One of the only certain things I know about Sarenne's history is that she's only working for the Empire because she's more or less being strong-armed into it after she unwittingly helped an Intelligence operative orchestrate the takeover of an independent planet. Then Intelligence leaked her involvement and offered her "protection" in return for her service and complete, utter loyalty. Simple, right?
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It’s been a while since I did a round of profiles and I didn’t even complete the last one; this one encompasses level 1-50 and the scattering of ways thereafter! Spoilers for Galaxy Without End, chapters 1-58.
There was a time when Wynston just wanted to a) get out of his crummy industrial town and 2) support the glorious strength of the Empire.
After a long conversation, Wynston was sent to a planet called Dromund Kaas.
He was enrolled in a school there. School consisted of long lists of memorization on the off chance that some of it might be useful later. He bumped along on indifferent grades.
And he discovered the more important thing.
People.
There were millions of people on Dromund Kaas. They all had perspectives and agendas and limits and rages and smiles, easily drawn out after a little observation. In the mine and the factory there had been no one new, except when someone died and someone else was transferred in by the owners. Here on Dromund Kaas everyone was new. Even people he’d met before changed and reacted and grew to trust him, or at least like him.
People were the best thing in the world. And the Empire gave the protection of its military to billions of people in a system that rewarded merit. That rewarded Wynston.
When the lessons from Imperial Intelligence came up, Wynston did more than memorize. He excelled.
The treachery of his partner on an undercover mission to Coruscant was the first test of his faith. Why would someone defect? He didn’t lose sleep over it, but something in the back of his mind wondered…
In the meantime, he served the Empire and got laid. Intelligence kept random HoloNet searchers off his back. It was a pretty good gig. And, though he met a lot of rotten Sith, he met a good one, too.
“Telos twist, please.” Darnek was chatty. He was charming. He was complimentary. He had obviously done this before. Many times. Ruth felt transparent, and transparent felt firmly approved of.
“I’m just having trouble,” he said, “seeing you in the scary role. Not that you have to demonstrate.”
“I wouldn’t. I like you, Darnek. Simple as that.”
“What, no ‘this one will serve well’ or ‘I think I shall vivisect him for my own amusement’? Are you entirely certain you’re Sith?”
“I’m just an apprentice. I’m sure I’ll learn.”
He leaned forward, looking serious. “Don’t.”
The double whammy of Jadus and Zhorrid broke something in Wynston, something that would never for the rest of his life be restored. His friendship with Ruth only heightened the contrast. He did a lot of coping with alcohol, only to be sent to a program that made it clear he couldn’t do that forever.
Wynston coiled and sprang upright when he awoke. Inventory, he reflexively struggled: half naked, slick with sweat, shards of dreams falling away in all directions. Where was…hotel. Kaas City. Home. His heart was racing fit to burst. Where was the nearest weapon? He was supposed to know where the nearest weapon was. Pillow?
“Hm?” came a drowsy voice from beside him. “Oh. Dreams?”
“Some,” he said hoarsely. Woman. His minder, the Fixer. Not a danger. Not a danger. Half his brain was still tied up in formless visions.
“That’s one thing you won’t get around.” She had this incredible calm to her voice. She had had it when she disposed of two glass bottles stashed around his room. “Rebound REM, your body’s making up for all the time it spent with that phase suppressed. It’s harmless, just very uncomfortable.”
He took a sharp controlled breath in and out, seeking steadiness and not quite making it. “You’re well-informed.”
She stirred and found his hand with hers. The awkwardness from last night seemed to relax here. “I heard this stuff from a medical droid while I was locked in an under-air-conditioned medcenter room out in the outer districts. If I can make it any more pleasant than that for you…well, that’s what I’m here for.”
“And here I’d hoped you were in it for the fun.”
She purred. “That was a factor, too.”
After all, his employers knew he’s more likely to listen to someone he’s slept with. Pacha Gann enters his life and leaves it; the world of the Sith starts turning again.
“You all right there?” Kaliyo broke the post-Zhorrid silence. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you don’t completely love our Sith overlords.”
“I love the Empire. The Sith in charge are the scum on the surface.”
“Oh, I’m telling Zhorrid that.” Kaliyo spun. Wynston grabbed her arm and gripped until she squealed. “Jeez, calm down! You have to admit Baby's First Toaster keeps things interesting.”
“Zhorrid? Really? Why do I need a tyrannical killer when I have you?”
“Ha ha.” But she smiled with those lovely black lips. Of course she would take that as a compliment.
Something then tried to break Wynston: the Castellan restraints, placed in the hands of the Republic. Of all the times to quit drinking. It strained several of his relationships, badly, even in situations where he had full control.
“Kaliyo?”
Better start talking. “Let me ask you something. You get around, you end up with lots of girls.”
“Yes, that’s not particularly a secret.” She had his attention. Right. Good.
“I know it’s just the job or a night off, whatever, but…that ever mean much to you?”
His casual smile didn’t slip. “Not that I’m avoiding the question, but would you care to explain where this is coming from?”
No, idiot, don’t get defensive. “I’m not trying to get you in trouble, I don’t care about who you’re with. I just…I’m like you, you know? We squeeze guys or girls for whatever they’re worth, then toss ’em.” She could bring this to a point. “Creeps me out a little to do things different. You know?” She held his gaze. Come on, just agree.
The smile faded into something very badly neutral. He stayed still for a few seconds, then raised one eyebrow a little. “Is that where this is going? We talk about our feelings together?”
Cool and cutting. He didn’t seem pissed off but he sure as hell wasn’t playing. Fine. “Hey.” She blurted out the first dismissal that came to mind. “You want to keep it physical, great. I’m not the one who started clinging around.” Like he would know what to do with a different setup anyway. The guy was a machine.
“Physical works very well for both of us.” His voice was all cool business. “If you ever got the impression I’d be suited for or interested in anything more…well. Then it’s for the best that we get this conversation out of the way. I’m occupied here, but if you’re up for work or play later you know where to find me.”
“I know where to find a lot of guys, agent,” she spat.
“None like me,” he said.
But he got free. He got free, found another serendipitous rendezvous with the tragically taken Ruth, and started on a new campaign: a shadow Intelligence to serve the Empire’s people, not Sith command.
Wynston is a man pursued. The bounty hunter Calline nearly caught him over Voss, after Hunter spilled his name and identity. The spider Scythia is tracking his recruitment efforts, ready to sweep in and destroy the shadow arm in the name of the Sith. SCORPIO, having been kicked out of the crew months ago, is watching now to see what he’ll do. Ruth, having sold out to the Emperor himself, might…he hates to imagine it…might crush him if she finds out what he’s been up to. Wynston has to stay one step ahead, or he will be destroyed, and then he won't be protecting anyone.
“He has commanded the building of a dreadnaught, the Aegis. Its purpose is to complement the Tenebrous. I want that to have your people.”
“So I have my own hiring binge to consider. It’ll be done, sir.”
And neither one talked about stealing it, but the assignment was clear.
With Vector, with Temple with luck and bloody-minded endurance…maybe this venture will get off the ground. Maybe the Empire’s people will have more than Sith looking out for them.
(Far, far in the future: He'll lose command, and regain it on a bigger scale.)
*
Chapter 2. Imperial Agent and Bounty Hunter (Wynston runs away; Calline takes to the stars)
@axperjan and I recently finished putting Connie and Anoush through a warrior/agent run in swtor and I realized we haven't posted about them at all 😭 I'm sorry lesbians please forgive me lesbians
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The Minister of Intelligence looked down on Wynston, largely due to the five-inch height difference. “Darth Klawe is attempting to rebuild Intelligence infrastructure. He’s on a hiring binge, too.”
“How much control do we have there?”
“I must approve applicants. That isn’t the issue. He has commanded the building of a dreadnaught, the Aegis. Its purpose is to complement the Tenebrous. I want that to have your people.”
“So I have my own hiring binge to consider. It’ll be done, sir.”
And neither one talked about stealing it, but the assignment was clear.
*
The rendezvous was in one of Duro’s orbital cities. Wynston kept his false Human aspect up until he was alone with the lithe and usually slightly amused fellow Human.
“Cipher Three. Busy times.”
“Cipher Nine. Nice disguise.”
“I don’t want to get you in trouble. Eyes are on Cipher Nine these days.”
“Anyone good?”
“Scythia, of course. The shorter list is who isn’t. I’ve gotten very egotistical, these last few years.”
“Since Jadus.”
Yes, that was an open secret. “More or less.”
“Still drawing a Sith paycheck, though.”
“That’s become complicated. And I think you might enjoy my thoughts on how Intelligence is structured.”
“Lord Razer dropped me onto an operating factory floor to kill a Republic squad solo. Any structure beats that.”
*
“Alexis! I was sure you’d gotten killed!”
“Fixer Four. Disappointed?”
“Not even a little. Hands off, sweet, I know better than that.”
“Do you, though? Still picking the dull assignments?”
“Meaning am I tethered to the mother country? Yes.”
“You could do the same job from any of five dozen more interesting planets.”
“Not with Lord Basher. His creative flexibility is nil.”
*
“And who the hell are you?”
“Call me Cipher Nine.”
“Nerf shit. Darth Scythia’s bounty was too big even for my chain of command to ignore.”
“A live bounty, in case you need reminding.”
“I won’t sell you. Probably. A real Cipher agent, huh? Well, burn me down and blame the butler. You don’t do any tricks, do you?”
“Hardly ever,” the red-headed Human said. “You’re the best demolitions man we have, aren’t you?”
“Wrecker One, at your service. Though frankly, I could do with a desk job at this point in my life.”
“The Sith won’t let you go.”
“Don’t I know it. Say, if you’re not under old Scythia’s thumb, where are you?”
*
“Who are you?”
“An old Minder. Still trying to be relevant.”
“And what does Intelligence want to know about me?”
“I have to ask about your son.”
“Oh. That. What do you want to know?”
“I’m trying to pick up the pieces surrounding his death. A Sith power play, I understand. Tell me about him. I mean, before the Sith got going.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to remember there was anything before the Sith got going.”
“Talk to me. Not for reporting, not for note-taking. Tell me what he was like, through all that loyal work.”
*
“How did you get the warden to do this?”
“You were important in your last job. You carried a lot of keys, serviced a lot of meetings. Made some recommendations. Turned a profit.”
“So?”
“My name is Falcen. I'm the Director of a small institute whose goal is to put one over on your former employer.”
“Can't be done.”
“Step one, I can get you out of here.”
“Right. When the anklet's off we can talk.”
“We certainly will. I need to make a call.”
*
Wynston returned to the Ministry of Corrections II. Ensign Temple was curled up on a puffy chair in the holo room, reading. She looked up and half smiled. “You were out late again.”
“Review the past week. Contact Cresh Three, very warm. Followup contact, I’d say a week and a half. He’s ready to fall into our hands. Contact Forn Four. Lukewarm. I need to send her an exotic ‘wish you were here’ in a few weeks, I don’t want to push her too far too fast. Contact Wesk One, practically jumped into my lap. Followup within the week, but I need more to whet his appetite while I figure out how high-quality the connection is. Contact Mern Seven…he just needs time. Time, and someone to listen. I want him because the Sith hurt him. Maybe he’ll work with me for the same reason. Contact Forn Twenty-Two, very warm, and I have to impress him fast but I think he’s worth the extra footwork. At least, judging by the transcript of his sentencing hearing.”
Temple had taken this recitation with attentive calm. “But you’re finally ready to sleep?”
“I need to recruit now, before the Sith get wind of these efforts. I need to get people comfortable with the shadow Intelligence so I can initiate the chosen into Shadow Two. I need to make sure the Aegis meets my requirements and its crew is mostly mine. I need to…”
“Sleep?” Temple suggested sweetly. “I got the research you wanted and I’ll share it after you get eight hours.”
He needed that research. “Do you harass Vector like this?”
“Vector went to bed two hours ago. And that’s after a full day’s work and a Dance of Unlighting. Take notes.”
“You know, I had a lot more freedom when nobody gave a damn about me.”
“You don’t get to turn that off, sir.”
“Evidently not. Go to bed, Ensign. We’ve got work tomorrow.”
*
Pacha Gann got the notification at her console: Report to room 1138 for an update on the THX program. An update from whom? It didn’t say. Another number-cruncher throwing his weight around, probably. The SEC mouse droid program was plagued by finance people when it needed technical staff. That was an old song, with many repetitive verses.
She patted her hair and tightened her posture before she walked in. Her voice was her real weapon in her corner of Intelligence Technical Development, but the visual cues couldn’t hurt.
Her potential antagonist was short for a Human, compact, with bright red hair in a side part and an Imperial uniform without insignia or rank. He could be Intelligence. He could be military trying to get a leg up by withholding information about himself. That wasn’t new, and it wasn’t impressive.
Beside him, on the conference table, a mouse droid sat still, its lights blinking away. It started emitting white noise.
He didn’t start, so she did. “I’m Fixer Thirty-Three. I assume you knew that when you called for me. Is there a problem with your droid?” A field report could be interesting, either with melodrama or without.
“The droid’s doing exactly what I want it to.” Mystery Man reached into a pocket and something clicked.
A blue flash of light ran a quick circuit around him, and what was left was still compact, still uniformed, still unmarked…but blue, blue, with red eyes and a slight crook to his smile.
She sagged against the table. “Cipher Nine.” Her mouth was full of ‘Wynston’ but she kept that distance, barely. “When they told me they were sending the field agents to Corellia as fodder, I thought…I don’t know what I thought. And then when Scythia opened the bounty on Cipher agents…”
“A live bounty.”
“To put you in her hands. No, thank you.”
“May I call you Pacha?”
Her exhalation was more of a nervous laugh than she would have liked. “Yes.”
He snapped something in his pocket. The blue flash circled again. The red-haired Human was back. “I’m Vanet Raith. I can walk down the street in Kaas City without drawing stares. I can be seen with you without raising eyebrows.”
“Eyebrows never bothered me. But tell me, are you Wynston who can disguise himself as Vanet Raith, or Vanet Raith who can disguise himself as Wynston?”
“You have all the right instincts.” He reached into his jacket and unhooked a rectangle maybe half the size of a well-fitted shoe. He set it on the table. The Human vanished in favor of the Chiss. “There. I have no magic attached to me now. This is me without the illusion. Would you like to dance? Are you free to dance?”
“There are a couple of men who might have an opinion, though they’re both aware of each other.” She smiled faintly. “Not too bad for a middle-aged divorced mom with half a face.”
“Let me take you to dinner. For old times’ sake.”
“Are you going to wear that disguise?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose it isn’t safe for you to be yourself in public.”
“Some days I don’t care. Other days I remember to be responsible. More depends on me now than…well, than before. But I’d like to go out with you.”
His voice left tingling afterimages on her heart. “Then, Mr. Raith, we’ll go.”
They took an hour apart. Pacha hurriedly settled her affairs for the day and rocketed home to put on her best white dress, a halter top with a comically twirly skirt. She tried to smooth her black hair over the few sprouting grays. She met him at the Black Command, where he exchanged some kind of signal with the staff to get them to a private corner booth with no clear view to the bar.
So he was still on that bandwagon. She felt a thrill of proprietary pride.
“Vanet Raith” was talkative and warm, ready to listen, careful in sharing. She didn’t know where the safety rails were. It never seemed to come up. She talked about Misha going away to university and men at the studio getting competitively macho and Intelligence being, well, always a hassle but good work. Her private thoughts on that would have to wait. If a Cipher was back in the arms of Imperial Intelligence after the Corellia explosion, then something was going right after all, and she didn’t want to criticize anything that had brought them there.
And then he took her hand, and then she showed him all the things she had learned at the local dance studio after he’d talked her into attending. He danced easily, willingly, and did his level best to let her shine, and it was right. Nothing had ever been this right before. He just came out of nowhere and sweet talked her into doing exactly what she was good at and she took it, she took it for all it was worth.
At the bar she took a tall glass of water and held it to her neck. “Vanet” signaled for a glass for himself and downed half of it in one go. He said, “You’ve gotten more complicated.”
“In some ways,” she said softly. “You’ve never been to my house, have you?”
“No. That would be an abuse of our employer’s records.”
“Would you like to see it?”
He looked at her good eye. He looked at her cybernetic eye. He smiled languidly. “Since you ask. Please, lead on.”
It was a rainy, sticky night, and most people had repulsor bubbles or deep hoods while they hurried between points. Pacha wouldn’t mind just feeling the rain, but she did have white clothes to think of. “Vanet” produced a bubble and set it over her head until they were safely in her speeder.
“I probably look like a drowned gizka,” he said, grinning.
“You’re giving me confusing feelings about drowned gizkas,” she deadpanned. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”
Her apartment sprung to a warm light when she entered. Since Misha went to school she had had the chance to decorate the place in exactly the way that made her feel good. An orderly arrangement of potted plants framed the streaming window, and curves of chairs with low tables made for an asymmetrical entertaining space. Her board games crowded on steps of a sinuous red shelf winding up one of the walls.
“Vanet” sighed. “It looks like you. Everything intentional. Everything…inviting.”
And she wished to any god listening that she could keep him there. But no gift was that neat. “Please, forgive me. I love that this is happening. And I know you’re doing things in a specific order for good reasons. But I can’t keep playing along right now. I need to know why you’re here.”
What was it like, emoting with eyes that weren’t monochrome? He did a good job with it, half lidding, smiling. “You know exactly how things fit. It’s enchanting. Do you remember the last thing I said to you?”
“You asked whether I ever thought we need someone to save us from our Sith.”
“Did you think about it?”
“More than I should admit.”
“Well, I have a plan. Its execution would be a capital crime and all I can say anybody gets out of it is an advancement to my career.”
“Wow,” she said.
They thought about that.
“Some men open with ‘sorry I haven’t holoed,’” she said.
He laughed gently. “There is more I want from it. A kinder Empire. One with a few more protections in place for those who can’t brute-force happiness.”
“Is that what you want, Cipher? More kindness?”
He looked a little sheepish. “Yes.”
This was a man who got what he wanted. If he wanted a softer place to live, she had no doubt he could do it. “Where do I sign?”
“Stars, fantasizing about you isn’t nearly as good as the real thing. Do you want to know what you can do today?”
“Well, yes.”
“I need a program manager.”
Well, that was her job description. It just didn’t seem to follow from his mission statement. “You what?”
“I intend to rob Imperial Intelligence of a very valuable piece of technology.” He seemed to hesitate there.
“From the Sith,” she clarified. The primary barrier to kindness.
“From the Sith. This device is under construction. It's already nonstandard, it has adjustments for Intelligence. I need someone to manage its building with an eye toward stealing it as soon as it's finished.”
A superweapon, or else…“You want to steal a ship.”
“I want to steal a dreadnaught. It's dangerous work. A double life, for the duration of construction. Are you still in?”
“Who lives on the ship?”
“Me. Some agents. Analysts, doctors, field agents between jobs. A mobile, miniature Intelligence.” Without turning a hair he said, “But that's not what you're asking. There are promises I can't make. I can't guarantee safety or certainty or even exclusivity. That's a hard condition.”
Maybe that would’ve been too much to ask. “Could I help from here? If I want to stay in my house near my daughter with my gentleman callers?”
“Yes. That may be the hardest assignment of all.”
Helping from the comfort of her home versus helping aboard a ship where she couldn’t keep him? “No, it's not.” Being close to him would be inexpressibly harder. He seemed to know it, too. “Whatever you're doing, I'm supportive.” And with that, it seemed like time to return to his program. “Do you want to buy my cooperation?”
He accepted her turn. “I was hoping to. Are we agreed on the currency?”
“Take it off.”
For the first time, something nervous developed around him. “When it's close enough to my actual build the mechanics are surpri—”
“Take it off.”
“Pacha, I can't just...”
“This is my price.”
He stared and she didn't blink. She had no intention of making love to a hologram. And if he thought he was less than, with that smooth blue skin, those cheekbones, that sculpted mouth, that soft dusk-blue hair, that supple durasteel build... if he thought that was less appealing than some synthesized Human, he was dead wrong.
His eyes. His eyes most of all. He touched inside his jacket and the light flashed and there he was in truth, with a question burned into the red.
“Pacha,” he said quietly.
“Wynston. No promises?”
“Tonight excepted.”
She remembered his kisses. They came from a place of vulnerability, of breaking addiction, of underlying pain. In those first days of his sobriety she had been a comfort and an escape.
He wasn't like that. Not anymore. He pulled her in and kissed her with a hunger that had nothing to do with his problems and his evasions. She wanted to be kind but he wasn't asking her to be, not just now. He remembered her body and he wanted it. She had absolute authority to accept this breathtaking tribute. Gladly, she did.
He stopped with a hand on her collarbone, another looping her waist. He murmured, “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”
Simple. Explicit. One hundred percent accepted. For this one night…“Love me.”
“I thought I would have to do that alone.”
“Not tonight. Not to—”
He interrupted her, as politely as possible under the circumstances. She liked his shift in subject.
So they went on, and it was temporary and she might be the third one this week, but here, with what he gave, she was happy.
