A Lesson in Secrets

[Lúka Jibral]

Things had changed, again.

That weighed on Lúka. He wasn't averse to change: change was merely part of life, and he was more than adept at adapting to it when needed. But there was change, and then there was change. If the parameters of your mission changed due to unforeseen circumstances or new information coming to light, there he could adapt. If a war carved the galaxy in two, if shifting borders drove you into reassignment, or if the masters you respected staged a coup that branded you and your kindred traitors, there Lúka could adapt, and had. Those changes were waves, tidal or otherwise; either you adapted, or you drowned. There was no other choice.

But some changes weren't waves, they were ripples. They disturbed the surface, jostled your ship, maybe splashed up against the banks a little; but then they subsided, and things seemed to be the same. Except they weren't always. Sometimes the ripples were just drops of water. Sometimes they were rocks being hurled in by someone on the shore. Sometimes they were signs of predators lurking beneath the water. Lúka hated such changes, because his mind thrived on connections and patterns. It had to understand where each ripple led: where it came from, what gentle nudges it would cause, whose shoes would get damp from standing too close to the edge. It consumed him. Distracted him. It often led to nothing.

That was the situation that Lúka found himself in now: utterly consumed with thoughts of Anastasia Xivelle. She was a new variable in Lúka's life here at the Citadel: an ally on the face of things, and yet a mystery at the same time. He had known her as an asset of the Inquisition. She had spent time at the Black Archives, studying and experimenting. He'd seen her work, and he'd seen her work. He'd glimpsed her mind, her morals, and it only led to more questions. And now she was here, embedded within the faculty of the Citadel, the mad scientist suddenly in charge of the health and welfare of the Imperial Knights.

He could ask her why she was here, and what her intentions were. She might even answer him. There was a faint chance she'd even do so honestly. But Lúka didn't work that way. Lúka wasn't the kind of predator who stalked his prey and demanded answers with his claws around their throat. Lúka was a sarlacc, hidden in the sand, waiting for secrets to stumble into a maw that they would never escape. Seeking answers through torture and interrogation was the work of others. Lúka would find his answers the way he always did: he would watch, and he would wait.

Fortunately, watching Anastasia Xivelle was hardly a hardship.

Lúka kept his tone casual as they walked through the lower levels of the Citadel. It was strange to be here, strange to see Imperial uniforms instead of Padawan robes walking these corridors, strange to see Imperial banners hanging on the walls of the Jedi Temple that had once been his home. He understood why the Imperial Knights had taken up residence here. Emperor Palpatine had built his throne atop the Temple, a sign of victory over the treacherous Order he had defeated; but Empress Tarkin was more subtle, more interested in rebuilding than in destruction. That was what the Imperial Knights were, at their core: a restoration of the Jedi, as unwaveringly loyal as they should always have been.

"Is this your first time at the Temple?"

Lúka winced ever so slightly, annoyed at himself for having referred to it by that old name once again.

[Anastasia Xivelle]

It felt strange to be on Coruscant once more, even more so at the prospect of it being a decently lengthy if not permanent position. Since her induction into the Inquisitoriate Doctor Xivelle had been shipped off to the far reaches of the Empire's control, to the places cast in shadow, to the assignments that were not meant for public knowledge. To be back here, the center of it all, a city planet that was once her home, felt surreal. Far more so was the promise that some of her theories and research were more accepted now, much like the Knights themselves were. It might have been considered ironic or quaint if she allowed herself to attribute any sense of humor to it.

Then there was the additional curiosity of her current assignment that also meant that she was to be the primary physician for the Knights of the Citadel. It wasn't that Anastasia hated Force users, no far from it, but her fascination with them did make for a rather interesting choice. There were reasons for it all, she suspected; silent expectations and the like. Not that she would be allowed carte blanche with her new subjects - that was very clear as well - but this was far more than Xivelle had ever hoped for. She idly wondered if this was a reward of some nature, or a punishment she hadn't fully realized.

At least there were some familiar faces about. And if newly minted Lord Jibral was to be the visible aspect of a leash she was no doubt on, then at least they had chosen someone she was marginally comfortable around - even if he remained more mystery to her than she would have preferred.

"I was here once before, though not for long. I think it was just before I was assigned to the Archives." The reply was followed with a slow wry smile that drifted across her lips. "It's certainly different from The Maw."

[Lúka Jibral]

Lúka breathed out a ghost of a laugh. Different was an understatement.

"Sometimes I miss the quiet."

It was an odd admission, both literal, and a reference to the clamouring noise inside his skull that came from being on such a densely populated world. Amid the black hole cluster that had surrounded the Black Archives, there was barely a stray thought or stray feeling within range of his senses. There were starships more populated than the Archives had been, and while it was not the only facility that the Empire had concealed within the Maw's labyrinthine gravitational fields, the others had been too far away for Lúka to ever realise they were there. It had been isolated, and lonely at times; but also tranquil. Soothing, in a way. It had been like being in space for the first time, after a lifetime on light-polluted ground utterly unable to see the stars.

The Black Archives had been peaceful; and most of all, they had been his. Not like this place, where he was one among many. Lúka didn't resent the loss of authority, but he did miss the clarity, and the control. Here at the Citadel there was so much that was out of his hands. So much that could be done better; or at least, so much that might be more efficient if it was done his way. It wasn't arrogance: at the Archives, Lúka's natural flair for analysis had been respected and utilised. Here it was unnoticed, unexploited, his greatest asset reduced largely to a teaching tool. He both resented it, and didn't. Understood it, and despaired over it.

Anastasia being here was a comfort. She knew what he had been, and what he was capable of. More than that, her thoughts were calm, and her feeling subdued. Here in the Citadel, where emotions ran high by design, she was like a cold compress amid Tatooine sands. Lúka was more glad to have her here than he would ever admit.

"I grew up here."

The words were out of his mouth before he realised he intended to utter them. It was a strange thing to admit so openly, but the state of the galaxy had changed enough that he found himself actually able to do so, safely. Force users were not hunted and disappeared the way that they had been under Palpatine's rule; now they were all potential recruits, evaluated and sent here. Lúka was not the only Knight to have survived the Jedi Purge, and that was no longer a secret that he was required to guard. So strange to have concealed something for so long, and then to find yourself no longer needing to. He missed that, as well, in a strange way. Secret released into the world, his mind still felt the imprint of having clung onto it so tightly.

"It was very different back then. Brighter. Less -"

His brow furrowed, lips pursing pensively as he searched his mind for the right descriptor.

"- grey."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

The revelation that Lúka shared wasn't entirely a surprise. There were few who had his talents of his age who were not associated with the antiquated Jedi ways in some fashion. To have been a student here, however... the concept was too foreign for the Doctor to even begin attempting to relate to. And yet...

"Do you prefer it this way?"

The question wasn't meant to belittle his nostalgia, and she immediately clarified.

"I rather like it. It's... simple, clean. Reminds me of the university I attended."

[Lúka Jibral]

It was a question that Lúka didn't have a ready answer to. Did he prefer it?

Things were certainly more ordered, more organised, more efficient than they had been in those days. The rules were clearer, and more easily understood. People knew how to walk in the halls. People knew when and where to talk. There was more structure. More precision. More schedule. There was a clearer purpose, too. Everyone knew why they were here, what their aspiration was, what their purpose would be when they achieved it. At the Temple, you were there because you were there; because the Jedi Order had vanished you away from your families in the dead of night, to indoctrinate you into their ways. The objectives were abstract. Spiritual. Understanding. Inner peace. All in the name of becoming a Jedi, a meaning that seemed to change depending on whatever mood the galaxy was in. Not so with the Imperial Knights. They were the enforcers that the Jedi had become at their end; except these enforcers were loyal to their Empire, not beholden to the whims of their cult masters.

"I'm a different man than I was back then."

It wasn't an answer, and yet it was. The Lúka of then may have preferred the Temple of then; but the Lúka of now was exactly where he belonged.

He threw a glance in Anastasia's direction, thoughts straying to what he knew of the Doctor's own past.

"I imagine you can probably relate."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

The soft and brief hum that left her wasn't entirely an answer in its own, but it was on par with the response she had received from Lúka - an answer without an answer. Doctor Xivelle wasn't entirely certain just how much of her past - even as much as her own peculiar and slightly suspicious situations regarding her joining the ranks of the Empire - but she suspected he knew a great deal more than she was comfortable with. Not that Anastasia was particularly engaged in keeping a mysterious appearance, she just didn't enjoy feeling exposed.

"It's a natural thing, you know. The Galaxy changes and so we must adapt to survive. Even now with this Knights business."

She glanced back towards Lord Jibral as they continued on.

"It must be refreshing in a way, to no longer have to hide your true nature."

[Lúka Jibral]

Refreshing. That was certainly one way of looking at it. He let out a soft laugh.

"I spent most of my career at the Archives, Doctor Xivelle."

Jibral's words paused as they turned a corner, offering a curt nod to a small cluster of Cadets marching past in the opposite direction. Even with the Imperial-issue helmets covering their faces, Lúka could have identified each of them, had he wanted to. Heights. Postures. Subtle tells. Ripples through the Force. He chose not to. The mask of anonymity that the Empire wrapped around it's soldiers was important. As Imperial Knights, the Cadets would one day need to cultivate their individuality, mastering their own specialisms and skills, and that set them apart from the rank and file who traded helmets for faces and numbers for names; and yet it was still important for them to understand their place, to realise that they were simply a small component in a larger whole, an atom in the foundation of the Empire. To recognise any of them was to undermine that; to single them out made them a defect within that structure, and such compromises to the Empire's integrity would bring it all collapsing around them.

For a moment, he wondered how different he might have been, had he gone through the same training. The Inquisitors had their own incarnations, of course. Some sacrificed their identities to become Brother, or Sister, or Grand Inquisitor. Matching armour. Matching lightsabers. Their own unique brand of starfighter. Lúka had lived through those years, experienced the Inquisition's attempts to turn their entire order into a singular feared and revered identity. Such ambitions hadn't lasted, of course; but at the time, Lúka had envied them, longing to be part of that collective instead of the one the Archives had placed him in. He wondered how different it would have been to have such peers, to have Brothers and Sisters of his own.

The Knights, he supposed, were that for him now. His fellow Lords and Ladies, tied together by the ice-white crystals in their 'sabers, and the same mysterious scope that reached out across the Empire to grasp or throttle whatever the Empress needed it to.

A faint glimmer of a lopsided smile formed on Lúka's lips as he turned more fully towards the Doctor.

"There was barely ever anyone around that I needed to hide it from."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

The slow smile once more formed and she let the slightest of laughs leave her.

"Yet you hid yourself all the same. Maybe not to an extent that others have..." Her voice drifted as the Doctor glanced back over her shoulders at the passing cadets; children she was now in charge of the care for. How cruel and apt.

Her attention worked it's way back to Lord Jibral. For all that he was in charge of portions of The Archives he seemed somehow more at ease in this setting. Perhaps he was simply good at covering what he felt but it seemed more appropriate in a way, not to have a man of his skill locked away on the far side of the Galaxy. If he was anything like her there must have been a side that railed against this confinement, this mediocrity that was now designated by necessity and to be considered among the rest of the Empire's finest. Peace had taken away who they had been and designated new titles upon them, familiar and yet not: Knight. Doctor. - titles both had vied for before the Empire had claimed them and now they had been granted them utterly and fully. Not that they were not earned, they were simply more solid now. And yet somehow all the more hollow for it.

"I suppose I misspoke, though. We all still hide in one way or another, don't we?"

[Lúka Jibral]

That was true, Lúka supposed. Everyone had something to hide, and the two of them more than most.

For Lúka, it was his dealings with Khalid; his side missions, and the assets he had begun to cultivate in order to facilitate them. He rationalised it as a necessary secret. Classified. Secrecy was part and parcel of Imperial life, or at least the understanding of it that his life had provided, and so on most levels it struck him as normal. Comfortable. Right. Yet, part of his mind nagged in protest. He was an Imperial Knight now, not an Inquisitor, nor an Agent of the ISB, or of whatever secretive aspect of the Empire the illusive Khalid represented. The Black Archives, and the items that had once been held there, still felt like his responsibility; but their protection was no longer his duty. It felt like a connection improperly severed; an amputated limb still hanging on by a strand, dragging behind him, leaving him vulnerable. Lúka was comfortable being guarded, comfortable controlling the appearance he displayed; but his comfort did not negate the fact that it was necessary. He volunteered, but was required to do so either way. He wondered what would happen if that changed; if he changed; if the affect that the Cadets had begun to have on him continued. He wondered who he would be when that transformation completed, and what that would mean for the secrets he kept on the Empire's behalf.

As for Doctor Xivelle, Lúka did not know where to begin. There were ways to find answers, both active and passive, in person and otherwise; but Lúka chose not to. He had researched the basics, of course. Read files, studied her research notes, delved into the aspects of her past that were readily available; but he hadn't pushed. He had told himself it was because of protocol. His security clearance and his analytical skill were tools for the Empire's use, not his own personal gain. He did not need to know, and therefore he should not. That was how things had worked in the Archives, and that was what felt correct here. Yet, part of him knew that wasn't the whole truth. Part of him knew that beneath and behind that justification, there was something more. Respect, perhaps. Respect of a peer, of her work, and of her privacy. Perhaps it went further still: the challenge she presented, the guarded exterior that worked so hard and so effectively to keep everything concealed. What victory was there in unearthing her secrets that wasn't exceeded by hearing them from the woman herself?

"Everyone hides," Lúka countered. "No matter how honest, no person is truly the version of themselves that they put out into the world."

A little more of Lúka's smile managed to creep through.

"And thank the Force for that. If everyone was truly what they seemed, then this entire Citadel would be filled with nothing but uptight assholes."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

Now she genuinely laughed. It was clipped short so as to keep it controlled but he had elicited the genuine response nonetheless.

"They do all have certain chips on their shoulders, don't they?" Ana brought a hand up to her lips to aid in the stifling of the unbecoming mirth. "Like mini Mal'achis running about with their pompousness."

Her free hand echoed the running motion with a wiggle of her fingers before Doctor Xivelle fully managed to regain full composure. It ended with a sigh, not entirely nostalgic but the sentiment was there. Things were easier at the Archives, as secret as it all was. Far from ideal, if Anastasia was honest with herself on the matter, but in a way there had been a simplicity to it all that did not exist here on Coruscant. There were rules, certainly, but they didn't feel as defined as they did here. Something about terra firma made everything different, even without all the changes to nomenclature that went along with it. Freedom in a cage, or some similar analogy.

"I suppose you will cure them of that in time. Perhaps we both will."

[Ivy]

Unit Jibral never had the opportunity to comment on Unit Xivelle's talk of curing, apt as such a notion was escaping from the lips of a Doctor. Perhaps the conversation might have continued longer, were Unit Jibral not observant enough to notice Ivy the instant the Droid stepped out onto the walkway ahead of them. Ivy was relieved to see the two organics come to a convenient halt: his calculations of what would transpire if he attempted to reverse course and fall into stride with them had not yielded promising results.

"Ah. There you are."

Ivy sounded flustered. It was an illusion, but an apt one. Unit Jibral was not currently in the correct location; nor was he in any of the obvious logical locations that Ivy had searched thus far. It had taken a triangulation of Unit Jibral's secondary comlink to find him. Such a triangulation wasn't possible for Unit Xivelle, but fortunately the two organics were in convenient proximity. Of course, things would have been considerably easier if Ivy had been able to simply contact Unit Jibral via the device in question. Secrecy protocols unfortunately made that something of a problem: an Imperial Knight potentially receiving a communique on a secret second comlink in view of peers or Cadets could cause all manner of problems.

The droid leaned forward as if about to whisper some deep secret, though the necessity of addressing two individuals made it unviable to reduce his vocabulator volume at all.

"We have received a transmission from Chimera. It would be prudent to depart the confines of the Citadel at the earliest opportunity."

[Lúka Jibral]

Chimera.

If there was one word guaranteed to get Lúka's attention, it was that one. It came as a slight surprise, hearing that Khalid had reached out in a manner that didn't involve any sort of home invasion. Perhaps this represented a potential change in their interactions from here onwards, though Lúka doubted it. More likely he was simply too busy with some other nefarious deed. Lúka glanced in Doctor Xivelle's direction, wondering if she too had ever awoken in the dead of night to find their dubious benefactor had been watching her sleep.

Ivy was right to keep things discrete though, and to suggest leaving the confines of one of the Empire's most secure and most securely monitored facilities before they discussed their extracurricular activities in any specific detail. Such an absence would require justification, however. Imperial Knights were not confined to the Citadel the same way that Cadets were, but two members of the Citadel staff disappearing together was bound to raise questions of one sort or another.

Perhaps though, those questions were a blessing in disguise.

"Thanks, Ivy," Lúka said with a curt nod to dismiss the droid. "I'll get right on that. You'll have it in time for your next class."

Whether Ivy was confused or not, Lúka couldn't be quite sure; but to the droid's credit he played along with only the briefest hesitation, excusing himself from the duo and trudging off in the direction the two of them had come from. Lúka watched as the droid departed, glancing both ways up and down the corridor, waiting until the barest moment before the next group of Cadets appeared around the nearby corner: late enough to stand a chance of being overheard, but quick enough that he could have plausibly missed their presence.

"Ana, I -"

Lúka's hand rested itself gently against Anastasia's upper arm. Into his voice he injected a slight hesitation and a hint of nervousness, his expression deliberately fluctuating from the cusp of a smile to a ghost of a frown and then back again, teetering back and forth between the two.

"I can't tell you how nice it is to have a familiar face here at the Citadel, especially one that is so -"

He trailed off again, glad that the performance didn't require him to rise to the challenge of describing Doctor Xivelle's hardly objectionable features in the space of a single word. He released a faint laugh instead, falsified nerves weighing his gaze down, forcing it to climb hesitantly back. His expression shifted, projecting the impression that he already foresaw the inevitable negative response.

"Do you maybe want to grab a drink after hours? Dinner, maybe?"

[Anastasia Xivelle]

For the slightest of seconds Anastasia was perplexed. Not with what STE-IV had relayed to them, though she could only begin to guess what exactly it was that Chimera wanted now of all times. But rather in Lord Jibral's offer. It didn't take long for her mind to catch up to his, however. The tactic was quite sound. Whatever it was they were being summoned to was away from the Citadel, and that meant it also needed to stay away from the prying eyes and ears that had done away with such secretive nature - or so most believed.

Instantly her mannerisms shifted, from clinical to outgoing, a nervous laugh followed with a brush of stray hair behind one of her ears.

"Is that sort of thing even allowed between colleagues?" The question came out teasing, a touch of flirtatious nature that had her teeth graze across her lower lip. The doctor shifted her shoulders and glanced down towards where Lúka's hand rested on her arm. "I'd be delighted. It would be good to catch up in a less formal environment."

[Lúka Jibral]

Lúka added a few extra degrees of smile to his lips. Another faux nervous glance scanned Anastasia's eyes, catching sight of her understanding of and acquiescence to the ruse.

"That's great!" Lúka enthused, with enough uncertainty in his voice to imply that he hadn't quite been ready for that response. Another shuffle of nerves seemed to hesitate on the cusp of moving closer. His hand slid a little further down her arm, coming to rest just above her elbow. He glanced away again, and then back, noting the way her hair had been tucked away behind one ear, all part of the deception for their potential audience. "So, I guess I'll -"

He leaned forward, somehow both slow and sudden, lips pressing against Anastasia's conveniently exposed cheek. He lingered for a moment longer than was necessary, voice dropped to little more than a whisper.

"Front entrance. One hour. I'll find us a speeder."

Pulling away, Lúka wished he was able to make himself blush on command. A skill to develop in the future, perhaps; but words and actions would have to do for now.

"So, I'll, I guess, pick you up after your shift?"

Lúka didn't wait for a response, answering the question himself.

"Great. Fantastic. Right. So I'll be -"

He gestured off into the distance, a nervous laugh and a seemingly irrepressible smile staged for added affect. A quick "Bye," was offered before he stepped away, pace quicker than it normally would have been, with just enough of a spring in his step to really sell it. He thought about whistling, or maybe just a little bit of a tuneful mumble under his breath, but that would have overdone it. Instead he glanced back, letting another smile take over his features; one that lasted for two turns and a hundred yards of briskly-paced corridor, before he allowed himself to settle back into his usual neutrality, mind already contemplating how to re-engineer his previously considered strategies to slip away from the Citadel to now include the Doctor as well.

* * *

Obtaining a speeder had been surprisingly easy. Lúka's first impulse had been to find a nearby apartment whose residents were currently absent, slip into their speeder bay, and liberate something convenient and inconspicuous for the evening. While that approach might have served him well in the past, it came with a number of complications this time around. Of primary concern was that for the subterfuge to work, offering a plausible alibi for himself and Doctor Xivelle, their departure from the Citadel needed to be seen. A stolen vehicle would be problematic if it earned any kind of scrutiny, particularly when Lúka did not currently have one registered his name - something he would have to remedy, if this was a situation likely to repeat. While it came a distant second, the perception of Lúka's instructor persona was important as well: the image he had cultivated was that of a man who would presumably make an effort if he was taking an undeniably attractive woman out to dinner.

Fortunately, this was Coruscant, and on Coruscant there were always options. A comfortable, vintage speeder had been easily rented, and delivered directly to the Citadel: not a breach of protocol per se, but certainly irregular enough to create the kind of notice that would feed into the performance. Lúka had even made reservations at a relatively quiet out-of-the-way place: some where that a man like Lúka Jibral, Imperial Knight Instructor would deem appropriate; quiet enough to talk; private enough to avoid prying eyes; nice enough to lay a potential foundation for a second date, but inexpensive enough that a failed first date wouldn't be too costly; and discrete enough that a few credits deftly wired to the maître d' would ensure that any "private investigators" would not be informed of their absence, should Lúka fail to arrive with a woman who was most certainly not his wife. He'd even planted a computer worm within the restaurant's finance system that would generate a receipt and charge his official account at an appropriate time, and had a similar program ready to create reservations at and charges from a nearby hotel, should they need to extend the subterfuge into the following morning. There was much to dislike about Coruscant; but even with the Galactic Senate disbanded, the things the city would allow the right kind of bureaucrat to get up to discretely made Lúka's work pleasantly simple.

The part of Coruscant that he and Doctor Xivelle had ventured to however was a very different kind of seedy. The restaurant had been chosen because of a convenient blind spot in Coruscant's sky traffic monitoring network, allowing Lúka to drop down unnoticed and venture into Coruscant's lower levels. That was where Chimera's cryptic transmission had led them: not a mission, nor a clear objective; just an address.

Lúka had spent the drive speculating what might be waiting. Was this a safehouse, somewhere Lúka and Xivelle could be lured to together rather than breaking into their bedrooms, a necessary measure because he could not - Lúka hoped - be in two places at once? Or, was this a target, the location of a lost Archived item that had somehow found it's way to the very heart of the Galactic Empire? Worse, had Lúka and Xivelle both outlived their usefulness, necessitating their discrete disappearance to preserve the Empire's secrets? Lúka was painfully aware of how under-equipped he was; and perhaps that was by design. Only the weapons he was able to carry on his person; no heavier ordnance, no back-up; not even his usual blaster, which he had insistently pressed into Doctor Xivelle's hands as soon as their course had forced them to abandon their speeder and venture inside a labyrinth of dark corridors.

The overhead lights flickered mournfully, uncomfortably out of sync with the persistent drip of moisture from somewhere nearby. Lúka almost regretted even attempting to activate them, for all the good they did - more distraction than aid. The floor had been carpeted once, though the Knight wasn't sure if the grime-sodden covering beneath his boots still qualified as carpet: fibres that might once have been red were mashed together into almost a plastic texture, fused with dust, damp, rot, and neglect, and other substances Lúka had absolutely no desire to imagine. It might have been an apartment complex once, or perhaps a motel, if the faded stencils of numerals beside each door were any indication: not the place that someone lived or stayed by choice, but because they had no other option. What little furniture remained was old, and broken, much of it strewn alongside refuse and debris throughout the rooms and corridors. The condition of the doorways made it clear the complex had been looted: some were fully open, others partially, and on some the doors themselves were bent and broken, telltale signs of brute force and crude explosives used by those determined to get inside.

Lúka led the way, peering through the darkness in search of Room 113. Odds and evens flanked the corridor on opposite sides: an easy path to follow in principle, but as Room 111 past by on the left, no room was there waiting opposite 112 and 114. Rooms continued from 115 and beyond, but in place of a looted room stood an elevator, doors already parted and waiting, a pulsing light and rhythmic click conspiring with the jarring brightness within to confirm that it was indeed functioning.

The Knight's attention shifted to Doctor Xivelle. "I have a bad feeling about this," he muttered, unclipping the lightsaber from his belt, the slugthrower he already held no longer reassurance enough on it's own. A pang of responsibility twisted in his chest: Xivelle's protection was his concern, and whatever awaited them beyond this elevator, his ability to reliably protect her felt dubious. "Perhaps you should wait out here, where it's -"

He almost said safe.

"- marginally less dangerous."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

"Nonsense," the word left her almost as dismissively as her following action may have seemed.

Doctor Xivelle rather boldly entered the pristine elevator, stepping past Lord Jibral to do so. She was not the sort who took the threat of danger lightly, nor was she foolishly brave, but reason told her that if Chimera had called them here then there was little that could be done to avoid the fate he had planned for them. It was a matter of practicality and in a way an attempt to still be in charge of what befell her. It was perhaps a foolish notion considering how very little she actually had to say in regards to her own life since joining The Empire, but still one the Doctor clung to.

She did note how Lúka prepared the weapon of his order and did the same with the blaster he had forced upon her. Not that her chosen attire for their mock-date was exactly the sort of thing she would consider to be ideal if the situation became dire. Even if she had made the move to the elevator first, it would be his instincts she would rely upon should the need present itself.

Her finger hovered over the number 8 until Lúka joined her. The sudden jolt at the elevator sprang into motion was far from reassuring and Anastasia glanced over at her colleague. Some sort of rude comment regarding Chimera's methods lingered on the tip of her tongue but ultimately went unsaid as the elevator came to a stop before it could be fully realized.

As the doors slid open, the feeling of unease only grew as only darkness greeted them. There were vague shapes that could be made out, but just barely in the light that spilled out from around them provided by the elevator. This time, the Doctor could not hold her tongue.

"Must everything be so damned mysterious with him?"

[Lúka Jibral]

"It's standard Imperial protocol."

Lúka lingered in the elevator just long enough to offer Doctor Xivelle a small flicker of a smile.

"They even offer classes on it at the Citadel."

The lit interior of the elevator had been a problem, robbing Lúka of any adaptations his eyes had made to the dimness of the corridors upstairs. Fortunately, the Imperial Knight had more senses to rely on than just vision, and reached out through the Force, senses advancing through the darkened space beyond. He felt nothing untoward; but that meant little, all things considered. Lúka had learned long ago that a room devoid of creatures that he could sense through the Force was not necessarily a room devoid of danger; and he doubted that, if Khalid wished him harm, it would come in the form of a conveniently readable squad of death troopers waiting in the shadows. At least, he hoped that was the case - if Khalid ever used such a pedestrian method to try and kill him, Lúka was likely be quite insulted by the lack of elegance and imagination.

Using the elevator's glow, Lúka's eyes studied the ground before him, looking for the telltale indications of pressure sensors or trip wires that might trigger some sort of ambush lying in wait for them. Finding nothing, he took a tentative step forward and raised his lightsaber aloft, thumbing the trigger. The pure white blade indicative of the Imperial Knights burst into life, becoming a beacon in the darkness. Something flickered in the distance, almost in response.

"Recognize. Jibral. Lúka."

Something else flickered, and then another, and another, lights beginning to blink on at scattered intervals across the dark cavern. Lúka watched as the lights slowly began to define shapes, dim pathways weaving between dimmer glass-enclosed chambers, glimpses of machines and equipment looming through the darkness like statues in the night.

Lúka advanced a step further, moving into a wide central corridor that the glass walls defined. He peered upwards, searching the grid-like pattern of the ceiling for anything it might attempt to conceal; from somewhere, the ambient light seemed to steadily increase, and yet aside from the first scattered sources that had initially responded, the Knight couldn't quite tell where the illumination was coming from. It was almost as if the entire space faintly glowed, a mere fraction lighter than the black the surfaces seemed to be.

The same simulated voice that had heralded Lúka's arrival cut through the silence again. The Knight couldn't quite place the source, as if the sound was coming from everywhere.

"Recognize. Xivelle. Anastasia."

Lúka turned behind him, casting a glare in Xivelle's direction; the Doctor didn't seem phased by it in the slightest, and Lúka sighed, shaking his head as he turned back towards the path ahead. His mind and his attention were drawn down the central concourse, an office waiting at the extreme end of the room. His arm lowered, power to the lightsaber extinguished, relying on the dark space itself to provide visibility.

The office appeared closed at first, manual hand grips the only indication of where an entrance might be. The join between the segments of doorway seemed seamless and invisible; but as Lúka drew closer, a razor-thin slice slowly parted, the doors swinging silently open save for the faint hiss of equalising pressure. The room stood empty, untouched and undisturbed, as if abandoned and forgotten long ago. Yet, one thing stood out amongst the dated trinkets that littered the desk: a simple sheet of crisp white fibreboard, folded to a peak, adorned with the dark curling shapes of handwritten letters, spelling out his name. Tentatively Lúka reached for it, lifting it delicately lest it spring another hypothetical trap.

Nothing happened. Nothing changed. Lúka's brow furrowed as he regarded the fibreboard, studying it from all angles. Within the fold, more hand-scribed letters provided a simple message.

Use it wisely.

[Anastasia Xivelle]

Ana remained close to Lúka, trailing his footsteps as they walked into the slowly illuminating space. It didn't quite feel like a room, or a corridor, not with the transparent walls that sequestered various areas and the fact the light seemed to purely follow them. Already the distance they had crossed from the elevator was fading back into darkness, not total and complete, just not nearly as lit as their present location. It was ingenious in a way, efficient and precise, a sign of not wanting to waste resources. On the other hand, the Doctor couldn't help but wonder if the effect had been manufactured purely to intimidate and make those within it's walls feel all the more isolated.

She held the obvious questions as nothing about Jibral's posture seemed to reflect he knew anything more than she did about this place and followed him into the office area. As he moved towards the desk she hovered near the door way and cast a glance back in towards the dimly lit space they had passed through. From here she could clearly see most of the transparent walls that made up individual rooms and cells. There was computer and other equipment sparsely populating some areas and a few of the smaller rooms looked like they had some sort of cots or bunks. All in all she could only scrutinize it and let the word interesting float amid her unusually quiet mind.

Turning her attention back to Jibral was easy for as much as Anastasia had an intrinsic curiosity about her, she knew how to keep it in check and she was getting the feeling there would be ample time to explore later. A few steps brought her close to the Knight's side and a quick glance at the note in his hand brought a small snort of amusement.

"So, no guided tour then?" He asked with a hint of sarcasm.

They should have known that Chimera wouldn't actually be here the second they stepped out of the elevator, but she had held out some hope. If for no other reason than he could prove witness to her unamused expression. The Doctor cast a glance upward and briefly considered the possibility of hidden surveillance conveying that anyway. Another small breath of of a laugh left her, bordering on an annoyed sigh.

As if in response to her own question to the Knight, she turned back towards the main area and prepared to exit the office when something against one of the actual duracrete walls caught her eye. A crate of some sort, it's appearance not quite matching with the clean and crisp nature of it's surroundings. And atop it, another folded piece of fibreboard, this one with her name scrawled upon it.

"Oh look, more gifts," she spoke quietly, not quite to Lord Jibral though knew her voice would carry to him.

The piece of fibreboard was unfolded, though unlike the note that Lúka had received, hers was blank on the inside. The Doctor rotated the sheet in her hands looking for something other than just her name but came up empty. She glanced back towards Lúka and shrugged a shoulder.

"Guess we'll just have to open it?"

[Lapis]

Voiceprint Recognised.

A resounding clunk shuddered through the storage crate, the ominous sound of magnetic latches disengaging. In a space as vast as the shadowed facility, it should have echoed; but it didn't, the sound muted by the barely seen barriers of glass. More muffled sounds came from within the container: soft beeps, faint clicks, a whir or two; and then a thud, so intense that the whole container shuddered. Another, and another; internal impacts so intense that the container's lid began to shift out of it's sealed position. There was an ominous pause, and then one last almighty thud was unleashed, flinging the container open with such force that momentum took hold, the entire ensemble tumbling over backwards, it's contents spilling out into the open lid and out onto the floor beyond.

"It's about bloody time!" a voice exclaimed, as the tumble of components and droid parts slowly untangled itself to reveal a miniature mechanoid. The LEP servant droid floundered on it's back a little, spindly arms struggling immensely to overcome the thigh-heavy shape of it's chassis. In the end the droid surrendered, hitching it's legs up to it's chest, and relying on it's internal dynamos to swing it's body upwards, teetering back and forth on it's pelvic plate like some kind of eternally self-righting children's toy.

The droid's legs eventually unwound, and it managed to get itself to standing. It's hands brushed off an imaginary layer of dust that couldn't possibly have collected on it; but such was it's programming, to set at ease the organic beings it was assigned to serve by behaving as 'alive' as a synthetic being ever could. There were a few flaws and problems however, such as the way it's head snapped around to focus on Doctor Xivelle in an instant, it's body waddling in a far slower circle to orientate itself directly.

A facial analysis confirmed that the large human in front of him was one of the approved beings he was allowed to speak to. Unit Xivelle. Anastasia. Doctor. Bioengineer. Reduced emotional output as a result of a traumatic severance of past relationships and past occupational ties. Former affiliation with the Inquisition. Former affiliation with the Black Archives. Current affiliation with the Imperial Knights, assigned as a senior medic at the Citadel; formerly the Imperial Palace; formerly the Jedi Temple; formerly -

Lapis halted that runaway speeder of data recall. It wasn't relevant. She was approved for unrestricted conversation, and that was all that currently mattered.

"Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting in that bloody box for you and -"

His vocabulator halted, entire body leaning to the side, peering past Unit Xivelle to scan the humanoid behind her. Something about the transparent surface in his field of view interfered with his usual sensors; he accessed a specially programmed algorithm that Unit Chimera had provided, ocular receptors gradually compensating for the interference and succeeding in a facial recognition match.

"- Unit Jibral to find your way down here?"

The droid's spindly arms folded defiantly across his chest.

"It's un-bloody-acceptable is what it is."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

If this was a joke from Chimera, he should have very well known that Anastasia wouldn't find it entertaining. She inherently had nothing against droids, they were useful and even did a better job than most organics at certain tasks, though why programmers felt the need to add in the ability for personalities to develop was beyond her reasoning. To do it once to prove it could be was well within reason, but to allow for such annoyances to exist en mass? To remove one of the components that made thema better choice than other assistants? It was nothing but folly in most cases. The crude way this particular droid had addressed them proved the point emphatically.

As much as the little droid clambered for attention, she denied it and instead turned towards Lúka.

"I assume you're familiar with this one? Any idea why we're now responsible?" She avoided the urge to ask if it was always such a rude little creation. After all, testing her patience could have been a test of some sort.

[Lúka Jibral]

Lúka had abandoned the office, pushing back out into the larger space to continue his sweep. No doubt there was valuable data to be mined from the office terminal, but Lúka wasn't yet convinced that the space was safe and secure. Best to wait until they were sure there were no traps or lurking assassin droids before they went and sat around firing up computer systems and potentially triggering a whole different layer of security and traps.

It was probably best to wait before they went opening mysterious containers that might be filled with explosives or biotoxins as well; but as Lúka looked back in response to the tumbling sound of a droid exiting a container, and Doctor Xivelle's voice calling out to him, he was relieved to see that they'd got lucky on this front.

"Looks like a LEP unit," Lúka called in response, offering a shrug as he peered through the faintly tinted glass.

Lúka frowned for a moment, noting that as the ambient light in the dark space subtly increased, so too did the transparency of the walls. It was as if every occupied room became easier to peer into, while those left vacant remained darker and more concealed. Lúka understood the technology: starfighters and starships used photoreactive compounds to let viewports and cockpit canopies vary their opacity to shield against stellar proximity, weapons fire, and all manner of other factors; but seeing it in this space, dividing the area into, what, laboratories? Containment cells for test subjects? With all the pressurisation and the equipment scattered around, the space certainly had the feel of some sort of science or medical facility; but it didn't match any Imperial facility Lúka had ever visited. It seemed too old for that, left neglected for too long.

"They build them out on Coachelle Prime, hence the lagomorph chassis configuration. Separatists used to use them as protocol droids, or servant droids, or something along those lines. Not exactly the kind of deadly weapon that would have swung the Archives' way."