[Solved] Across the Stars XIII: Daughter of the Empire

From the Journal of Mayla Fost, Imperial Agent, ISB.

"My father was an Imperial Officer when I was a child. He was a brilliant man—I looked up to him. Not just like any child looks up to their father, but once I'd taken an interest in a military career—at age 10—I looked up to him like a personal hero. He noticed, and encouraged it. He wasn't like other officers, egotistical, petty. He was measured, considered. And, in his own way, eccentric. He loved old legends and myths, he used to read me stories about ancient treasures before sending me to sleep. I admired him for his excellence. I loved him because he noticed me."

An apartment on Coruscant.
The lights of the vast skyline blurred past the slatted windows.

"What does the ISB believe about the mission's objective?"

"Command thinks I'm going to root out a possible Rebel base. No such base exists, but the documentation I presented was as thorough as the real thing. They'll never suspect."

"Well done, my friend. I had nearly given up hope of finding a fellow believer, until we crossed paths. I foresee great things in our near future."

"Naturally. No other path would suit us." The younger man grinned. "We are, after all, great men."

The two Imperials noticed they had an eavesdropper. The older one turned towards the door, and the little girl who stood there listening.

"My girl," he smiled. "Hasn't your mother told you? Listening in can be dangerous." He walked towards her and scooped her up.

The daughter was undeterred. Her eyes shone, bright and excited. "Are you talking about the treasure, father?"

Her father laughed. "She's extremely clever, not to be underestimated," he told his colleague. The girl felt a surge of pride.

"Ingrid, this is my colleague, Sergeant Syfot."

The younger man smiled a strange smile. Ingrid did not like his eyes. "How do you do?" he greeted.

"How do you do?" she repeated back to him, looking away. She did not like the look of Sgt. Syfot, young and hungry and hot-blooded. Her father and he shared a laugh, and she was set back down.

"Go see your mother, now," said her father gently. "We'll be along shortly. Go on."

She left them, running to where her mother sat, drinking from a short tumbler. Elegant, but far away. Startled from her thoughts by the present.

"Mother! When I grow old, like father, will I be a stormtrooper?"

The mother flinched, disdain washing over her face at the idea of her offspring in such an ignoble role. "No, heavens no, pet. You will be an officer on one of the Empire's finest starcruisers. Just like your father."

The child screwed up a frown, considering the idea. "Do I *have* to be on a starcruiser? I do not think I like space, mother."

"Well now, pet; you have never been!"

"Well, father told me about it, and he said it is very dark."

"Yes, yes," the mother agreed. "It is quite dark. Well, you always have options, my dear. You don't see your mother going to space very often, do you?"

"No . . . " pondered the child. "You stay here, at home."

The woman allowed a small, weary smile. "If you would prefer something besides the Navy—"

"Besides the Navy!" cried her father, a grin on his face as he loped into the conversation. He reached to grab up his daughter, who, as he drew closer, saw a tinge of genuine scorn in his eyes, hidden by the smile. It frightened her. He was sensitive about this topic.

"Besides the Navy! No daughter of mine will ever join anything 'besides the Navy'!"

He tickled her, trying to elicit a laugh. The
child, still thinking of the nothingness of space, nearly forgot. She caught herself at the last moment, bursting out a convincingly authentic giggle so her father would not be put out with her.

Her mother fixed her father with a caustic eye. "Really now, Ammon, there must be some other division that's still worth joining, yes? What about the intelligence services? They are distinguished. Why, Colonel Yularen came to our ball last cycle. He was, I think, the most dashing officer in attendance. Besides you, my dear."

Her father looked up from the drink he was pouring. "Yes, yes, Yularen does make a good show of himself. But the ISB? I don't know that I would say 'distinguished'. Hardly a good route for anyone hoping for political advancement . . . and as a woman, you can hardly afford to disadvantage yourself, my girl. Just ask your mother—"
He caught the look his wife was giving him and corrected himself.
". . . But I believe I've spoken too quickly, yet again. Perhaps I only think poorly of the ISB because I would be a poor fit myself! I'm far too talkative." He smiled at his own joke. "Please dear, don't be angry! You know very well how I feel about you."

"I do," she said shrewdly. "You think me fortunate in many ways." Before he could reply, she shifted attitudes. "I believe the cook has dinner ready. Would you like to invite Sgt. Syfot into the dining room, my dear? He seems to be very interested with the view of the city."

Her father set the girl down to go retrieve his colleague, crossing the room away from them. Her mother stole the moment to look at her only daughter. Her eyes were honest, truthful, like the usual veil was temporarily parted.

"You can do anything you like, pet. Join the military, do not join the military . . . I will not be disappointed."

"But . . . Father says I am to join the Navy." Asked the young girl, head tilted.

"Yes, well," her mother frowned. "Perhaps what your father thinks should be a little less important in your eyes, pet."
She seemed to realize her words were rebellious—dangerous, even. She smiled to cover them up. Smiles covered up much in this household.
"But don't worry; you are very young, yet! You have many years before you have to make any such decisions."

Those years passed, and those decisions came to bear. Of course, she had made her decision long before. While her father had fully expected her announcement of enlistment in the navy, the girl chose to apply for the ISB. He struggled and paced and tried to convince her out of it - she agonized over explaining her choice, again and again. In the end, he reluctantly gave his daughter his blessing. His only stipulation: she must assume an alias. Change her enlisted name. Only her recruiter would know her true identity.

"You must show me you have the strength to do this on your own, my girl. Bearing my name is a shortcut to favor from your superiors, and shortcuts will make you weak. Besides, if a rebel should capture you, if he knew your true identity, you might be used as leverage against me, against your father. You do not want to present a liability to your own family, yes?"

His words stung. She suppressed the pained reaction she felt at the corners of her eyes. It was like he was saying he did not want her to be associated with him, like he was ashamed. She wondered if he would have said the same—felt the same—if she had abided by his wishes and joined the Imperial Navy.

But finally, she simply nodded.

"I understand, father."

Her father's face creased into a smile. She sensed relief.
"Of course you do. You are very intelligent, Ingrid. You'll do very well in the ISB, I have no doubt."

A kind comment pierced his disappointment. It surprised her.
She nodded meekly. "Thank you, father."

Her childhood seemed so long ago.

Two years later, Ingrid, now known as Mayla, lay on her back on a durasteel floor, rain lashing at her face. She was clad in an all black set of Imperial fatigues, the singes on the fabric invisible. Other trainees lay on either side of her, and at her feet, rows and rows of dozens of what might be the future ranks of the ISB's field agents.
Stormtroopers stood watch, E-11s cradled, their helmets masking any humanity. Imperial drillers walked among the rows holding long staffs, the ends of which buzzed and cracked in the rain, flashing with electricity.
Mayla disciplined her face to show no emotion, as the trainee two-down from her was jabbed in the ribs with the electrostaff. She heard his strangled agony, but he governed his body well, as they had been taught to. He let the pain happen, sealed his mind against it. If he had cried out, or writhed, he would be punished. If he had done so three times, or shown "fragility" in any other area, he would be dismissed from the academy entirely and reassigned to the Stormtrooper corps, a posting he would start with marks already on his record, inevitably earning him an assignment on a hell-world like Mimban, where he would not live long.

But he passed.
The next one, the one immediately next to her, hissed through his teeth as the prong of the staff made contact with his ribs, and Mayla's peripheral vision saw his body jolt as his muscles coursed with painful volts.

She was next. This was part of the test, the mental strain of knowing it was coming was enough to make many of the candidates panic or try to get to their feet. Anyone who got up was shot where they stood.
Three corpses lay smoldering within 20 feet of where Mayla lay, waiting for her turn.
Weaklings, she told herself. Unworthy of service to the Empire.

The trainee beside her could take it no longer, and screamed.

"Marked," said the driller, voice colder than the rain.

A flash of deep purple entered her vision. She suppressed a flinch. The driller holding the staff thrust it into her ribs.
Pain exploded into her body. Muscles burned and cramped and clenched in agony. Her vision heaved with false, unreal colors. She tried to maintain steady breathing. She tried to control herself. It worked, for a few seconds.

"You are weapons of the Empire, of the Emperor himself."

"Training destroyed me, and built me up from nothing. Becoming an ISB agent is only possible if you turn off every trace of humanity you have within you. You can become human again after training; there's no time while you're becoming the Empire's elite. I persevered. I wanted to make my father proud; I would have done anything for him. And I truly believed in the cause of the Empire, in rooting out spies and saboteurs, in protecting what had been built. At the time, I couldn't see that what had been built was a cage. Millions of cages.

Isolation was crucial to the mental training of ISB recruits, so Mayla's last contact with her parents had been 4 years ago, before she left for the Academy. The Second Death Star exploded over the Forest Moon of Endor. Everything was changing. Some questioned the future of the Empire. Faithless, Mayla thought. Uncommitted. The Empire was built to last.

She served as the weapon she had been built to be. She brought terrorists to justice. Then she watched as worlds burned beneath storms, and for the first time, Cinder brought back old doubts. She watched at Jakku as the New Republic left her without an Empire to serve. Her entire purpose evaporated. She had nothing left, except family.

"The war was reaching its zenith. I was tasked with assassinating Bothan's involved in trafficking the stolen plans for the second Death Star. I killed three on Llanic. The fourth fled to Lothal—a system still free from the Empire after the people revolted years ago.
Lothal was different than any planet I'd seen before. Something happened there, something I still don't understand.

When the Empire fell, my father shrewdly chose to wait and watch, to bide his time until the dust settled. Operation Cinder was, to him, the last straw. His devotion to the Empire was supplanted by a devotion to himself, a new complex he'd been developing since he left my mother. He was nowhere to be seen at Jakku, even though I was captured during the fighting. He disappeared, and I didn't hear anything from him for years.
Until the day I returned home.

She returned to Coruscant, not yet free of Imperial control.
The apartment in which she was raised was still registered to her parents'—to her real last name. She sent a message to tell them she was coming.

The apartment was dark. Empty. Things had changed in the years she had been gone. Her father was not who he once was. The man she greeted barely seemed to recognize her. His eyes and cheeks were hollowed out by the trials of the Empire's fall, by the collapse of his marriage, and she saw in the glint at the very back of his gaze that any inclination of forgiveness in him was gone. There would be no kind words amidst the disappointment.

If she had been here, would it be different? If she had joined the Navy, been able to see her parents, would they have stayed together? Would her father not have become what he now was?

He recruited me to join his remnant, now 5 starcruisers strong. He had changed, even since the war. He looked so much older: his hair had lightened, his skin was sunken and thin and pale, his eyes were...emptier."

"Tired of serving fools, I take it?" Her father finally asked, voice bitter. "I will do what he could not. I will not make the same mistakes," he told her, looking away. "My empire is rising, daughter. It will need faithful servants. Now is the time to prove yourself. Show me what they made you."

She would never refuse him. Some part of her still longed for his approval, and what was she now besides a weapon of the Empire, and a daughter to this man? She knew him to be a clever, rational leader, well suited to command, well suited to an empire. He had earned the rank of Moff.
And yet, she could not stop the thoughts at the bank of her head. Was this really the man she once knew? The conflict roiled within her.

She became his agent. His power grew, his fleet multiplied. Officers flocked to him, including her father's old friend, Syfot, more hungry and demented than ever.
Then, the vision collapsed under a maelstrom of further failures. Bonadan, Uyter, Kril'dor, Fondor, each invasion crushed. The fleet, decimated. Her father, however, would not quit. His spiral into bitterness continued. He began listening to mystics and prophets, working with his remaining forces to find old lore and relics.

"Of course, his attacks failed, and he veered even further into...nontraditional tactics. His old hobby became his obsession—all of his resources turned towards finding occult artifacts he believed would restore his power.
My belief in his cause was never as strong as my loyalty to the Empire, and even that had been shaken years before. But I was his daughter. I would still serve him, no matter what. Even if he didn't treat me like I was, anymore."

The memories of his embraces, even the ones she feared, became impossible to believe when she looked at the hunched, mad-eyed old military man he had become. He only ever spoke to her to give new orders. She continued to follow them, dutifully.

"Targonn. The network has discovered royal treasures there said to contain powers beyond reckoning. Gather information to prepare for an invasion, if the rumors are true."

"Of course, father."

"Let no one hear you say that," he spat.

She flinched. Her jaw set. Another barb thrown carelessly in the place of love. But before he turned away, she thought she saw him glance at her. In his eyes, she saw things that she could go crazy trying to decipher. Among the regret, the pain, the wrath, she hoped she saw that old inclination, that old pride, and a desire to protect his daughter from associating with what he knew he had become.

But this, she instructed herself, was speculation. Just as quickly his eyes had once again settled on something, or nothing, lightyears away, and the old emptiness rushed in to fill them.
Her father was destroying himself, and he was taking as many as he could with him. She watched dogs like Syfot released on worlds, and spies like herself assassinating people to no purpose but the grasping of shadows. She set out to do her Father's will. She felt miserable, but she had felt miserable for years. Every Imperial she had ever known - and she had known no one but Imperials, lived their lives miserable. The ISB teaches its agents how to kill and lie and spy, and use the misery as fuel for a dying fire.

"Targonn was my last mission for the Empire. My goal was to undermine the capital's infrastructure to open a door for an infiltration team. I set out doing my job—identifying key pressure points, finding out where I needed to push to get what I needed. Young males are always near the top of the list—they're often impulsive, foolish, or easy to manipulate. And a young male worked in a key, high-clearance position at the capital's power planet.

I engineered a "chance" meeting with Nathan, and began to work my charms. But even while I was working him, something new happened: he was working me, too. I don't know if I was especially vulnerable because of everything that had happened, or if I'd just gone soft while in prison. But this young man—who, like most others, turned out easy to use—started to make me forget my mission.

He was bold, but kind. He listened to me. Every kernal of truth I dropped into my stories was another thing he picked up on, another impetus for thoughtful questions and his trustworthy smile. What was supposed to just be an opportunity to gain Intel turned into something impossible—without even realizing that I was letting it happen, it became just...he and I. Talking. About nothing at all, and yet, all kinds of things. And after a long day—the single best day of my life—I told him everything. I could hardly believe it, when I heard the words escaping my mouth. I told him who I really was, what I had come to do, why I had spoken to him in the first place. I think I wanted to punish myself for enjoying a day I felt I didn't deserve.

But it didn't work, because he didn't run, or get angry, or call the guards. He just...listened.
The world opened up in a way it never had before. Here was someone I had lied to, I had tricked into giving up important information, and he was asking me about my time in the Empire, wanting to know about me, my experiences, my thoughts and feelings. He saw me for exactly who I was, and he didn't flinch for even a moment. The way he talked made me really believe there was a chance for a completely different life than the garbage I'd had so far. It was wonderful. It was the first time I'd ever hoped. My life had not been filled with love, kindness, or compassion. To find it so suddenly, so unexpectedly . . . it threw me off my guard.
I fell in love. I think. With this nobody. My target. This boy.

And I was terrified. I had failed.
Doubts settled in. My old mindset returned with its iron grip, my rational mind started to talk me out of what I'd so happily fallen into. That brief happiness I'd had for only a few hours disappeared, like ashes.
I ran.

But even after returning to the familiarity of Imperial life, I couldn't forget everything he'd said. The contrast only served to widen the gap between what I had and what I wanted. These people were not kind to me. They did not care to know me, or even if I lived or died. I was a tool, and they were all tools too. Dying for something "greater". Dying so that the people on planets like Targonn could suffer and die too. Good people, like Nathan, like the Bothans I shot in the back. People I'd helped end, so the cages could stay up.
For the first time in my life, I lied to my Empire.

The lying grew. At first, I omitted details. Then, as my conscience started to gnaw at me, and I watched what even the fallen Empire was capable of, I leaked information to Nathan, and you, by extension. I asked for help to do what I was still afraid to do myself, and stand against the Empire, to dismantle my father's spy network piece-by-piece.

Syfot noticed. He's an animal, but an intelligent one. His cruelty turned out to be just what I needed to commit, to turn my back to whatever love for the Empire I had left. Then it was only a matter of time until I jumped ship to find Nathan, and help him finish what he'd been helping me do.

"I left my family, my position, my rank, my empire, my purpose. I have nothing left but him - a man I barely know - and the chance that he's right."