Servants of the Empire

by Jason Fry

  Yes, Jessa Spanjaf would definitely have had some questions about that.

  A series of commands gave her access to the private area of her datapad where she’d been testing the Gray Syndicate’s snooper program. The snooper seemed to do everything she’d requested—she’d programmed it to record everything entered into the computer it was installed on, capture any data that passed through that computer, and send a log of that information to a remote location where she could retrieve it. Once activated, the snooper would work for the amount of time she requested, then delete itself from memory.

  That was it, then, Merei thought. There were no tests left to run—she had to get the snooper onto the Imperial network.

  Merei heard something and paused. Yes, that was definitely her mother calling to her—and she sounded annoyed. She hurried downstairs to the smell of roasting fowl.

  “I have to watch the vegetables—the oven’s gauge is acting up, and they’ll burn. Set the table, please?”

  “Sure,” Merei said, eyeing the different stacks of plates. She held one up for her mother’s inspection and Jessa nodded. But Merei could feel her mother’s eyes remaining on her as she put out the plates.

  “How are your courses at V-SIS?” Jessa asked.

  “Fine,” Merei said.

  “Your dad says you’ve been working on anti-intrusion measures. Both at school and in some sort of club.”

  “That’s right,” Merei said.

  “Well, that’s a better use of your time than grav-ball or joyriding with boys,” Jessa said.

  It was an old fight, and Merei refused to take the bait. But she knew she’d have to volunteer something to avoid an interrogation.

  “Anti-intrusion is interesting stuff,” she said. “I like it because it’s not just figuring out how programs and networks work—it’s about people, too.”

  “That’s right,” Jessa said. “No one has ever created a security protocol that can’t be defeated by the wrong people’s bad habits.”

  “So how do you use the security protocols to make them adopt good habits?”

  “You can’t, really,” Jessa said. “I mean, you can make people change their access codes, but then they’ll just write them on flimsi next to their terminals. Like I always say, you can’t fix stupid. Let’s test what you’ve learned—give me some measures you’d use to make a site’s network more secure.”

  “Don’t reuse access codes,” Merei said as she repositioned the glasses. “Lock down your terminal any time you leave. Don’t leave datapads, network drives, or decoders unattended. Don’t install outside programs on the network. Ask people you don’t know who they are and why they’re there. Oh, and don’t hold doors for people.”

  Jessa looked up from the oven and nodded.

  “That last one’s probably the most important,” she said. “And how many of those things do you need a programmer for?”

  “Well, you can disallow the installation of outside programs,” Merei said. “Other than that, you don’t need a programmer for any of it.”

  “Actually it’s even worse than that,” Jessa said. “You can disallow installations, but then you need to pay some poor programmer to sit around doing stuff a half-blind Lurmen could manage. Typically the guy gets fired or quits and some manager shares the network-security access code, and then you’re worse off. As for the rest of it, it’s a job better suited to a security guard…or a nanny droid that’s ready for the scrap heap.”

  Merei smiled at the thought of Auntie Nags standing over Imperial bureaucrats, her photoreceptors a continuous red.

  “Anyway, I hope they’re talking about that stuff in your courses and at whatever this early-morning club of yours is,” Jessa said. “It’s less glamorous than network traces and intruder traps, but it’s more important.”

  “I’ve been studying it a lot recently,” Merei said. “So I did okay, Mom?”

  “Better than the security chiefs at some of Lothal’s ministries,” her mother said with a scowl. “They have a lot to learn.”

  I sure hope that includes the Transportation Ministry, Merei thought as she began to fold the napkins.

  Zare had just sat down across from Jai when Currahee marched into the mess hall.

  “CADETS! REPORT TO THE ASSESSMENT HALL IN FIVE MINUTES! HELMETS AND HARNESSES!”

  “Didn’t look that appetizing anyway,” Jai said with a shrug as the boys left their nerf cubes and vegetable mash to cool and congeal without them.

  “We should grab ration bars on the way out,” Zare said. “Who knows what they have in mind or how long it will be till we eat.”

  “Quick night’s march to Naboo?” Jai asked with a grin.

  “Why stop there? Double-time it and we’ll make Coruscant by dawn.”

  “I’ll get two ration bars, then.”

  When they arrived at the assessment hall, a glowing flag stood atop the Pillar.

  “This isn’t even a challenge,” muttered Oleg. “Instead of going down, we go up.”

  “But how?” Jai asked. “I don’t see any handholds.”

  Zare dialed up the magnification on his video sensors, but there was nothing but the usual grid on the Pillar’s sheer sides.

  “CADETS! BEGIN!” shouted Currahee as the chime sounded in their helmets.

  A low hum filled the room and platforms emerged from the sides of the Pillar, then began to rotate around its sides. The lowermost row was about a meter and a half above the floor and rotated left, the one above it rotated right, and then they alternated all the way to the top of the Pillar.

  “See you at the top, losers!” crowed Oleg, springing atop a platform as it passed by.

  A few seconds later Oleg said a word that would have earned him a demerit if Currahee or Chiron had heard it. Zare saw him sprawled on the floor below after his platform retracted.

  “Have to be quicker than that!” Jai said, leaping onto a platform alongside Lomus, a beefy cadet from Unit Cresh. While Lomus tried to get his footing, Jai jumped and caught the edge of a platform heading the other way above him. The platform below him immediately retracted and Lomus crashed to the floor in a heap beside Zare.

  Zare jumped onto the lowermost platform, waving his arms to keep his balance, then pulled himself up to the row above him and then the one after that. He saw Jai on the next platform, preparing to continue his ascent. But then the platform above Jai retracted, dropping a cadet onto his perch and knocking Jai to his knees.

  Zare jumped up a row and looked down, expecting to see that the platform had retracted and dumped Jai and the other cadet. But they were both still standing there looking up at him.

  “Something’s changed,” Zare said, activating his unit’s channel. “The platforms aren’t retracting.”

  A second later he felt the platform beneath his own feet begin to retract. He jumped blindly, catching the platform above him by his fingertips.

  “Wrong as usual, Leonis!” Oleg chuckled.

  “I stand corrected,” Zare said as he hauled himself up.

  “I know what’s going on,” Jai said, and a moment later he clambered aboard Zare’s platform, holding up one hand. “Wait.”

  The two cadets readied themselves to leap away, but their platform remained motionless. Jai gave Zare a thumbs-up.

  Zare shut off his helmet microphone and raised his faceplate. Jai did the same, looking puzzled.

  “Why help Oleg?” Zare explained. “We’ll go up together.”

  Jai grinned and the two of them ascended a row at a time, rising rapidly. Zare looked over and saw they’d caught up with Oleg, who was frantically jumping from one platform to the next as they retracted beneath him.

  “You rigged the test somehow!” Oleg complained over their shared channel.

  Zare laughed as he and Jai studied the remaining rows between them and the flag.

  No, he thought. We’re just working as a team. Something you’ll never understand.

  “He’s figured it out,” Jai warned as they re
ached the second row from the top. Zare looked over and saw Oleg had recruited Uzall, a cadet from Unit Besh. They were just one level behind them.

  “Come on, we’re almost there,” Zare said. “Move on three. One, two, THREE!”

  “Something’s bothering me, though,” Jai said. “Each assessment has three winners, right?”

  “Right,” Zare said. “Maybe for this one it’s the top three teams. We’ll find out in a moment, I guess.”

  The two of them jumped up to the top platform, then eyed the flag above them. One more leap should—

  “Look out!” Jai yelled.

  A split second later the platform retracted smoothly into the Pillar. Zare tumbled onto a platform a level below and wound up on his hands and knees, while Jai landed on his feet next to him.

  “Come on, Zare, get up! The others are catching us!”

  Zare tried to get his bearings. He heard Oleg laughing over the unit channel and looked up to see him shove Uzall down, then jump to the top platform. It remained stationary beneath him and he gave Zare and Jai a mocking salute before climbing the rest of the way to the flag.

  The exercise was still bothering Zare when he finally got to comm Merei from one of the Academy’s privacy booths.

  “I mean, what kind of lesson does that teach?” he wondered. “First they emphasize teamwork, but then they punish it and reward selfishness. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I don’t get it either,” Merei said from her bedroom. “Maybe it’s a test.”

  “Everything’s a test,” Zare said. “Psych tests, and equipment tests, and assessment after assessment.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Merei said. “I meant maybe they want to see which cadets are sufficiently aware to even ask the question you’re asking, and raise it with their superiors. Which means you’ll make a fine Imperial officer one day, Zare.”

  Zare glared at her, then realized she’d been joking. He sighed and crossed his arms across his chest.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I’m just tired and need to hit my bunk. What were you going to tell me? Something about tomorrow?”

  Merei shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve got a lot on your mind. Get some sleep, Zare. You need it.”

  Zare signed off, thinking miserably that it felt like Merei was on the other side of the galaxy instead of only a few kilometers away in Capital City. But the test kept bothering him, and he found himself heading toward Chiron’s office instead of the barracks.

  But another officer was with Chiron, standing beside his desk. The man turned and Zare’s eyes widened. It was Roddance—the officer Zare had seen leading the deadly roundup of peaceful protestors in the Westhills a year ago.

  “Well, if it isn’t Cadet Leonis,” Roddance said, his pale blue eyes bright and predatory.

  “Lieutenant Roddance,” Zare stammered. “This is a surprise.”

  “It’s Captain Roddance now, Leonis,” the officer said, tapping his rank badge. “How are the assessments going?”

  “Fine, sir,” Zare said. “Thank you for asking. I’m sorry, Lieutenant Chiron. I’ll come back later, sir.”

  “No need for that, Leonis,” Roddance said in his smooth, cultured voice. “Chiron and I were cadets together, you know—there’s nothing you can’t say in front of both of us.”

  Zare glanced at Chiron, who gave him a thin smile.

  “But let me guess,” Roddance continued. “You were coming to ask about your sister, weren’t you?”

  Zare’s eyes widened in surprise. Then he felt a surge of wild hope. Perhaps Roddance was there because the Empire had gotten whatever it wanted from Dhara and was now letting her go.

  “I was just talking with Chiron about the subject, in fact,” Roddance said. “He’s been diligent in making inquiries at headquarters.”

  Zare nodded, but Roddance leaned forward, his eyes hard.

  “I’ll tell you the same thing I told him, cadet,” he said. “The Empire is working to discover what happened, and you will be informed the moment there is something to report. Until that time, I suggest you both make better uses of your time than pointless worrying. Lieutenant Chiron has cadets to supervise, and you have assessments to focus on.”

  “Yes, sir,” Zare forced himself to say.

  “Very well, then,” Roddance said, throwing a last glance Chiron’s way before turning back to Zare. “My best to your family.”

  Then the officer was gone, trailed by the sound of his bootheels.

  “My apologies, Zare,” Chiron said, waving tiredly at a chair. “That wasn’t the way I planned to update you about your sister.”

  “That’s okay, sir,” Zare said, trying to tamp down his fury at Roddance and the Empire he served.

  “But it’s a good sign that Captain Roddance learned of my inquiries and came to me to address the subject,” Chiron said. “That shows the Empire is indeed taking a keen interest in Dhara’s case.”

  Zare smiled thinly. Chiron might have meant well, but he was wrong—the Empire was indeed interested in Dhara, but its goal was for no one to find her. And Roddance had been sent to warn Chiron off.

  “Anyway, I know that isn’t why you came to see me,” Chiron said, sitting up straight and seeming to recover his normal poise. “What’s on your mind, Zare?”

  For a moment Zare couldn’t remember—the unexpected encounter with Roddance had startled him. But then the evening’s exercise came back to him. He no longer wanted to talk about it, but Chiron was looking at him expectantly.

  “It’s tonight’s test,” Zare said. “First it rewarded teamwork. But the way to win was to go it alone, abandoning your unit mates. What’s the lesson there, sir?”

  Chiron brightened, and Zare knew immediately that Merei had been right.

  “That’s an excellent question, Zare,” he said. “The dilemma is one every officer will face at some point—how do you weigh competing priorities when trying to complete a mission?”

  “But the goals changed halfway through,” Zare said.

  “You’ll find that happens on missions. There will be more such lessons, Zare. For now, know this—that you asked the question is yet another sign of your promise as a potential officer.”

  Zare nodded, and forced himself to thank Chiron. But then he hesitated.

  “Oleg won the assessment because he naturally thinks of himself and not the rest of his squad,” he said. “Is that also the sign of a promising potential officer?”

  Merei found an empty bathroom near an exit in her classroom building, then ducked inside and changed out of her school uniform. She eyed her iridescent green pants and Phelarion School T-shirt with distaste, then sighed and began applying her makeup in the style favored by Capital City’s rich girls. That was easy enough—it was the same riot of whorls and stripes that had been a fad on her homeworld of Corulag two years ago.

  Lothal really is the sticks, she thought, slipping on cheap metal bracelets.

  She shut the bathroom door behind her and slipped out onto the V-SIS lawn, donning her helmet and goggles and activating the remote that warmed up her jumpspeeder. She had two consecutive free periods—enough time, she hoped, for her visit to the Transportation Ministry.

  And if I wind up in Imperial custody, getting written up for missing class will be the least of my problems.

  She let her fingers rest on the trio of network drives in her pants pocket, then gunned the jumpspeeder’s engine and shot out of the V-SIS parking lot, making her way through Old City and then past the new buildings springing up all over the outskirts of town. The Transportation Ministry was one of them, a slab of stone and glass surrounded by a tamed square of grass. Merei parked among the drab landspeeders and forced herself to stroll nonchalantly up to the entrance.

  You go to Phelarion, she reminded herself. You think you own the planet.

  “Can I help you?” asked a bored-looking man at the reception desk. He had the Outer Rim accent typical of a lifelong Lothalite.

  “I
’m Kinera,” Merei said, her voice dripping with Core Worlds languor. “Kinera Tiree. My mother’s assistant arranged for me to sell raffle tickets here today. It’s for our auction to help Clone Wars veterans.”

  The man’s eyes jumped from her makeup to her Phelarion School T-shirt, then scanned his terminal.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t see an appointment. You said your mother called?”

  “Yes. Fondana Tiree, the education minister.”

  She showed him her book of tickets.

  “I’m afraid the minister’s office didn’t make us aware of your visit,” the man stammered.

  Merei sighed and reached into her pants pocket for her comlink.

  “I suppose I’ll have to call my mother and figure out where there was a communications breakdown,” she said. “Her office is very efficient, though, so I can’t imagine it was on their end.”

  “I’m sorry,” the receptionist stammered, looking worried. “I can’t give you a pass without authorization, and nobody’s signed off—”

  “They told mother’s assistant I wouldn’t need a pass—I’m just supposed to set up shop in the cafeteria.”

  Relief bloomed on the receptionist’s face.

  “Oh, is that all?” he asked. “It’s right down the hall—I’ll buzz you in.”

  Merei reminded herself to give him a lofty nod as she strode through the doors—a high-ranking minister’s daughter wouldn’t stoop so low as to actually appear grateful.

  She sat in the cafeteria for a few minutes, waiting as a handful of bureaucrats came in for caf and snacks. A couple gave her a mildly curious look, but then returned to their discussions. When they left, Merei left the cafeteria and headed down the hall, waiting outside the door to a bank of offices.

  A tall man in typical civilian garb came down the hall and pulled out his identification card. He glanced curiously at her.

  “I’m selling raffle tickets,” she said.

  “Sorry,” the man said. “I’d like to help, but—”

  “No—um, the women’s restroom in the cafeteria’s out of service,” Merei said, putting her hands behind her back so he wouldn’t see they were trembling. “They told me to use the one in here.”