ISB Records Archive

One more warning: This is heavy on my own headcanons for Kallus. Which means I really don’t see Kallus as the type to break down crying or beg everyone for forgiveness. You can deeply regret your actions and strive to make amends without whining about your past. He’s pragmatic, and he owns his choices.

Directly across from him, at the head of the table, sat Mon Mothma. The Alliance leader radiated a presence distinct from anyone else in the room. Draped in pristine white robes, she maintained a serene expression.

To her right stood General Draven. The former Republic officer, now head of Rebel Intelligence, wore a stark olive uniform. His sharp-featured face and suspicious eyes exuded pragmatism. Draven was a man willing to sacrifice anything for victory, and Kallus saw a warped reflection of himself in the General’s gaze.

“Alexsandr Kallus,” Mon Mothma spoke. “You stand before us as a man who claims to have forsaken the Empire in the name of our cause. But before we make a decision, we must ask you a few questions. Your answers will determine whether you leave this room as our guest or as a prisoner.”

Mothma gestured, and Draven took the floor. He placed both hands on the table and leaned forward, his eyes locked on Kallus.

“Let’s play a game of honesty, Kallus,” Draven barked. “We have records showing you operated as our informant, Fulcrum, for a time. You funneled intel to Phoenix Squadron. Touching. But let’s not forget who you were before your crisis of conscience.”

Draven straightened and began pacing behind the table, his movements deliberate.

“Lasan wasn’t even the half of it, was it? Let’s talk about your activities over the last four years… What about your crackdowns on Lothal? Burning down Tarkin Town and herding civilians into transports. You shipped dozens, maybe hundreds, off to labor camps simply because they disagreed with Imperial doctrine.”

‘He’s testing my limits. Probing to see if I’ll break, or if I’ll start begging for mercy.’

“Our distrust of you is justified,” Draven continued, stopping dead in front of him. “Why should we trust a man who calculates every move? You betrayed the Empire, but that’s what you do, isn’t it? You betray those who trust you.”

Draven sneered, reaching for a datapad on the table and flicking open a file. The Intelligence had clearly done its homework.

“What about Lieutenant Jovan? Your friend since the Academy. The moment he became inconvenient, you didn’t hesitate. You had him sent to a maximum-security prison on Wobani. And that wasn’t the only incident, was it?”

Draven looked up from the screen. “Captains Swain and Cogon. Your own people. They were trying to help the locals survive the winter. And you branded them collaborators. Cogon is dead. Swain is in a labor camp on Jubilar, and no one has heard from her since.”

The general made a step closer. “And Lieutenant Lyste. You didn’t send him anywhere. You simply pinned your own treason on him. Framed him as Fulcrum so the ISB would lose your scent, and let him disappear into the interrogation cells in your place.”

Kallus’s nails dug into his palms at the mention of those names.

‘It was necessary… Jovan had become a thief, skimming from fleet supply lines, which cost soldiers their lives. Swain and Cogon disobeyed direct orders and compromised the integrity of the sector. I made the only logical choice to maintain order.

‘…But Lyste was innocent. I sacrificed him to protect my cover. I convinced myself that trading one officer for intelligence that would save hundreds was an acceptable price. And it still backfired.’

Kallus couldn’t deny what he had done. Back then, he had placed more faith in the Empire than in individuals. But he also knew Draven wasn’t asking these questions to get the truth. He was asking them to prove that Kallus possessed no loyalty whatsoever.

Slowly, Kallus leaned back against the chair, interlocking his fingers in his lap. His Coruscanti accent cut through the tense silence of the room with icy clarity.

“Your intelligence division has been thorough, General,” Kallus replied dryly, without a shred of apology. “It is true. I sent Lieutenant Jovan to Wobani, and Captain Swain to Jubilar. I did so because, at the time, I was devoted to Imperial protocol. I believed order demanded sacrifices. Even when those sacrifices were individuals under my command.”

Kallus shifted his gaze from Draven directly to Mon Mothma.

“But that is precisely why I am sitting here today,” he continued. “I did not betray the Empire out of calculation. I betrayed it because I could no longer justify the order I was bound to serve. If I were merely playing a game of survival, General, I would have allowed the Rebel base on Atollon to burn, and I would currently be standing beside Grand Admiral Thrawn. Re-evaluating my allegiance does not make me a liability. It makes me a man who understands the cost of his decisions all too well.”

“And what about your Inquisitor?” Draven’s voice dropped. “The Twelfth Brother. Our intelligence has seen you operating right alongside him far too often over the past few months. On Lothal, Nar Shaddaa… You were even spotted together at Vergesso Base. Are you trying to tell us that a man who suddenly found his conscience helped a psychopath find his as well?”

The words struck deep. Kallus’s pupils dilated slightly, his shoulders tensed instinctively, and his breath caught in his throat.

‘Keep his name out of your mouth.’

He prepared to fire back, ready to defend Theron at all costs, but before he could speak, a calm voice cut through the hall.

“That will be all, General.” Mon Mothma didn’t raise her voice, yet her words acted as a physical barrier.

Draven immediately straightened, his face twisting with frustration. “With all due respect, Chancellor, this is a critical security concern! If he is—”