A Lesson in Secrets

[Lapis]

Oh, by all means. Ask the human. You want information about the droid, so naturally, your first inquiry is directed towards the only person in the room who is not said droid. It was a prime example of the strange organic logic that proved so taxing to the protocol subroutines of a droid like Lapis, but fortunately he had been programmed to be patient with such things. More patient, at least, than being sealed inside a transport container for what his internal chronometer informed him was several days, awaiting discovery from these two sanctioned individuals. He supposed it was not their fault, though. They were organic units, and this was a secure and hidden facility, one that would have taken time to find and access, not to mention the time taken to safely extract themselves from their current assignments to do so covertly, nor the time that Unit Khalid was so fond of dedicating to theatricality and timing.

Now that he was liberated, Lapis allowed himself the opportunity to resort to his basic programming. His stance shifted, dactyl manipulators clasped in front of him, back straight, ears straight; the model of what many races considered to be good servile conduct. The LEP droids of Coachelle Automata were hardly the most prestigious and widespread of servant droids. Cybot Galactica cornered much of the market in terms of protocol, translator, and butler droids; but LEP units had carved out a modest niche for themselves, catering to Confederate Generals who needed something to help them feel a sense of importance, but who weren't in reality important enough to warrant the expense of a droid with any real monetary value.

Unit Xivelle was no Separatist General, however; and while Lapis was in no position to analyse the appropriate financial value of the Doctor and her work, he was also no mere servant droid.

His head tilted slightly to the side, ocular receptors blinking momentarily as he began to analyse the human and her responses. An analysis of vocabulary choice and microexpressions revealed a faint hint of hostility and displeasure. She felt responsible for him, not grateful of his presence and potential assistance. That would not do. Despite all the modifications and customisations to Lapis, his programming, and his chassis, underneath it all he was still a dutiful and obedient servant droid, to those he was programmed to obey. Currently, that list included a singular name.

"Perhaps I can offer some clarification in that regard, Doctor Xivelle. I am Special Tactics Experimental Prototype Two, though my colloquial designation is Lapis. I am -"

A momentary lag spike caused his oculars to flicker ever so slightly, as Lapis began to scrutinise a large section of Unit Xivelle's past correspondence, composing a linguistic algorithm that would echo the vernacular and structure with which she appeared most comfortable.

"- ingratiated to you for releasing me from my temporary captivity."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

STE-II. That designation alone answered a few of Anastasia's questions, though also created a few more in their wake. Thankfully the little droid seemed more than happy to clarify such things, perhaps he wouldn't become a nuisance after all. Though how much the droid had been cleared by Chimera to tell... Well, that would prove to be seen. It also made her slightly question just how ignorant Lord Jibral actually was regarding the unit, it may have never made it's way to the Archives but surely he was familiar with the rest of the Special Tactics Experimental Prototypes. Or perhaps he wasn't. The conversation had never really come up, after all. Not that the Doctor would push the issue, not when the Knight seemed more content on exploring the rest of the floor plan than giving any merit to the droid.

She couldn't help but glance towards the empty box, now wondering just how long had Chimera been setting this up, and furthermore, just how long had STE-II been imprisoned for? What was the purpose of such a thing when he could have been free to roam around instead? His familiarity would have been beneficial...

"Did our mutual benefactor give you any orders regarding this place? Or... explain why it was he could not release you himself earlier?"

[Lapis]

The droid's eyes dimmed as he diverted power towards processing those simple-sounding yet complex questions. Humans had a unique talent for such things: soliciting a large quantity of information with a disproportionately small amount of words. It was both vexing and fascinating, and in truth Lapis was pleased to have the opportunity to converse with another organic being. Interacting with the same few individuals had become deeply unsatisfying: once you managed to construct a 93% predictive algorithm for a particular individual's responses, there was very little value to be gained from speaking to people at all.

Of particular interest was the term mutual benefactor. He supposed it was an accurate description of Unit Chimera, but based on his interactions with other organics with whom said unit had interacted, and his understanding of word-meanings in basic, he was not convinced that Unit Khalid possessed the necessary benevolent nature to be considered a true benefactor. That said, the organic had seen fit to bestow Lapis' assistance upon Unit Xivelle, and that was certainly an action worthy of gratitude and positive interpretation. Lapis set aside a recording of Unit Xivelle's statements on the subject, for later analysis and comparison to determine if it had been uttered in genuine gratitude, in sarcasm, or conveyed some other as yet non-understood definition.

"I have been instructed to provide you with all pertinent information on the history and function of this facility," Lapis stated, answering the simplest of the questions first. The Doctor likely required and desired more than such a simple answer, but Lapis' operating system had learned that oversharing in response to such queries often resulted in a less-than-ideal reaction from organics. No doubt Unit Xivelle would clarify herself and request more information should she desire it.

"As for the circumstances of my release -"

Lapis fell silent, considering his options. His earlier outburst of frustration had been part of a program that simulated "life-like" behaviours, in the hopes of ingratiating himself to the organics he was assigned to serve. This had met with a negative response from Unit Xivelle however, and that caused something of an internal error. His operating system chose to prioritise user satisfaction over all other functions, and answer the question in as objective a manner as he could manage.

"This facility is programmed to minimise energy usage, as part of an effort to avoid notice and detection. My presence within the structure would have registered as an operational unit within the facility, and thus would have caused the operating systems to switch into an active state. The power drain from the lighting and life support would have been minimal, but the same subroutines also activate the central computer network, as well as other systems. Since the main reactor for the facility has been manually disabled, this could have placed a significant drain on the auxiliary batteries, potentially leaving the facility non-functional when you arrived."

Lapis paused, analysing his vocal delivery for relevant information that he may have missed. A tiny sliver of Lapis' sentience emulation software managed to creep through.

"In addition, Unit Chimera felt that finding me in a wee box would help convey the idea that I was intended as a gift, and didn't want you to have to wait for me to run through the start-up cycle that would have followed if he'd placed me in shut-down mode. I complied, of course, but perhaps I might not if he'd been more forthcoming on the amount of time I'd have spent locked in there."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

"Yes, he does have a way of withholding information that would be useful but that he's probably determined is unimportant for whatever reasons," Anastasia replied, her voice carrying only the most subtle hint of bitterness and understanding.

What the small droid told her made sense, however, and gave far more insight into the facility than viewing it alone did. She was far from an engineer but she could appreciate the level of sophistication this place seemed to have in order to keep itself hidden. How that would change now that Lúka and she had access, however, would have to be seen. Or inquired about, she reminded herself as the Doctor looked back to Lapis. Security wasn't exactly her primary concern, however, this was all some sort of gift from Chimera, apparently, that alone spoke enough regarding that.

As she stepped out of the office, Ana beckoned STE-II to follow her. She kept her pace slow, taking the time to look into each partitioned area.

"So what all can you tell me-" She glanced over at Lord Jibral. "Us, regarding the primary functions of this facility? What exactly does Chimera expect us to do here?"

She already was formulating her own theories about that, but it was best to cross check with fact if it existed.

[Lapis]

There were times when Lapis lamented his inability to form facial expressions. A simple frown would have conveyed a far more apt reaction to the secondary part of Unit Xivelle's query than his vocabulator was capable of. He shifted the position of his ears in a crude approximation.

"Unit Chimera is aware of your recent acquisitions."

For a moment, Lapis contemplated if that phrasing was too subtle.

"He is aware that Unit Jibral has retrieved and/or liberated a small number of artefacts and subjects previously housed within the Black Archives, and that they have not yet found their way into the hands of the -"

Lapis halted his verbal construction algorithm, directing a breach of operational security a few words ahead. He almost stated Imperial Intelligence, but as yet Unit Xivelle - and more importantly, Unit Jibral - had not been cleared to know which agency had taken over custodial responsibility for the contents of the Black Archives. He supposed it was a simple enough piece of deductive reasoning: if not the Imperial Knights, there were few alternative agencies who might be entrusted with an influx of the Empire's secrets and prototypes. Even so, protocol was protocol.

"- intended recipients. At this time, Unit Chimera is satisfied with this arrangement, and has even gone so far as to run interference with said recipients to keep the circumstances of Unit Jibral's activities hidden for the time being. For such an situation to succeed however, it is essential that the articles and subjects in question be housed in a facility that is suitably off-the-grid. Hence, this laboratory."

He paused for a moment, complying with the formatting and vocal structure that his narrative subroutines outlined; a hesitation between one segment of information and the next, allowing the recipient organic minds the opportunity to process and catalogue the data.

"As for the facility itself, the specifics were once classified under the auspices of Republic Intelligence. Unit Chimera took it upon himself to ensure that those details never transitioned across to Imperial Intelligence. In essence, this facility does not exist, as far as the Empire is concerned."

Lapis quickened his pace slightly, using his physical presence to subtly guide Unit Xivelle towards one of the translucent chambers. A robotic hand reached out, pressing against the glass; in response to the detected contact, a diffuse light began to emanate from within, rising from the floor and drifting down from above, the walls growing subtly more transparent to allow a clearer view of what was contained within.

"This laboratory was constructed by a bio-research division. The intended purpose is unclear, but given the nature of the facility's safeguards and capabilities, it seems likely that it was intended to facilitate the containment and study of everything from viral samples to complex fauna and macroflora. As for what Unit Chimera expects -"

Once again, the droid's chassis was unable to convey the simple shrugging body language that would have made this social interaction considerably simpler.

"He expects you to use the facility as you see fit, Doctor Xivelle. What that entails is entirely up to you."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

It was as if a child was handed the keys and a bottomless bag to a candy store - that much, she was aware of. Though unlike a child who would rush into such a situation, Anatastia had had the time to analyze and the experience to not take everything simply at face value. Everything has it's price.

Still, this was a gift to do as she pleased, to do as Lord Jibral pleased. While Chimera's hands were obviously involved, Anastasia couldn't help but wonder at who else was responsible. This was a far cry from her days of being whispered about during her residency. The Inquisitoriate may have been obsolete as far as The Empire itself was concerned, but surely it's echoes resonated and found places for those who it had held in it's reserves.

Anastasia looked to the droid, her new assistant if she could believe.

"Remind me in a few days time to send Chimera a Thank You card," She let the statement slip with a bit of a smile tutting at the very edges of her lips.

Her wandering eyes eventually fell on Lúka as he continued his own exploration of the facility and for an instant she had to remember this was not a place just built simply for her own use. He was included, as he ever had been during her time in the Archives.

A small test of her own voice occurred internally before she spoke out towards him.

"Well? What do you make of it?" There perhaps was empathy in displacement that passed through her before the Doctor elaborated. "It's a far cry from the Black Archives, but do you think it will suit your purposes?"

[Lúka Jibral]

What did he make of it? Given the abandonment outside, and the style of the architecture within, the facility certainly seemed more Republic than Imperial. The covert entrance and the way the lights had slowly activated spoke of a facility intended to keep it's existence secret; but for what purpose? The various sectional divisions seemed like cells at first, but their translucent walls and the way they fell in the centre of the space, rather than the peripherals with corridors and passageways around and between them, felt more like a space where things were studied, rather than kept. It reminded him of areas of the Archives, where subjects that needed total and constant observation like Orenth and Shen had been kept; but the apparent airtight nature of the cells took things a step further: were they designed for beings with different atmospheric requirements perhaps, or for research that required some sort of pressurised clean room? Advanced electronics? Biohemistry? Pathogens?

He contemplated her secondary question as well. A laboratory was more Xivelle's purview than his; did this fit his purposes, whatever those were? It was somewhere covert; that was always useful, especially when you were planning to conduct activities without notice. This would certainly be a safer space than the Citadel to discuss any other errands that Chimera saw fit to engage him with, and somewhere secure to stow any anything he recovered - anything that wouldn't or shouldn't find it's eventual way into the hands of Advanced Weapons Research, of course - was certainly of use.

But why did he need this? Thus far, all he had done was clean up a few loose ends. He understood Chimeras investment in that - in maintaining the secrecy of the Black Archives in a way that Imperial Intelligence might not be capable or accustomed to doing - and admittedly he felt a similar investment, and a similar difficulty in letting go of past responsibilities. Being able to keep certain aspects of the Archives away from Advanced Weapons Research felt right as well; some things simply should not be weaponsided, and Lúka shared the Inquisition's distrust in the Imperial military to understand that kind of nuance and difference. For now, certain things were perhaps best left in his more experienced care: something Imperial Intelligence might have done well to consider from the very beginning.

This facility was expansive, though. More than he needed; or at least, more than he needed, as far as he currently knew. What did Chimera have in mind, or in store, that would make a facility such as this necessary?

"I'm not sure yet," Lúka answered honestly, abandoning his preliminary survey and returning to the Doctor's side. A grimace tugged at one side of his mouth. "I have a bad feeling about this. Still waiting for the other shoe to drop."

Once again he reached out with the Force, peering through the darkness for anything specific that might be the source of his unease. There was nothing: just shadows and mystery, an ironic betrayal of something Lúka was so accustomed to exploiting to his advantage.

"I need to scout around a little more. There must be a generator or a computer core around here somewhere; maybe that will offer up some more answers."

He hesitated, taking a moment to study the Doctor, trying to gauge her emotional state.

"Would you feel safer up here with your new droid friend, or exploring the creepy darkness with me?"

[Anastasia Xivelle]

Friend? Well that was certainly one way of looking at it. Already Anastasia had taken more of a liking to the droid than she had most people.

"I'm sure Lapis and I will have plenty of time to become properly acquainted." Anastasia's reply came swiftly, along with what was probably a needlessly friendly smile given towards the droid. It wasn't an entirely false act, though it was the sort of thing she would have reserved for a person rather than someone who technically wasn't supposed to be sentient. "Besides, I've never been one to believe that curiosity was entirely dangerous. Hazards of the profession I suppose." A soft shrug of her shoulder suddenly reminded her of the chosen attire for her cover story.

"And if anything should go wrong," Anastasia continued, not entirely benign in her tone, though far from anything that could have been construed as flirtatious. "Well, I'll be with you, won't I?"

[Lúka Jibral]

Whatever intention had been behind Doctor Xivelle's words, something inside him found a different one. Though she had meant nothing by it, and though Lúka had handed her the decision, the notion that she was safer with him than not was something new; and yet not. He was an Imperial Knight, yes, but what did that mean? Protectors of the Throne. Enforcers of the Empire. For all the ceremony, and all the implied promise of a better way, to Lúka it seldom felt different from his time as an Inquisitor. Overt menace instead of covert menace was still menace all the same: warriors prepared to do dark things in the name of the greater good.

But this? This was different. Subtle, and small, and yet far more meaningful than he might have imagined. You didn't feel safe with an Inquisitor: you felt safe with something you could trust, and that? That was not something Lúka Jibral had felt for a long time; and perhaps for the first time since stepping out of the shadows of The Maw, and into the ranks of the Citadel, he felt for a brief moment like the Knight he was said to be.

"Come on then," he said with a matching gesture, perhaps standing the slightest bit taller than before. "Let's go see what other secrets this place has for us."

As he led the way towards the exit from the first chamber, the building transitioning into long darkened passageways, Lúka reached out with his senses, trying to feel his surroundings, and gain a sense of the labyrinth that surrounded them. Unlike the rooms before, the corridors failed to illuminate themselves in response to visitors, and so Lúka held his lightsaber aloft like a torch, a soft white glow reaching out to flicker across the walls around them. An odd sense of familiarity touched on his mind: whispers, shadows, laughter in the dark; he pushed it aside, whatever memory or ghost of the Force was responsible left ignored until later.

Ahead, the corridor split, and Lúka came to a halt, head tilting to the side as his mind attempted to explore their options. One path felt twisted, folding back on itself, leading off towards depth and possibility; a stairwell, perhaps, access to the lower levels. Idly, Lúka wondered if the elevator might have conveyed them deeper, had they been able to instruct it to do so. The other path was more direct, and led to an abrupt end, a vast void continuing on beyond its limits. It could have been anything, and the emptiness failed to grasp his attention; but no, there was something else. Something strange. Something familiar. He fixated on it, letting it guide him as he continued onwards, following the short corridor to its abrupt end at a blast door. Perhaps there had once been a conventional interface, but it had clearly been removed, replaced instead with something sleek and dark, more sophisticated than most of what one found scattered around Coruscant. As Lúka reached for it, hesitantly, the gloss surface flickered, an outline of a hand illuminating on the surface.

He glanced back towards Doctor Xivelle, and shrugged.

"Everywhere else seems happy to see us."

As Lúka pressed his hand against the device, an agonising moment of pause followed before the blast doors began to rumble and recede, sliding apart in the standard Imperial diamond formation to expose the chamber beyond. A rush of breeze raced past Lúka into the freshly opened space, the stagnant air desperate to intermix with that which it had been separated from. Lúka's eyes narrowed, trying to peer through the darkness, but the chamber quickly obliged, lights chasing off in different directions to slowly resolve and reveal the limits of the space. At first, they defined a gantry, suspended around and across the cavernous space, transforming into a series of zigzagging ramps in the distance that seemed to lead down towards the chamber's floor. Then they chased downwards to the floor itself, but something large, something vast obscured them from proper view. Something tightened in Lúka's chest as the vague, hexagonal shape was lit from beneath; and grew tighter as the lights finally spread to the ceiling above, powerful floodlights piercing through the darkness to reveal a ship. But not any ship.

Recognition slammed into Lúka like a wave. The lightsaber extinguished as Lúka's hand fell to his side. A VCX-100. Lúka didn't need to be a starship enthusiast to know that. And not any VCX-100 either: his heart knew it, before his eyes confirmed it. Maelibus. There it was, scrawled in half-faded letters on the side of the hull. Lúka knew exactly where to look: he'd scrubbed those very hull plates enough damn times. This was his past. This had been home, once. This was, was -

Impossible.

Lúka was glad for the gantry and it's safety rail, something to grasp hold of and steady himself. This was a trick. A manipulation. It had to be. Khalid was screwing with him, flaunting his knowledge of Lúka's history as part of a power play. That was the only explanation that made any sense. There was no way Elira would have let herself be parted from her ship; not alive, at least. No way that Quinn, or the Wookiee, or -

He winced, something screaming in his head, a rancor rattling at the bars of its cage, fighting to get loose. Too many memories. Too many fragments of a past he tried so hard not to think about. No. That past was dead, every piece and person of it dead to him. The Maelibus couldn't be here. Shouldn't be here. He shouldn't have been drawn here, led here. Anger tightened his grip around the railing. This couldn't be. This was all wrong.

[Anastasia Xivelle]

Being lead through darkened walkways by Lord Jibral, with only the glow of his lighsaber to light the way, had the Doctor seriously questioning her sanity in decision - as well as chosen attire for their supposed date. The constant echo of the modest heels she wore had her on edge more than anything else, but still, it all seemed benign; her concerns for naught, as they reached their destination.

The importance of the battered ship was entirely lost on her. It left Anastasia canting her head every so slightly as she took it all in, her vision purely drawn to the object and away from everything else. What purpose did Khalid have here? It wasn't impressive by any means, though there was no denying the damn near permanence of a VCX-series in all it's forms. The one thing they did and did well was hold up. That about was the full margin of her knowledge on the subject. Starships had never had much interest for her aside from being a means to getting from one section of the galaxy to another.

It was only when she turned to ask the Knight for his opinion that she noticed something was dreadfully out of place. Not the ship, nor the re-occurrence of the lighting that responded to their very presence. No, it was far more human than that and it was something Anastasia was not prepared to deal with. It wasn't that Lord Jibral seemed anguished by the appearance of the craft, but he was visibly shaken, which was a far cry from anything she had seen exhibited by the man before. She never thought of him as emotionless or heartless, just professionally focused much in the same way she was. Then again, maybe - like herself - there was far more bubbling below the surface that either one of them wanted to admit freely.

In her minds eye she saw herself approach him, gently place a comforting hand upon his arm or shoulder, or perhaps just verge on such a thing. It was the right thing to do, wasn't it? Show concern for a colleague? Yet something within her stopped herself from ever making it that far, something that guiltily wanted to observe the shift in behavior far more clinically than she was qualified for. After all, while some residency had demanded she spend time in a psychiatric facility, it was far from her forte. Still, she wasn't cold, not as much as she had willed upon herself, and she was no stranger to a sudden unexpected event upending your status quo.

So instead she remained where she stood, unsure and even a bit wary that it was entirely possible that Lord Jibral could somehow pick up on the nuanced and conflicted feelings that swam within her. A step was allowed to close the distance between them by half, another more measured one to cut it into merely a quarter. Not that they had been all the separated to begin with, but the proximity was the best approximation of the soothing touch she could make herself give. He wasn't a patient, after all.

"Lúka?" The use of the non honorifics stung in her mouth as if she had suddenly bitten her tongue. For all the correctness of it, she might as well have; but it was too late to take it back. "What's wrong?"

[Lúka Jibral]

"I -"

What was wrong? Everything. Emotions cascaded through Lúka, confused and conflicted. The teenage part of him, long sleeping, reared its head and smiled at the thought of home: or at least, the closest approximation thereof that he had enjoyed during his years on the run from the Jedi Purge. It had slumbered all this time, even amid the surroundings of the Citadel. The repurposed ruins of the Jedi Temple had not awoken the Padawan he had once been from within his memories, so why this?

But that part of him was dead, left to bleed and suffer on Ord Anor until the Inquisition had found him. Not only that, but the affections he had felt for this ship and her crew had died there as well - or should have. His Master, Inyos Aamoran. Their Captain, Elira Asael. Mandan Hidatsa. Atton Kira. Quin-Tain Starwind. The Wookiee, Barbacca. They had relied on each other, cared for each other. They had carefully cultivated the lie that together they were something special: friends, a crew, a family even. But the time had come when they had revealed themselves as nothing more than co-conspirators, fugitives from the Empire with undue cause; and there was no honor among such thieves.

That certainty brought with it a sense of tranquillity. The swirling emotions in his mind were forced into submission, all aligning with that truth. The crew of the Maelibus had betrayed him. Any memories of them were nothing but data, nothing but trivia, so divorced from who he was now that they were practically irrelevant. If this was a manipulation, a mind game, some trick played by Khalid to test his resolve and commitment, it was a challenge he would overcome. And if this really was the Maelibus? Perhaps it was fitting that she was in his hands now, free of those who had betrayed him, ready to be filled with those he could trust for some greater purpose.

"Nothing, Doctor."

Her sentiment had not gone unnoticed. The desire to comfort. The use of his name. On some level, he appreciated it, but he had allowed her to witness a moment of weakness, and that could not be indulged. His tone was formal, words reminding her of who they both were, and that there was work to be done.

"Nothing at all."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

Her head nodded, a simple gesture to fill the space where words were unnecessary. Anastasia was, after all, overtly aware that she had just watched Lord Jibral stumble, something within his mind - be it memories or otherwise - was being played upon by Khalid. The Knight had risen above the challenge, however, and to draw any further attention to the occurrence was an insult she would not let herself make.

Likewise there was little to react to in the sudden perhaps reprimand that had occurred in the formality in which he had responded to her. Doctor. It was more than just a name, after all, the title representing all of the hard work that she had put towards it, all the sacrifices and changes she had to make. It was not something to be disappointed in being called, but rather an honor, one that she gladly held herself to. Perhaps it even echoed her own offering, her asking after his well being as she was expected to do, and him reciprocating appropriately.

So why did it perturb some nonsensical part of her that she had all but buried?

The thought was shoved aside, almost brutally in it's defiance for the sentiment to even be recognized. It was a weakness to purge, nothing more.

Both parties recovered fully, Anastasia began a slow decent down the ramp leading to the ship beyond. She kept each step steady, making sure to not pass the Knight or make it seem as if she was pressuring him to move forward on her account.

[Lúka Jibral]

Perhaps he should be more delicate with Doctor Xivelle. After all, their expedition was concealed behind the illusion of some sort of romantic encounter. If they were to continue relying on that deception, it would not do for him to offend her; things needed to be amicable between them at the absolute worst. He had fixated on how it might have appeared had he accepted her gesture of comforting familiarity - but to whom? Did he suspect on some subconscious level that Khalid was observing them, watching him like a rat on a maze to see how he reacted to this latest Maelibus trap? Was it the Doctor herself who he was reluctant to show vulnerability to, and if so, why? Some primitive machismo? Some childish need to avoid undermining her confidence in his protective capabilities?

Or was it something more? Perhaps he himself did not want to witness that vulnerability, did not want to see him weakened by allowing closeness and sentiment to cloud his judgement. He had witnessed that, first hand, aboard the very VCX-100 the ship before him purported to be. He had watched his Master, a man he had trusted above all others, compromised because of feelings, distractions, the kind of attachments that the Jedi Order forbade, to the ultimate extent of betrayal. Perhaps that was the lesson here, the test: a reminder not to repeat those same mistakes.

Those thoughts danced through his mind in a dizzying haze as he descended downwards; a blink later, and the hatch of the VCX-100 stood before him, the overhang of the cockpit and nose cannon looming above his head. A moment of hesitation was wrestled aside, his hand reaching out for the controls that would activate the ramp. A security query challenged him. An access code required. Lúka's blood turned cold. Just how deep did this deception run? Surely, the same access codes from his youth on the Maelibus would not function here: surely Captain Asael had purged them from the system long before Khalid had the opportunity to learn of them. Yet, those same alphanumerals, punched in on uncomfortably familiar keys, were exactly what the vessel demanded. The lock screen adjusted, a simple message displayed.

Welcome home.

As the ramp descended, it tore open Lúka's soul, a cavernous space mirroring the vast emptiness of the ship's cargo hold. The sound of it, the signature whine and creak of the servos. Scuff marks on the edges of the ramp itself, ones that no one else could possibly have known the details of or stories behind. The faint scar, painted over, when a practice duel between Master and Padawan had grown overzealous, and a deflected blow had nicked a tiny segment of the cargo bay wall. This was no deception. This was no impostor. Any shadows of doubt were driven from Lúka's mind. This was her. This was home.

Doctor Xivelle was almost forgotten as Lúka stepped inside, almost in a trance. His fingers brushed across the pockmarked walls as he advanced towards the ladder, autopilot carrying him up the rungs, past the observation platform, and through the hatch. He knew where he was going. He knew where he needed to be.

The cockpit was smaller than he remembered, and yet immediately he slipped into the exact same seat, as he must have done a thousand times before. Not his seat, of course; merely the one that he co-opted while others were manning the guns, the place they had instructed the Padawan to sit so that he would be out of the way. Though he'd pretended to protest, he didn't mind it. He liked it back here, watching over Captain Asael's shoulders as she worked the controls, glancing over to Master Inyos and his stern expression, watching the two of them jab and spar with words, as if somehow doing verbal battle was essential to their very survival. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see the knowing looks that Master Mandan threw in his direction whenever Captain Asael said something a little too flirty, and Master Inyos fell into horrified silence. For the first time in a long time, he wondered about them, the fates that had befallen them. Had Inyos and Asael ever found something, ever pushed past the deflector screens that neither realised they had? Or had Master Inyos betrayed her too, leaving her to die alone on a battlefield of her own?

Lúka wasn't sure how long he had sat there, lost among his own thoughts. When he surfaced, Doctor Xivelle was beside him, standing silently, a hand loosely at her side instead of placed on his shoulder, as he wished it might have been. He felt so small, back in that seat, looking up at her. The faintest tug of a sad smile crept onto the corner of his mouth.

"Khalid is messing with me, Anastasia," he explained, a split second decision to regard her as an ally rather than a potential co-conspirator, adopting her earlier familiarity as a subtle hand extended in trust. "This was my home for a while, during the Jedi Purge. This crew, they were -"

Something tugged at the edges of his eyebrows, an emotion that he didn't want to acknowledge or name.

"- the closest thing I've ever had to a family."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

Perhaps it was the tone, or the use of her name, or the sudden show of something other than the expected that caught her full attention away from the cursory glances given to the ship. Either way, it gave her room to pause and to let out a heavy breath that the Doctor hadn't realized she had been holding in.

"He is such an asshole." The thought she had kept to herself regarding their mutual benefactor felt good to let out for all the impudence it unleashed.

The start of a smile that Lord Jibral had given her was reciprocated, a hint of genuine kindness being allowed to leak through that she no doubt would be later mortified by. The concept of a family was not one she was unfamiliar with; her once-proud, now probably mortified parents no doubt still lived in their estate elsewhere on the very planet they stood upon, and somewhere in the universe stood the brilliant cyberneticist Parrus Dal whom Anastasia had once dreamed of beginning a different family with. All of them lost to her in one manner or another, mostly because of her own hubris. It wasn't nearly the same thing that the Knight had gone through, she wasn't as naive to think such a thing, but it was a past she could glean the importance of what it could mean to someone such as he. Things she had always taken for granted and had lost as a result had all but been ripped away from the once Jedi trainee. And truly, both of them had found new surroundings within the Empire, within the Inquisitorius and now the Knights. But their Imperial peers were not family, at least they had never been considered as such by Anastasia and it seemed that Lúka shared that feeling. They didn't offer the same feelings of warmth and acceptance, nor should they.

But still, given the time she had known Lord Jibral, had seen him as a colleague, given all they had shared together, perhaps it was time to remove one of the many heavy stones that lined her psyche. Not enough to truly allow another in, never again, but enough to perhaps allow herself to have something in her life aside from a fellow collaborator and coworker.

She let a sigh of resignation come, as if the tugging free of the metaphorical brick allowed a feeling of fresh air to surge within a space she had considered atrophied. She settled in the chair closest to him and with only a momentary second guess, reached out to place her hand atop his.

"He gave you this for a reason, though. And while his methods certainly leave a lot to be desired, I know you will make the best of them. We are not defined by our past, nor those that were in it. If this is to remind you of those individuals - whatever the reason - make use of that. To emulate or overcome, whichever necessary."

That almost smile formed once more as she considered what she was saying might be taken as mere platitudes and with it Anastasia's tone shifted, her cadence lightened and jargon abandoned.

"Don't let him get to you. If he wants us to make use of this lab, this ship? And he thinks that he can manipulate that by dredging up your past? Prove him wrong. We are not the weight of our memories, Lúka. We can rise above them."

[Lúka Jibral]

As sentiments went, Lúka appreciated the intention. He wished he was able to let it affect him, to let her words have an impact for the better. Such an asshole was definitely a stance that Lúka appreciated, and yet the instant he tried to align himself with that, his mind began to unpack the counterpoints. Khalid was manipulative, arrogant, secretive, theatrical, and all manner of other negative things, yes, but such were the demands of his situation, seated at the centre - or perhaps not even the centre - of a web of machinations and intents that strove to bring about the betterment of the Empire. He had pulled on Lúka's strings many times, but in doing so he had always seemed to steer him in a direction that Lúka found justified, certainly more than his former associates within the Inquisitorious. There was a saying: better the devil you know, than the devil you don't. It didn't quite apply to Lúka - he was acquainted with far too many different devils for that - but the premise rang true. Khalid was a mystery, and an asshole, but for now their paths seemed to be running in the same direction.

Just as his mind unstitched Doctor Xivelle's words towards their benefactor - or malefactor, depending on his mood - they did the same for her attempt at reassurance. Learning lessons from his past, from his experiences and mistakes, rising above them towards greater things, shedding the weight they left him with - it all sounded wonderful. As advice though, he knew it was flawed. The mind did not function that way. You had no choice of which memories affected you and which didn't, and while it was possible through force of will and choice of action to affect the kind of person that you were, the fingerprints of that past and those memories was indelible. People could be greater than the sum of their parts, perhaps, but no one was greater than the sum of their past. History was what forged people, and the weight that Doctor Xivelle suggested he rise above? That was structural, at the core of who he was.

Yet, the sentiment remained. The intention remained. The moment, too, had not fully passed. Effective or not, Doctor Xivelle sought to ease his current suffering, and such gestures deserved rewards.

"They left me to die."

The words were delivered blunt, and factual, perhaps tinted with a little sadness - no, not sadness; remorse, as if they were words of condolence being offered to a victim's loved ones. A faint sorrow, but one from which Lúka detached himself. The words did not sadden him, they were simply sad.

"In those days, we aided the Jedi underground. More people survived Order 66 than you might think, and still more awoke as Force Sensitive in the months and years that followed. Some required assistance. Some required passage. Some alone, some in groups. Families, even, harbouring infants with the choice between being raised as fugitives, or falling into Imperial hands. There were no Knights back then, only Inquisitors - hardly an inviting prospect for a terrified mother and her child."

His eyes found the deck plates, encountering more difficulty speaking the words than he might have expected. His head and heartfelt no particular swell of emotion, but apparently, his voice did in their place.

"An Imperial unit found us, on Ord Anor. I stood against them, buying time for the others to escape. My Master should have been beside me, where he belonged. He was not. I turned, and he was gone; and I alone was not enough to hold them at bay. The Inquisitors found me, broke me of my attachments to the Jedi Order, and then locked me away in the Black Archives with the rest of their redundant relics."

A bitter echoed breath of laughter escaped him.

"The lesson here is that I was not good enough. Not good enough for my Master. Not good enough to stand alone. Not good enough for the Inquisitorious. Barely good enough for the Knights. Now here I am, lurking in the shadows and depths of Coruscant, cleaning up the messes of my betters because I was not good enough for the responsibility of handling them in the first place."

He shrugged, resigned to the truth as he saw it.

"There is no lesson here, Anastasia. No uplifting twist to be found. This ship is a reminder of who I am, who I am not, and the limitations that are beyond my capacity to exceed."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

This was precisely why Anastasia had always preferred wounds of a physical nature. If the Knight had a deep laceration that cut through a portion of his aorta, or had a foreign object pierce his chest and cause one of his lungs to collapse; that she could have handled, that she knew how to cure.But this deep seated regret, this sense of betrayal? They were beyond her abilities, beyond her knowledge. She felt as utterly useless as the first time she had interned in the emergency ward, guided towards aiding those suffering from traumas she had only read about. Yet even then, she had felt better equipped than she did now.

Knowing of Lord Jibral's past and hearing the very beginnings of details pass from his lips were two very separate things and while she did not remove her hand from where it rested, she felt as though having it remain intruded, that she was exhibiting a falsehood that was undeserved. Yet this was how friendships were formed, weren't they? The baring of ones soul to another, even if just the tiniest sliver. Still, it wasn't as if she was entirely thrown into an unknown arena. There were similarities she could draw on, albeit small and perhaps insignificant in the face of all the Knight had been through.

"If Khalid meant this as some devious monument to your failures? Then, at least you are not alone in that."

She sighed and sat back in the seat and let her eyes wander away from the Force gifted individual.

"If this ship is your reminder, then the lab upstairs is mine. Lapis stated that it should be used as I see fit, but I hardly know what that means anymore. I've been called a great many things because of my areas of interest; a dreamer, a blasphemer, a monster even. I'm sure you've been targeted with similar things. When the Inquisitorious took interest, it was because I knowingly put everything I had on the line. I knew the odds of being ostracized were astronomical, that the odds were not in my favor. I did it anyway and somehow it paid off."

The smile that tried to linger on her lips wilted, poisoned by her own admissions.

"At least, I thought it had. While the Empire saw fit to elevate me to a member of it's own ranks, everyone I knew did the opposite. They had warned me, certainly, but I figured since I had the backing of representatives of the Empress herself it would prove my theories had merit, that they could freely and openly continue contact with me on a cordial nature at the slightest. But no, everyone I had known turned their backs on me."

A bitter sting in her words had her considering just how far to elaborate and idly the fingertips of one hand rubbed around an indent no longer present on her second to last finger on the other where a ring had once sat, where at the time she had expected it would remain as they had promised - forever.

"Abandonment is universal. It always hurts. And when what you found in it's stead shuffles you off to some forsaken portion of the Galaxy as if they too are ashamed of you?"

Slowly her gaze swung back towards the Knight, attempting to appraise if her ever so slightly cryptic descriptions of her own experiences registered. If they even mattered, if she should have kept them as close to her as she felt was necessary.

"But, I suppose, neither one of us are locked away within the Archives. Perhaps this is a new beginning, a chance to prove ourselves once more?"

[Lúka Jibral]

"Prove to whom?"

Lúka's eyes were still downturned, but they had chosen to focus their attention on Anastasia's hands rather than on the floor. He understood what that indent meant; or at least, he suspected that he might. Factually, the implication was clear, but emotionally? Parrus Dal was her Inyos Aamoran. Fiancée and Padawan were worlds apart, and yet for both of them, they had been betrayed and abandoned by the man they trusted most in the world.

He wondered if she felt about Parrus the way that he felt about Inyos: missing, without longing; an absence without any desire to know what had become of them. There had been a time when Lúka had imagined what it would be like to confront his Master, what he would say, what he would do; imaginings that his Inquisitorious conditioning had encouraged and cultivated. Now though, that anger had simmered into almost nothing. He no longer cared about the fate of Inyos Aamoran. Alive or dead, his Master was dead to him. He found himself hoping that Anastasia felt the same, though he was not entirely sure why. Solidarity, perhaps, or a desire for her to share in his semblance of closure.

"We are sat on a secret ship, in a secret lab, where our secret benefactor wishes us to conduct secret research and secret missions. The Knights are not watching us. The galaxy is not watching us. So who, then. Khalid? Ourselves? I am not sure I have it in me to care about such things."

Those words might have meant more if he had been able to bring himself to look at her, but Lúka's attention was transfixed. As he fell silent, he found his other hand joining hers, settling atop to bring a halt to her idle attentions. Only then did his vision manage to climb its way back to her eyes, liberated perhaps now that the distraction was halted. The smiles had gone, both his and hers, something more solemn taking their place.

"Who do I have left to prove myself to?"

[Anastasia Xivelle]

There was something to be said for physical contact, and while she had initiated it in an effort to convey sympathy, Anastasia would have been lying if she said the effect wasn't working on her as well. It was such a simple thing, a kind gesture. It meant something, but she just couldn't entirely make out what.

His question bothered her as well. If he could not himself a worthy enough target to instill confidence with, then who? And really, was she any better when it came to her feelings of her own self? She had not grown so sour to think nothing of her own opinion, but reaching the level she wished for herself? It would have been easier to find some way to cause the galaxy itself to implode upon itself. Perhaps they both had set the bar too high a long time ago and now all it left was this shared feeling of doubt and inadequacy.

"I don't know," She answered, her voice softer than usual, the barest hint of melancholy creeping in that she couldn't help but find distasteful but couldn't manage to remove entirely either.

Anastasia was torn between keeping her gaze softly meeting with the Knight's and looking elsewhere for no other reason than to not run the risk of him truly seeing her. It was a precarious position they both were in, speaking how they were, being as close as they were. Still, she didn't feel nervous, or ashamed, just wary. But why was another matter entirely. It wasn't that her emotions were still attached to another, more that they had been cleanly severed and she had never been entirely sure they had grown back as they should have. She certainly didn't feel like they had.

Maybe that explained her next impulse. The contact of his hand atop hers had been welcoming, proof that she could still feel something and maybe there was a desired experiment to see just how and well truly undone she had made herself. It was perhaps not the most sound idea, one even now her more rational mind was telling her to avoid, but she felt vulnerable for the first time in a long time that didn't feel like an utter betrayal of all the hard work she had done to prevent herself from being so.

The Doctor shifted in her seat, leaning towards the Knight, her eyes still fixed with his.

"Perhaps, if no one else, we can at least prove ourselves to each other?" It came out in an uncertain whisper, so unlike herself.

Then again, so was the continued movement of her body towards his, her eyes leaving his for the briefest of moments to glance at his lips before the purely instinctual took over and she leaned forward and her eyes closed, a final test to see if the contact of their hands could be outdone; if it even should be.

[Lúka Jibral]

Lúka could feel it; sense it; in her, and in himself. The intention. The desire. The conflict. He prided himself on perceiving it: people's impulses, people's thoughts, betrayed by their movements and subtle gestures as much as by the subtle disturbances in the Force around them, like ripples in a pond. He saw the way her body moved closer to him, subtle and slow; felt how achingly vast the distance between them was. He felt the almost imperceptable shift of the weight of her hands within his as she leaned, and the far greater weight of what they signified.

He wasn't oblivious to anything about this situation. Anastasia's past; the way her separation from Him had torn through her like someone falling through ice; the way the void had frozen over, but was still brittle and fragile, still visible as a translucent scar in the surface. Like an iceberg, he knew that the true extent of her conflicted feelings stretched far deeper than he could readily perceive; and it was one thing to know how much weight existed below the surface, and another entirely to truly comprehend that. The knowledge filled him with conflict, as it must have with her as well, and yet she still leaned closer.

There were other complications as well. While the pretense for their expedition tonight had been the illusion of a burgeoning romance, it was another thing entirely to entertain such a reality. They were colleagues and coworkers; but also co-conspiritors. There was a comfort that two broken people could offer to each other, but also a danger, a potential for vulnerability - a vulnerability that Lúka could feel already existed within Ana, but that he wasn't sure was even possible within himself any longer. And yet, she was smart; from what he had already explained about himself, what he had already shown, she must have understood those risks. Smart, and shrewd, refined, fascinating, entrancing, intoxicating, breathtaking - and closer still.

Her eyes deviated from his; Lúka's followed, his heart beginning to quicken as her lips became only a breath away from his. It was an instant away, one momentary decision, one small brave effort. He would have been lying to himself if he tried to believe that he hadn't considered it, hadn't entertained the notion; not just within the moment of first seeing her in that dress, with her hair that way, but before that as well. This was her reaching out, her lips an invitation, and all it would take was a single moment of blind faith.

He drew backwards the smallest fraction, his gaze falling away from her entirely. "Wait."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

Wait. All it took was the single word and she stopped. The attempted contact, the thought of it, even her breath for a passing second. Foolish, her inner voice chided. Naturally this course of action wasn't to be allowed and while she certainly felt the sting of shame take hold of her, outwardly it came at a bittersweet smile that and held for a moment before it too was tugged back within.

"I'm sorry," she muttered as Anastasia got to her feet and gently pulled her hand back and away to meet with her other. Her fingers didn't exactly nervously engage each other, but the movement was far from casual.

What followed was an attempt to revert, to close up any possible opening within her the Force sensitive had taken notice of. It would require a proper serum to be fully fruitful, sadly the test batch of which she still had back within the safe confines of the Citadel.

"I should probably return to the lab," the words felt hollow no matter how proper they were, but before she could give more thought to the reasons of why his perfectly understandable and reasonable rejection of her selfish and witless advances had effected her so, the Doctor quickly turned and left the cabin.

She heard him say something to her as she exited the ship far more hastily than she had planned to, but if anything it was probably just an acknowledgement of the line she had crossed, maybe at best some form of reassurance that it would never be spoken of or acknowledged in the future. Yes, that was for the best. No need to linger on mistakes, simply learn from them.