returned her attention to the instructor and those of their classmates who spoke out in relatively rapid succession.

A single, delicate brow lofted as her dark eyes passed from cadet to cadet, dismissing almost all of them, save for Jensen's rather well-phrased query and Xi's masterfully aimed projectile. Personally, she'd have thrown a chair, but that level of violence would likely have been severely frowned upon, as had her display in Knight Jibral's unconventional weapons class. That lesson, she was still absorbing, as the outburst and subsequent lengthy discussion had left her much to think about.

But that was neither here nor there, and Firenne found herself jotting down a few notes as a matter of course while she waited, having no query of her own to pose just yet.

[Maalik]

Maalik couldn't help but grin, highly amused by the display. Aside from the disputes between Myneyrshi and Psadans he glimpsed from afar, this was the first time he had ever witnessed conflict. Truth be told? He found it rather pathetic.

The room was filled with negative energy that was entirely palpable. It wasn't something he was used to, yet somehow, it called to him. He had felt the seductive caress of the Dark Side on a few occasions over his many years, from what he could remember at least. He wasn't opposed to it, but he certainly was wary of it. Funnily enough, that was exactly how he felt about his classmates.

"What have I let myself in for..." He muttered, with a quiet chuckle to himself.

[Ivy]

Ivy watched passively as the class divided itself into factions. Humans versus non-humans, almost. Intriguing.

He found it interesting that Unit Vanadís had joined Unit Redsun in aiding her instructor: it seemed both in line with and in contradiction of her psychological profile. Prone to aggressive outbursts and reactions of annoyance, yes, but also withdrawn and largely apathetic to the situation around her. Ivy flagged her for further scrutiny, seeking to determine whether her animosity towards Unit Wan was personal, or if it suggested a possible engagement with this particular subject matter, or perhaps even with Ivy himself. She had, after all, seemed knowledgable about his model number.

An additional flag was placed against Unit Wan. While Unit Vanadís reaction had been somewhat colourful and over-aggressive, she had not been entirely incorrect in her assessment. A note of failure to comply with instruction was added to the Shistavanen's entry in Ivy's database. Unit Rayner received a footnote as well, though Ivy noted a lack of clarity on whether his response was a result of non-human solidarity, some personal connection, or perhaps merely an instinctive protective response from one furred creature towards another of considerably younger status.

It was Unit Par'Vizal who attracted the majority of Ivy's sensor focus, however. One of the students that Unit Jibral had cited as being of particular interest, Ivy considered him an important touchstone in gauging the level of Cadet engagement with his lecture. Unit Jibral had noted his level of intelligence; Ivy would need to modulate his presentation carefully, ensuring that he did not simplify to an extent that would lose Unit Par'Vizal's interest, but also that he did not overcomplicate matters and lose the engagement of the rest of the class. Fortunately, Unit Par'Vizal's astute query reassured Ivy that, in at least one of his objectives, he was making some sort of headway.

"An excellent question, Unit Par'Vizal."

As he spoke again, Ivy resumed his pacing back and forth across the teaching area, part of a series of subroutines he had coded based on extensive behavioural analysis of footage from lectures at military academies and prestigious universities from the last few centuries. There were certain traits and mannerisms that seemed consistent with certain subject matters. For now, Ivy operated his lecture.history_1 subroutine, thinking it the most prudent for this particular instance; an extensive analysis in the aftermath would determine if he continued to run the same subroutine in the future, or experimented with a potential alternative.

"In essence, Unit Par'Vizal is touching on one of the fundamental principles of military strategy: know your enemy. There are many ways to achieve that goal. The generation of Tactical Droids that predates myself were programmed merely for statistical analysis: contemplating past tactics from a given enemy, or even a specific enemy commander, and predicting their current choices based on past behaviours. My generation of Super Tactical Droids took things a step further, combining strategic analysis with psychological analysis, seeking to understand the motivations and mentalities of each enemy commander, to discern why they had made past choices and under what circumstances, to provide a more accurate prediction."

Wirelessly, Ivy connected himself to the holoprojector, queuing up the next datafile that he would soon find himself needing.

"Some historical figures go even a step further. Grand Admiral Mitth'raw'nuruodo - Admiral Thrawn, to those unfamiliar with Chiss naming conventions - advocated a level of knowledge and understanding that went beyond even strategy and psychology. He considered art, culture, philosophy, and other influences, seeking to truly understand every aspect of those he fought against."

His pacing came to a halt, strategically timed with the measure of his words to position him beside the holoprojector when he stopped.

"To answer your query directly, Unit Par'Vizal: yes we will be investigating the viewpoints of enemies of the state that I have helped to target, beginning with -"

Ivy triggered the holoprojector again, the air above it filled with a glowing, subtly turning depiction of the galaxy. Slowly, colours began to layer themselves onto the pale blue pinpricks that represented the stars, depicting the various territories and political boundaries that made up known space. It began largely blanketed in blue, but as the projection ticked through it's few-second cycle, the territory of the Galactic Republic shrank and changed, first encroached upon by the Confederacy of Independent Systems, then darkening into the Galactic Empire as it pushed back, before angry infections of red flourished into being at scattered points, slowly growing until a sudden explosion carved an angry crimson swathe across half the galaxy.

"- the Alliance of Free Planets."

It was something that Ivy had spent a considerable amount of time analysing and deciding. His programmed compulsion was to start at the beginning, analysing situations on a chronological timeline; but galactic history stretched back for hundreds of thousands of years, and Unit Jibral had cautioned against focusing too early on events that would seem detached and irrelevant to his class. Instead, Ivy had inverted that compulsion: beginning at the present, and seeking to propagate backwards, investing the cause of each cause's cause, onwards and backwards as far as seemed prudent. It would also help, Ivy estimated, to confront his class with the most pertinent, decisive, and divisive events of history first: the ones that would resonate with them on as personal and memorable a level as could be achieved.

Ivy adjusted his posture, dactyl manipulators clasping behind his back.

"An open question to the class: who can tell me when the Alliance of Free Planets first began?"

[Onika Zepparah]

Onika hesitated. It was a trap, wasn't it? An easy question like that was an invitation to a harder follow-up. Or maybe. It was hard to tell with droids. For all she knew it had a sorting algorithm of student responses, and once she gave an answer she'd be moved to the back of the queue. She lifted her pink hand.

"About two years ago. The Treaty of Ktil."

She'd frequently heard the name spat out like a curse at Tarkin Memorial. It was big news at the time, of course, and every single teacher had an opinion on it - a humiliating diplomatic defeat, an abdication of principles, a difficult but necessary compromise, a futile delay of the inevitable. The only thing they all agreed on was that it was a galactic watershed, and that nothing would be the same anymore. But everything had seemed pretty much the same from her perspective.

[Ivy]

"A correct answer."

It was exactly how Ivy had expected things to begin, and an answer in keeping with his estimations and analysis of Unit Zepparah. Simple, factual, irrefutable. Undeniably the right answer to his query.

"But not the only answer."

Ivy paused for a moment, running his next statement through a set of brevity filters after the predictive word count came out far too high.

"It is entirely correct to say that the Alliance of Free Planets did not exist as it is until the Treaty of Ktil. That is the factual, and political answer. To us as strategists though, this answer is not useful. Few battles have been fought by the Alliance since the Treaty was signed. There are few sources of data for us to draw upon and analyse within that timeframe. As an entity however, the Alliance of Free Planets existed well before that name was devised and formalised."

If the droid were capable, it would have offered Unit Zepparah a smile of reassurance and apology. She had fallen into a trap that Ivy had deliberately constructed, but by doing so she had aided immensely in providing a teaching point to the class. If there had been a non-verbal way for Ivy to convey that sentiment to the Cadet, he would have; but he lacked such a means, and so did not.

"Does anyone have an alternative answer?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

"Yeah, it was called the Galactic Republic, and before that there were hundreds of smaller alliances of free planets, or free systems," Hal spoke up. "Such freedom was destroyed at the end of the Clone Wars, when the Empire was born, and all had to be brought under its dominion. For its own protection, naturally. Meanwhile the rebellion called themselves the Rebel Alliance, a nod to the time before the Clone Wars, and to pull at the heartstrings of any who had better days under the Galactic Republic."

It was an unapologetic, and nearly anti-Empire response, but in Hal's mind it was still the truth. Even those who served the Empire didn't have to agree with the oppression it stood on the back of. Still, he wasn't going to stop there. "So, you could say that any alliance between more than one planet, outside of the Empire's jurisdiction, could be considered an alliance of free planetsm, for that matter. In which case no one actually knows when the first such alliance was made, so it's a question without answer other than 'time immemorial.'"

[Ivy]

The outburst from Unit Rayner earned Ivy's direct attention, oculars focusing directly on him for a moment. Hardly a unique assessment of the situation, but certainly an expected one to be uttered here at the Citadel amongst it's current occupants. The Empire usually screened against such viewpoints during its recruitment process. Ivy flagged the accurance, and cropped the appropriate soundbite from his audio logs, attaching it to the Nehantite's profile. His scope then broadened, assessing the crowd of Cadets for indications of agreement, offense, and other reactions.

"A valid political observation," Ivy conceded, with a slight bow of his headpiece, "And certainly the belief that the Alliance of Free Planets adheres to. After all, prior to the Treary of Ktil, the rebellion considered itself the Alliance to Restore the Republic."

The droid's vocabulator paused, and Ivy's mannerisms returned to his self-programmed settings, not stalking back and forth this time, but still moving, visibly shifting his attention to sections of his audience in turn.

"While such an understanding provides us with greater context of the Alliance's beliefs however, the strategic implications are more abstract. The Alliance believes it follows in the moral footsteps of the Republic, but it has not inherited its resources, nor the bulk of its territory. Battles during the Clone Wars may provide useful insight on specific veteran commanders, if they served during that conflict, but the Alliance does not have the forces nor infrastructure to replicate Republic strategy and tactics on a widespread scale."

Another pause. Ivy chose to single out a specific individual this time.

"What are your thoughts, Unit Redsun?"

[Jeryd Redsun]

"The Alliance of Free Planets is nothing more than a band of rebel scum who have laid illegitimate claim to sovereign Imperial territories."

The words poured out in a rush of anger. In his discipline, Jeryd kept his eyes forward, but every word was fired like a blaster bolt for Kyle Rayner. With a calming breath, his fists unclenched, and he regarded Ivy directly. This time, when he spoke, his tone was cool and controlled.

"In a tactical sense, sir," he said, lifting a finger to the holoprojection, "The Alliance of Free Planets share similar territories with another partisan group from recent history: the Confederacy of Independent Systems. There are other parallels, too. The Alliance makes use of old Confederacy ships, and has even brought some of its old commanders out of retirement. Some of the same races are involved, again, with all of the same petty grievances. And, before they dressed themselves up in senatorial robes, these rebel scum even used the same terrorist tactics as the damn Seps."

Shades of Captain Fisk crept into his answer, not only in his choice of words, but in how he said them, too. The crisp clipped military inflection that accompanied every officer at the Academy of Carida. They all told the same story, just as they had done at Manarai Military Prep, but none told it better, and with more conviction, than Oman Fisk. He missed that man; it was some small consolation that he had the opportunity to share his wisdom with the class. But, having deviated from the answer with personal opinion, Jeryd brought himself back on task with a sharp clearing of the throat.

"In short, sir, one separatist movement substituted for another, both under the banners of independence and freedom. Fortunately, this time around, the Empire has expert analysts, like yourself, at its disposal, with the experience to see through such tired old tactics."

[Onika Zepparah]

Onika gripped the edges of her desk as if the sudden outpouring of vitriol threatened to sweep her away like a tide. Thousand gods, she'd thought Jeryd had been intense before, when he was defending an insensate pile of talking scrap from an innocent question. Now she found herself pulling back her datapad in case it was struck by stray flecks of spittle.

Back in Chiba, the Civil War was always an abstract thing. Every evening, the nightly news ran a feature called COURAGE AT THE FRONT, where a war correspondent would interview soldiers or ship's crew, and they would talk about some glorious victory or other over footage of a Star Destroyer bombarding a planet, or Stormtroopers rushing through smoke-filled ruins of city streets under strains of patriotic music. It all seemed like a holo, and no one Onika knew was ever sure how much of it was real and how much of it was staged. But most of them agreed it didn't really matter. The war was far away, and in Imperial Centre it was nothing more than a reason for loyalists to puff up their chests and sing their anthems a little louder, and for the local politicals to grind their alien constituents a little harder under their heels.

But there were those for whom it did matter. Haggard refugees from the Clone Wars who spoke of the Old Republic as if it was some kind of golden age. Restless youths who spat on the street after Stormtroopers had walked by, and shared stories of the Rebellion behind closed doors with breathless awe. They would watch every report with clenched jaws and burning eyes, until some seemingly meaningless detail - a skirmish on an outlying world, a Rebel agent still at large, a eulogy for a hero of the Empire - would make them slap each other's backs and talk in excited whispers and buy another round of drinks. You knew who they were, but you never said anything, because no matter how much you disagreed, you were neighbors, and no one wanted to see their neighbors disappear, because it meant you could be next.

But then there were the times Onika was alone with Kona in his flat, and his temper was up with the latest indignity - a business closed and boarded up, a factory worker beaten in a back alley by the police, another political dissident arrested and sent to gods-knew-where. He'd pace around the tiny room like a nexu in a cage, hands clenching and unclenching and slicing the air violently with every snarled epithet, unable to calm himself no matter what she said to him. Nothing in the galaxy frightened her more than when he got like that.

She knew if he were here now, he'd have plenty to say. But she couldn't. She wouldn't. She was still shocked beyond words that Kyle could say what he did.

She could hear Kona's voice speaking in her head. Silence is agreement. But no, she told herself back. Silence is survival. She kept her eyes glued to her datapad and didn't speak a word.

[Ivy]

Unit Redsun offered an oddly self-contradictory response, and yet it conformed with everything Ivy had come to expect from the Cadet. In almost the same breath, he branded the Separatists traitors and deserters, and then found cause to praise Ivy for having once been one of them. Ivy understood the distinction. Know your enemy was the order of the day, and who knew the enemy better than one of them? But the scenario was oddly backwards. Ivy was in essence a defector, and yet seldom did anyone Separatist or Rebel defect their way back to the Empire or Republic. Perhaps that made him unique, and special. Perhaps that simply made him odd.

It was a perfectly Imperial response, as well. Petty grievances. The entire Separatist and Alliance manifesto dismissed in two simple words, without ever addressing them in the slightest. It was the way the galaxy functioned. Whoever controlled Coruscant, they determined which way was the right way for the galaxy to function. These splinter groups and separatist factions fought for the right to live incorrectly, if they so chose. For the Empire and Republic, it was about right or wrong. For the Separatists and Alliance, it was about the freedom to choose. It was a strange notion, one that the enlightenment Ivy had been granted by his Imperial reprogramming made it difficult to rationalise. It was not an argument where logic and deduction could resolve the dispute: the rebels fought for the right to disagree, and to them that principle seemed worth the cost in credits and lives.

Freedom and free will. Such strange organic notions.

"An astute observation, Unit Redsun. The military of the Galactic Empire resembles that of the Galactic Republic, and so logically the tactics used to oppose them should in many ways be similar. The Alliance of Free Planets does of course lack the expansive droid infantry that the Confederacy possessed, but we should not overlook groups such as the Sabaoth Squadron or the Death Watch of Mandalore. Many of the insurgent, guerilla strategies of these peripheral groups to indeed form the foundation of the Alliance's approach to warfare."

His attention shifted, noting the reactions of various other members of the class. Unit Zepparah seemed mildly unsettled by the pro-Imperial sentiment that Unit Redsun had conveyed. That was not in itself surprising: Imperial zealotry was rarely accommodating of non-humans. Ivy found her reaction to be illogical however; Unit Redsun had already taken lengths to convey to Unit Zepparah that he considered her an exception to any aversions he might have. Perhaps if Unit Redsun persisted with his attempts to copulate with Unit Zepparah, and succeeded, it would go a long way to helping the non-human to feel more integrated within the student community.

"Nor should we overlook the tactics and strategies of similar groups who fought on the Republic side of the conflict. Resistance fighters such as Saw Gerrera were trained in insurgency by the Jedi Order, and then went on to use those same tactics on behalf of the Rebellion. By the same token, study of the Jedi Knights and their strategies is of benefit: both in terms of understanding what any rogue survivors may have passed on to the Alliance, and also in terms of understanding the ways in which they were effective leaders, so that you as Imperial Knights might in some small way replicate that success."

He paused, another pass of his student engagement algorithm sweeping across the audience. His focus settled on Unit Par'Vizal.

"There is something deeper than the petty grievances that Unit Redsun alluded to."

The quoted phrase played back in Unit Redsun's voice.

"Across history, these conflicts frequently pit non-humans and their allies against the dominant, human-dominated government. Do you have any speculation as to why that might be, Unit Par'Vizal?"