How Did It Come to This?

[Ceto Rübezahl]

Defeat. There was no other word for it. He could formulate all the reasons and excuses he wanted; pass the blame off to all number of other people; but the fact remained that Ceto Rübezahl - Moff of the Bothawui Sector - had been defeated at the hands of the Rebel Alliance a handful of weeks before, ousted from his domain, and was now discredited and dishonoured in the eyes of the Empire. His fleet - the one that the Sector Admiral had so helpfully appropriated so that he could stumble blindly into the Alliance feint at Mandel - was a tattered ruin, his flagship Warspite the only vessel of any note that had managed to survive in one piece. He scowled in memory at the way the Bothans had so quickly turned many of his ships against him, and cursed himself for having been foolish enough to allow them so much control over the defense of their sector. The expression didn't last long, however; at least he wouldn't make the same mistake again.

He wondered what the true repercussions would be, both to him and to the Empire. Clearly, the liberation of Bothawui people was a boon to the Rebellion, but the Bothan Sector was hardly a key stronghold for the Empire; his own assignment there was evidence of that. He supposed that those who criticised his move into Imperial service as merely a ploy for publicity - the same people who had decried his achievements at every stage of his career thus far - would feel vindicated in his failure. He wondered if Miranda Tarkin numbered amongst those people, or if her own experiences of being overshadowed by reputation might garner a little empathy in his case.

There was of course the question of how exactly his punishment would come to pass. He was hardly expecting a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before being sent off to assume authority over another Sector, though admittedly the events of the recent coronation of Empress Tarkin had left the Imperials in need of qualified individuals. His mind ran through the most backwater and remote locations he might be deployed to: other places where the Empire could feel that they had sent him safely out of the way. The Corporate Sector was nice this time of year, he mused, and Bakura or Moddell were pleasant and a safe distance from anywhere of any real political or military significance. Tarkin would need to be careful however; the political recoil of her rise to power and purification of the Imperial leadership was still very much in play, and her sympathies might be percieved as weakness amongst those disloyal members who she had not yet found means to replace. Forced retirement then, perhaps? He supposed he could probably manage to keep himself entertained as a washed-up celebrity for a while; at least until the dust settled, and he managed to find a new way of serving his Empire.

An icy lump coiled in the pit of his stomach as the imposing red-clad figures of the Empress' personal guards loomed ahead of him. All kind of rumours surrounded the dark and enigmatic soldiers. It was a fact that they were often drawn from the Stormtrooper elite, but some said that they had been hand-picked and personally trained by Vader himself, not just in the ways of combat, but of the Force as well. Others said that the Inquisitorate had inserted themselves into the ranks of the guards; if either were true, then the prospect of an audience with the Empress surrounded by soldiers who could read his very thoughts only served to fray his nerves still further. With mild amusement, he recalled how he had once played an Imperial Guard during his career as a holovid actor. How he longed for those days right now, when the biggest consequence of his mistakes was a few minutes of mild embarassment and a collection of outtakes for the vid-disc release.

As he passed between them, he willed his mind to be silent, lest a stray thought provoke them into striking him down. Thankfully, they didn't so much as move; he couldn't even be sure that they were breathing within that near-impenetrable armour. He made a nervous adjustment to his jacket, and then stepped over the threshold.

The Empress looked regal and majestic as ever, and not for the first time he counted himself among the thousands of sentients across the galaxy with a furious envy of Gallus Tagge. He considered allowing himself a moment to indulge his imagination and see where it led, but the imposing scarlet figure of yet another guard poised ominously in his periferal vision stopped those thoughts dead in their tracks. Instead, he brought him smartly to a halt at what he hoped was an appropriate distance, and swallowed hard against the tightness in his throat, in search of his voice. "Empress," he called, his voice a touch higher than he would have liked, "You sent for me?"

[Miranda Tarkin]

Empress Tarkin loomed over Moff Ceto Rübezahl from the raised platform where she sat upon her throne. Opinions had been mixed on Tarkin's decision to keep the throne the same as Palpatine. He was the man who had given the Empire life and created this seat of power which had been left vacant for some time. The Empress had felt it disrespectful to uproot what he had created, even if it were just a material object, but it symbolized much of Palpatine's beliefs. Most of the unfavored opinions were voiced by those that wanted to discredit her anyhow. Perhaps one day they would understand that it was not power she craved, just stability. It was ironic that due to forces outside of her control, that power had been placed in her lap by the Inquisitors and recently, her Master. The one with the blazing orbs of fire...

Regarding the young Moff, she could appreciate his position. He was given a terrible assignment with those hoping that he would fail. Miranda was in a similar position as the Moff of Doldur, but her resilience had achieved a victory over the Rebellion. Rübezahl was not as fortunate.

As Palpatine was garbed ominously in black robes to hide his disfigurement by the Jedi, Miranda had recently taken up an imposing visage of her own. A specially custom made black suit was specifically design to carry the weight of authority as a military leader.

The button down jacket was clasped together by gold buttons that disappeared into the pristine black belt that hugged her slender waist. The medals earned as Moff proudly were clipped onto the jackets left breast. Upon her shoulders were pinned the extra code cylinders of both her Grandfather and Father, and on either side of the collar against her neck were a custom pair of quadanium encrusted Imperial Crests. They had been forged from the very same quadanium that had been given to her after her Father's death, a memento of the first Death Star in which Grand Moff Tarkin had died. Glistening black boots and gloved hands completed the ensemble. Forcefully straightened hair that cupped her face was what made her appear regal, despite the formality.

The idea for this uniform came from the altercation she had with her new Master. The suits of authority they had worn, whether it was a Grand Moff or a Captain... it exuded a strength she had lost since wearing her own uniform and it was time to project that image once more as a leader of her people.

"You know why you are here." Rübezahl couldn't read her at all. She spoke calmly and succinctly. "To discuss it is a waste of breath. What we shall do about you is another matter entirely."

[Ceto Rübezahl]

To describe her ensemble as intimidating would have been an understatement; Ceto battled hard against the urge to shy away from the imposing shadow she cast from her throne, and prayed to the Force that neither she nor her guards had percieved his minute shudder of momentary weakness.

He braced himself against her coming words. Though her choice to do away with any debate or statement on the subject of his disgrace, he felt a shred of disappointment at the fact that none of the elloquence of excuses he had been subconsciously constructing since his shuttle departed from the Warspite would ultimately prove to be a waste of his intellect. While he had doubted that there was anything he could say - no matter how articulate - that would possibly redeem him in the eyes of the Empire, at least the opportunity to fight his case would have given him something: one of a diminishing few shreds of dignity that e had remaining.

He clung to another shred, squaring his shoulders and smartening his posture: preparing to accept his fate like a soldier would ready himself for military discipline. "I am," he said, keeping his voice as level as possible, "And always have been the Empire's loyal servant, Empress. If there is anything that can be done to reaffirm that loyalty in your eyes, then simply name the task and it will be done."

[Miranda Tarkin]

She clicked her tongue in a tsk. "Loyalty is not the issue here, Moff Rübezahl. How you executed the demands of your office is, however."

Bothawui was highly known to be a strong supporter of the Rebellion, many of their spies hailing from that world. Even knowing Bothawui's true loyalties, the Empire still held a solid foot hold on the planet and were able to gain some Intelligence to Rebellion movements. Plus, it showed the galaxy that they could remain in control of wayward planets.

That image was now broken by a defeated fleet licking it's wounds or being pilfered by the Rebellion for spare parts. Rübezahl had been given an impossible assignment, but the fool didn't have to trust the blasted Bothans as he did, allowing more of them to be part of planetary defense. If not for that error in diplomacy, or perhaps idiocy, Bothawui would still be under Imperial control.

"Your lack of judgment has made it difficult for me to decide what I should do with you."

[Ceto Rübezahl]

Well, we wouldn't want that now, would we?

A knot of frustration coiled inside him at her attitude. He had hoped that Miranda - someone else overshadowed by her reputation, and upon whom unfair standards had also been imposed - might have managed to conjure a little empathy, rather than falling back on the same tired judgements that the remainder of the Imperial government were adopting. Apparently that hope had been in vain.

A protest formed on his lips, but he held it at bay. The issue of Bothan's participation in their defence was a complex one. The conditions of the Empire's alliance with the Bothans demanded it. Imperial forces were meant to be there to represent the Empire and bolster the existing defenses of Bothawui against attack against the Rebellion and other political enemies of the Imperials. While perhaps another Moff might have disregarded the specifics of that treaty, Ceto chose to take it seriously, and to adhere to it to the very letter. That called for a Bothawui defended by Bothan ships; if the Empire wanted him to do anything different, their kriffing diplomats should've damned well written it into the terms and conditions.

Even if Ceto did raise the issue however, he already knew the rebuttal. As soon as he'd caught wind of the Rebel approach, he should have declared martial law and grounded their intire defence force; that was the most commonly voiced opinion by his critics. Unfortunately, the Sector Admiral had appropriated even the ships assigned to garrison Bothawui, leaving with precious little to defend the Bothan homeworld. He'd made the gamble that the Imperial Officers he'd assigned to monitor the Bothan ships would be enough to keep things in control. They weren't, and a mere handful of Rebel ships were able to waltz their way into orbit completely uncontested.

Ceto tilted his jaw towards the Empress. Whatever he said, it wouldn't matter now; it would take some pretty potent Jedi powers to manipulate the Empress' will, and he was fresh out of those. The time for excuses and weaselling his way out of it was apparently past - his peers might perhaps have expended more effort in the pursuit of grovelling and scrabbling for forgiveness and favour, but Ceto doubted that such actions would actually work on Miranda; besides, he wanted to retain what dignity he could, and dirtying his palms and knees on the ground before her throne hardly seemed a good means to that end.

"Difficult yes, I suppose," Ceto agreed, drawing his breaths steadily to calm himself. "But I trust that, since I have been summoned here, you have managed to reach a decision regardless."

[Miranda Tarkin]

The Empress' features softened. Brown eyes cast down upon Rübezahl with the understanding that he had been searching for moments prior. It was uncanny how her mood shifted, almost as if she had been reading his thoughts. He had taken her statement personal even though not a shred of malice covered any syllable.

However, it was well known through the Empire how impressive Miranda's ability to anticipate people's emotions and wants by verbal and non-verbal cues. It was why she was an impressive orator and spinner of truths. Select few knew the actual source of that ability was the Force itself.

"I realize the precarious position that you had been placed in. If I truly believed you to be incompetent, as your vocal dissenters like to whisper to me in my ear, you wouldn't be here in my presence."

Surprisingly, Miranda rose from her throne and descended the stairs so that both she and Rübezahl were a yard apart. Hands behind her back, she stood erect and proper as she spoke once more. "I truly believe that someone set you up to fail. Anyone that held your position was doomed from the start. Unfortunately, your last issues of command are what caused you to come under such scrutiny and heat that allowing you to keep your title as Moff would be damaging for your health."

In other words, there were many throughout the Empire that wanted Rübezahl to be done away with quietly. They felt he completely disgraced the Empire with this debacle and should be kicked out of service for his lack of foresight, or even worse, killed as punishment. "I presume you can appreciate that assessment."

[Ceto Rübezahl]

Tarkin swept down from her throne with the grace and ellegance of a powerful bird of prey descending from the heavens to strike at some unsuspecting creature below. Ceto had to fight the urge to recoil as she advanced upon him; thankfully, she stopped a few blessed feet short.

From this range, he could see into her eyes. Was that sympathy; understanding, perhaps? Her words at least conveyed a little of that tone, although at the same time they were also frank and accurate. Her gentle voice tumbled forth words of logic; while he appreciated the concession that he had failed at an unwinnable scenario, the fact that he had failed at all was not something that could be ignored, regardless of circumstance.

So, he mused. No longer a Moff.

It was hardly unexpected, and yet even so he couldn't hide the disappointment that swelled within him. After all those years of striving to overcome his reputation, fighting to earn respect from his peers, he had been undermined by an aspect of that very same lack of respect and trust. He still supposed that his ambitions to serve the Empire could be fulfilled elsewhere, but the prospect of having to claw himself through the same arduous process again was daunting at best; and there were only so many decades of his life that were actually available to waste on such pursuits.

He forced such thoughts aside; saved his doubts and disappointments for a later, more appropriate time. "I can," he said eventually, providing an answer to the Empress' question. His brow furrowed slightly as he pondered how their coversation should continue. "If I infer correctly, Empress, you have already found a new way in which I can be of service to you and your Empire?"

[Miranda Tarkin]

Lips pulled back into a viper like smile, "Shall we say, before this incident, you were well liked, popular, a face that someone could trust and had earned his position as Moff, despite the negativity that came from your former career." All qualities that the Empress shared with Rübezahl. Even their family backgrounds were identical, but Miranda was thrust into the political arena at a young age when she willingly spoke before the Galactic Empire concerning her Grandfather's death. Rübezahl had opted to become a holovid star and realize his true Imperial roots later in life.

Boots hit the mirroring black floor tile as Miranda began to walk casually to a view port, the invitation to follow was unspoken. Her Crimson Guards pursured her every movement quietly behind. "Even your CO's had to admit that you possessed natural leadership capabilities, but you cannot lead any longer."

She stopped to the side of the viewport so that Rübezahl could join her. The landscape of Coruscant never changed. Massive skyscrapers stabbing at the heavens while the never ending traffic encircled the district like hungry ants. "You are, however, more then qualified to negotiate on behalf of the Empire as part of our Diplomatic staff."

[Ceto Rübezahl]

Ceto couldn't do anything to stop an eyebrow from crawling its way up his brow. Diplomatic staff? There were of course a number of worlds in the galaxy who were not aligned with the Empire, but most of them were staunchly independant in political affairs, and most Imperial citizens paid very little attention to them. The Empire had ambassadors and diplomats who represented their interests on those worlds; but Ceto himself had never met one, nor could recall the name of any in particular.

It was hardly the career path that he had promised his father he would pursue shortly before his death; his father had great plans for his son, which Ceto had unfortunately been unable to fulfill. While his disappointment was almost certainly assured at this point - Ceto did not doubt for a second that, whatever sort of afterlife their was, his father would still be scrutinising his every move - perhaps he could prevent it from becoming total.

I must admit, his mind muttered to itself. The notion is certainly intreguing.

He squared his shoulders, staring out through the viewport at the landscape that he'd hardly seen since his childhood. He'd grown up here, among the penthouse suites and rooftop boulevards that the rich and infamous occupied. No matter where in the galaxy he went, nothing could quite compare to the breathtaking spectacle of a city when even the smallest buildings dwarfed the natural topography.

He was not here for sight-seeing, however. He turned his attention away, directly towards Miranda. "You have a specific assignment in mind for me, Empress?"

[Miranda Tarkin]

Feeling his eyes upon her once more, the Empress turned towards the former Moff, "You will be sent to Serenno. Do you understand the significance of this planet?"

It was the homeworld of Count Dooku, the infamous Sith of the Clone Wars. Currently it was an Independent world that had sparked the Empress' interest. Their amount of wealth and resources on the planet would help fortify the Empire and it could possibly solidify a stronghold in the Outer Rim if negotiations went well.

Not every conquest of the Empire had to be won by the gun alone. Words were powerful weapons by themselves, but the might of the Galactic Navy could back any claim of weakness whispered by the unconvinced. Even the recent loss at Bothawui could not discount that fact. The insurgents had played a very patient hand in achieving victory. The Empress could be just as patient as well in returning that favor.

[Ceto Rübezahl]

Ceto cast his mind back to the years that had followed the Clone Wars. When they had actually been waged, his attention had been on anything but current affairs... unless those affairs revealed which of the rich and glamourous women in Coruscanti high society were most likely to sleep with him. Once he had ended his acting career however, he had studied the conflict intently, trying to make up for whatever ignorance and short-sightedness had addled him in his youth.

If his memory recalled correctly, Serenno was located towards the far end of the Hydian Way; out near the Corporate Sector. That put it on the far side of Bothawui, and ordinarily outside of the area of space he would have been interested in, but a recent string of raiding missions against supply lines by the Rebellion had drawn his attention towards status updates for that region.

"What is the objective of negotiations?" he asked. There could be several: Serenno would certainly be a useful ally to have in that region, for example; but even establishing an Imperial presence in the system to hamper Rebel activity in the area would be worth the Empire's time. And of course, there were no doubt various resources that the planet could offer access to.

[Miranda Tarkin]

"We have a civil relationship with the planet. I want to develop it further." Miranda's lips pursed together as she sized up Rübezahl. He was a handsome specimen of the male race, one that the Empress could admire. Couple that with his experience in negotiations as a Moff, the Countess of Serenno might actually cave.

"That is where you come in. By being deployed to the planet as my emissary, it is my desire that you sway the Countess in joining us." Steady was her frame, but her eyes burned with an intense hatred. "The Rebellion holds too much control in the Outer Territories. Serenno's location would benefit the Empire in staving the insurrectionists. Especially if they willingly side with us."

A planet willing to join the Empire sends a far more powerful message then a fleet usurping control. Other planets might sway into joining her Empire without one shot fired, and as she amassed further support, sympathy for the Rebellion would dwindle.

[Ceto Rübezahl]

Ceto's eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly. While a diplomatic mission Serenno might not be seen as quite as rewarding a job as being a Moff, the Empress apparently had ambitions towards great results.

Independent worlds were usually such with good reason. In the case of Serenno, their affiliation with the leader of the Confederacy of Independent Systems had likely left them alienated when the Galactic Republic had evolved into the Galactic Empire; the same reasons that had prevented them from rejoining at the close of the Clone Wars would likely have been allowed to propogate. His task would not be easy.

A ghost of a smile formed on his features. The Empress was providing him with an opportunity to win back the Empire's favour; whether intentionally or not, it was not an opportunity he could afford to pass up. If he succeeded, then perhaps the incident at Bothawui would be allowed to fade away into the proper context.

"Then I shall endeavour to ensure that those ends are met," he said, meeting her gaze once again with a smile that had melted so many thousands of young teen girls' hearts. "I'm sure the Serennoans can be convinced that such an arrangement would ultimately be beneficial to all involved."

[Miranda Tarkin]

Miranda's expression shifted into amused assurance. "I'm quite sure that you won't."

Her arm sharply rose and snapped the air between them. "And to ensure that there is no room for failure, I'm assigning you one of my most trusted staff."

As capable as Rübezahl was for an assignment like this, he could not afford another blunder. The Empress was doing him a favor, but she wanted Serenno more so.

Heavy footfalls clanked down the metal staircase as the Empress continued the introductions. "Agent Elias Akasha has served me since my time as Moff. I will admittedly miss his presence as a member of my staff, but the skills he can provide you with your mission are invaluable."

Which was a polite way of saying that the Empress trusted him only so far and this solidified complete success.

[Elias Akasha]

The snap of fingers echoed around the accoustic perfection of Miranda's audience chamber. On the viewing gallery that occupied the shadowed and vaulted ceiling above, Elias had waited for his summons. He should probably have felt annoyance at the somewhat objective manner in which he was called, expected to trot obediently to her side like a tamed beast, but in truth he found the irony mildly amusing.

Inducted into the Empress' guard after her elevation to the Imperial throne, Elias often wore the intimindating crimson garb of her other Guards, blending in amongst them to ensure his close and unnoticed proximity to the Empress whenever required. However, this particular assignment called for something less conspicuous, though equally intimidating.

Elias' uniform mirrored the one designed for Miranda, though with a much more spartan eye for ornate detail. A simple plain-faced black tunic in the standard Imperial style formed the basis, though with a much sleeker, simpler, and more tailored design, sewn from much finer cloth than the military standard. Markings of rank were entirely absent, save for a less ornate version of the same Imperial symbols that Miranda wore, gracing the throat of his high collar. The trousers and boots were tailored but practical: better suited to any combat that he might be forced into.

Memories of an incident on Doldur flashed through his mind; that day had driven home how important it was to be prepared for any eventuality, and the tailors' concession to that fact was reassuring.

Elias came to rest a few paces behind the two politicians, standing far enough clear to be easily seen by both. He straightened himself to his full height, and locked his expression in an emotionless mask; his eyes briefly turned a stern gaze on the former Moff, before focussing on Miranda. "Empress," he greeted, with a slight bow of his head. He considered how best to refer to the disenfranchised Moff. "Mister Rübezahl," he decided upon eventually.

[Ceto Rübezahl]

Once again the Moff - wait, no, diplomat - fought the urge to recoil. He was once again reminded of the muttered speculations that the upper echelons of the Empire only employed people who posessed some kind of psychic intimidation ability; whatever mystical means the Agent employed, they were certainly effective.

Agent, Ceto mused, regarding Elias with casual scrutiny, wondering which of the Empire's multitude of agencies he was employed by. His position on the Empress' staff suggested the Imperial Security Bureau, who had long provided defense and protection to Moffs and Governors; then again, who knew who might be employed by the Empress?

A twist of discomfort formed in the pit of his stomach, as he contemplated the implication of the "assistant" he was being given. An observer; someone to watch him, keep him out of trouble; someone that the Empress could really trust. Had he been alone, he would have sighed, but he supposed that he would have to tolerate such things, if he ever intended to earn back his place within the Empire.

He turned back to Miranda, and mustered a thankful smile. "Much appreciated, Empress." He hesitated, eyes reluctantly flicking towards Elias. "Will that be all? It would seem that I have a great deal of preparation to undertake if this endeavour is to be a success."

[Miranda Tarkin]

"Agent Akasha shall contact you later this evening with details regarding your transport." Miranda turned away the new Diplomatic Attaché and stood facing forward towards Akasha. "I look forward to reading a detailed report with your first weeks findings. You are dismissed."

[Ceto Rübezahl]

Ceto hesitated, mind searching for something appropriate to say. But there was little you could offer in response to that. It suddenly struck him that he'd very rarely left an encounter with high society in a condition where he was both conscious and still in posession of his mental faculties. He felt a desperate longing to be carried out in a near-catatonic state of innebria, to avoid the awkwardness that was bound to ensue.

"Yes, well," he tried, floundering for a closing line. His eyes flicked between the Empress and her Agent. His mouth worked, but no words managed to come forth. He frowned for a moment and then, nodding almost imperceptibly to himself, turned on his heel and disappeared for the exit, only pausing for a brief moment to glance over his shoulder and cast an appraising eye over the Empress once again.

Damn you, Gallus Tagge, he thought to himself as he stepped out of the audience chamber. Lucky bastard.

[Miranda Tarkin]

With Rübezahl gone, Miranda patted Akasha's chest in apology. "Forgive the dramatics. You are far more valuable then some pet to be called out and used as intimidation."

She smiled and whispered softly so that only he could hear, "But you do it so well."

Falling away from his personal space, the Empress ascended the staircase that led back to her throne where she sat once more. "Your continued assessment of Rübezahl is appreciated now that you have seen him in person."

[Elias Akasha]

Though none was necessary, Elias appreciated the appology; though the satisfaction was somewhat reduced by the forced lack of response to her context. In the same situation, he was certain other men would have reacted with a mix of emotions to her touch. As one of her trusted guards and protectors however, he didn't have the time nor the freedom to indulge those sorts of thoughts; though apparently Ceto Rübezahl seemed to be somewhat less controlled in his own mental wanderngs.

At her invitation to speak, he furrowed his brow and clasped his hands behind his back, pondering his words carefully. "He is an actor," he said at length; not quite the obvious statement as it seems. Though his bulky and intimidating frame belied the soldier's career that he had served through earlier in his Imperial service, he had been later selected by the ISB, and trained as one of their Agents. A natural ability to read people had been a key asset in that capacity.

"He thinks a lot more than he expresses," he clarified. He decided not to specify what in particular he'd inferred about the subject of the man's thoughts. "He chooses his words carefully as well, which is certainly a trait that will be beneficial to him as a diplomat."

He winced a little, hesitating slightly. "He has doubts, however," he revealed. "Or perhaps disappointments. It goes beyond mere professional embarassment following Bothawui. He seems to appreciate the impossibility of the situation, and doesn't blame himself for failure; he realises that others will do so however, and seems deeply troubled by that." His mind churned over the personnel records that he'd scrutinised intently before the Moff's arrival. "He believes he has let down his father, perhaps?"