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i. edicts
"What's going on, Ensign?"
"Sir. Doctor Lokin's been filling in the gaps in my education. He has quite a few stories," she says wryly.
Oh, he'll just bet Lokin does.
"Here's what puzzles me," Temple continues. "I've always been taught to respect the chain of command, and yet you ... how does anyone control a field agent?"
How, indeed. He keeps his expression neutral, perhaps a bit thoughtful, despite the ice splintering through his chest. She doesn't know. This isn't personal, this isn't targeted, it's a simple question from someone loyal and honest. Someone he can't trust, precisely because she is loyal and honest.
Cipher Nine tilts his head to one side. "You're really perturbed by this. Are you that used to pure obedience?"
"Yes, I am," Temple says promptly. "And I don't think that's a bad thing. The Empire expects its operatives to make command decisions from the front line. That doesn't work."
Is this about oversight to prevent treason, or the difficulty of seeing the bigger picture in the field? "The nature of Intelligence work is somewhat different from that of the Imperial Army, or the CEDF. Different scales, different stakes. Flexibility is crucial to our success—field agents receive intel and objectives from our handlers, and adapt our specific approach to the circumstances. All we can do is respond to each situation, right or wrong."
"And live with the consequences," Temple says with a sigh. "I don't want to do wrong, sir. My father ignored an edict from the Sith, and instead of facing his punishment, he ran." She looks up at him, eyes bright with belief. "I won't repeat his mistake accidentally."
... Well. Isn't that interesting. It really isn't about the chain of command; it's a family matter. "What did your father do that was so terrible?"
Temple gives a polite, apologetic smile. "I'd rather not discuss it. Refusing to do his duty was enough. I'll stop troubling you about this—back to the job, then?"
She brought it up; why deflect ...? "Ensign, without going into specifics, are you objecting more to the disobedience, or to the avoidance of consequences?"
She bites her lip, gaze skewing sideways. "I find it difficult to trust in a system that allows or even encourages that kind of compounded betrayal."
"Do you genuinely trust in the Sith to have the best interests of the Empire at heart?" Cipher Nine says.
"Of course, sir!" says Temple, as if she thinks he's accusing her of doubt rather than expressing incredulity at her conviction. Ironic, and ... unfortunate.
Clarifying his intent and arguing the point likely won't convince her of anything. It might backfire, cause her to take an undue interest in his own loyalty. Instead: mirror her. He's trustworthy, a fellow Imperial, a faithful servant of the Empire. There's no philosophical conflict between them; this is simply a matter of framing.
And maybe, eventually, cracking that conviction.
He inclines his head in approval. "Your devotion is admirable, Ensign. But the Sith grant us a great deal of ... let's call it operational discretion, because Intelligence has proven worthy of their trust."
Temple shifts her weight, frowning. "But not every Intelligence agent is worthy of trust. And you—we, I suppose—are all given the same latitude."
Even if he could tell her ... no. The problem would be who holds his leash, not that it exists in the first place.
Sith edicts. Pure obedience. So much easier when you don't have a choice.
No. Focus. Here and now. "Every system has points of failure," says Cipher Nine. "The trick is in anticipating where those points are, mitigating the damage, and controlling the fallout. Cipher agents' operational discretion is a risk, yes, but it allows us to accomplish things that a more rigid arrangement never could. In the field, we rely on Imperial principles and our own judgement. And if something does go wrong ..." He rests a hand on his holstered sidearm. "We clean up our messes."
Temple looks unhappy, but thoughtful. "Yes, sir."
Cipher Nine loosens his posture, projecting ease and reassurance. "And if you're worried about making a mistake, don't be. You're bright, you're willing to learn, and you would never willingly betray the Empire." He lets the smile shade warmer. "I think you'll do fine, Raina."
ii. career trajectory
"Ensign, a word?"
She smiles brightly, chipper as ever. Cipher Nine suspects at least some of her good cheer is a front, but much of it seems to be genuine.
Because Temple is honest. A patriot. She believes in the Empire, in the chain of command, in order and hierarchy and law. It's what makes her either entirely unsuited to Intelligence, or perfect for it, and he would rather not find out the hard way that it's the latter.
To say nothing of her abilities.
Cipher Nine gestures for her to take a seat at the nav station; he sinks into the copilot's chair as Temple perches attentively at the edge of hers. "How can I help, sir?" she says.
"We need to discuss the circumstances of your transfer, and the nature of my last assignment."
"I gathered you were undercover with the SIS, and Vector mentioned you'd been ..." She clears her throat. "He expressed some concerns?"
Cipher Nine laughs, wry. "Erratic behavior? Elevated stress?"
"Not in so many words, but, erm, that was the gist of it."
"Unsurprising. It was a difficult assignment, for a number of reasons." He leans forward, braces his elbows on his knees—conversational, perhaps even conspiratorial. "The man you met on Hoth, the one who took possession of the Starbreeze—he wasn't a Minder. He was SIS, and he believed me to be a defector to the Republic. You were not supposed to be there at all. And since you'd seen me, and him, and the ship, he considered you a loose end."
Temple's eyes widen. "Oh."
Cipher Nine nods. "Oh." Frame it as a deliberate save, make it personal—or frame it as a matter of expedience, preserving an Imperial life for the sake of the Empire?
She'd believe the second, with little to no effort on his part. She might believe the first, but it could introduce a number of complications he's not interested in managing. So, calmly and not unkindly, he says, "You're a fine soldier, Ensign. The Empire needs people like you. Transferring you to Intelligence, under the watch of an apparent asset, satisfied the SIS and ensured your safety." Beat. Sheepish smile. "Well. Relative safety."
Temple's expression phases through worry to gratification to worry again. Then she seems to steel herself, and settles on disgustingly optimistic resolve. "I see. Sir, I fully intend to rise to the occasion regardless of whether or not I would have ended up here without enemy interference."
"I have no doubt that you could excel here. But your recruitment was ... irregular, and left you with no choice in the matter. You could also excel anywhere else you decided to go, and you've expressed distaste for certain aspects of espionage." Certain foundational, intrinsic aspects of espionage, such as thinking for oneself and not trusting the fucking Sith.
She presses her lips together, nodding in consideration. After a moment, she says, "And if I decide to stay? However this opportunity arose, I want to do as much good as I can in the Empire's service. I believe that this is where I can do that best."
Cipher Nine curses patriots and keeps his smile in place. "No need to file yet another set of transfer papers, then."
(It's only later that he remembers that he can say no to things, now, and by then it's far too late.)
iii. tools of the trade
"Yes?"
"I have a purely professional question for you, sir, if you don't mind my asking," says Temple. "When you lie to a woman over the course of a mission, make her think you're interested ... does it bother you?"
Cipher Nine raises an eyebrow at her. He's fairly certain that he hasn't so much as flirted with anyone on the job in months. Certainly not since Hoth, when she joined the crew. "Any reason you're professionally interested?" he says slowly.
"Don't mistake me—I've been involved with plenty of the wrong men, but going in, there was always the chance they'd work out. I don't know how I'd handle living one life in the field and another back home. It must be exhausting."
He has ... absolutely no idea how to parse that. "What are you getting at, Ensign?"
"Sir?"
He holds up his hands, palms out, and twists his expression softer, a bit embarrassed. "I don't know what conversation we're having, here. Are you concerned about the job interfering with existing relationships, or the idea of seducing a mark?"
"A bit of both," she admits. "But I can't say I'm looking forward to using my, erm, wiles. Such as they are."
Ah. "It's far less common than the holos make it seem. Not everyone will be attracted to you. Not everyone who's attracted to you will respond usefully to seduction. Most of the time, other forms of manipulation are more effective."
"Have you ... what I mean is, have you ever gone further than just pretending you're interested, with a mark?" Temple says.
"I have, when it was expedient." He shrugs. "You're not obligated to do the same. And again, there are usually better alternatives. Blackmail, bribery, threats, favors ..."
"And ... you're all right with that? Sleeping with people you don't actually care about?"
For fuck's sake. "Yes. Lust is a weapon. It's a tool of the trade."
"That's—very pragmatic of you, sir."
"Thank you," he says.
Temple eyes him for a moment. Then she smiles, almost mischievous. "Ever met someone who's more than just a means to an end?"
"Would you ask Aristocra Saganu a question like that?"
"I'm not hearing a no."
Ice. Rushing noise in his ears. He resets his face to neutral, pitches his voice cold and even. "Ensign Temple, that was inappropriate."
She subsides, looks down. "Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to overstep. I suppose I can't help but wonder, given what my family was like. Two Ciphers under one roof ... Next thing you know, you'll tell me my parents' marriage was a sham."
Is she playing him? Putting on a show of naïveté to disguise something else? Surely she's not actually this ... innocent. Surely, if she's telling the truth about her parents, she has some concept of professional necessity.
Or maybe she is just as guileless as she seems. Would he be able to tell? Is he being paranoid?
(He's always paranoid; is he too paranoid in this specific instance?)
Cipher Nine ventures, "I didn't know your family had such a history with the work."
"Well, somewhat, anyway." Temple shrugs, as if it's of no consequence, then flashes another polite smile. "Thank you for your honesty, sir. You won't regret these sessions."
"Anytime," he says, and he lets it drop. For now.
Her parents were both Cipher agents. Her father disobeyed the Sith and ran. She's Force-sensitive, and was hidden away with the Chiss rather than sent to Korriban for training.
Awkwardness and the occasional unfortunate emotional reaction notwithstanding, he'll not complain about useful information offered freely.
iv. cognitive dissonance
He's on Voss, retracing the steps of the so-called "Shining Man" with SCORPIO in tow, when his comm chirps. Urgent message incoming. Cipher Nine frowns and activates it. "Problem?"
On holo, Temple twists at her hands, biting her lip. Distress, anxiety. "Sir, there's something you should know. I've been scanning Chiss frequencies—passing the time, checking low-security reports—"
"Be brief, please. I'm surrounded by Force-maddened carnivorous wildlife with excellent hearing."
"Sorry, sir. I—there's a time-sensitive personal matter that just came to my attention. Permission to take care of it? It's offworld, but I'll be back within a few days."
Heavy, lurching footfalls. Vorantikus, coming closer. "Granted," he says. Then, because he's supposed to be her friendly commanding officer who cares about her personally: "Good luck, Ensign."
Temple gives a wan smile. "Thank you, sir. I'll need it, for this."
He deactivates the holocomm, and ghosts deeper into the Nightmare Lands.
Temple doesn't return until four days later. By then, he has the Star Cabal data, Darth Serevin is a bit peeved at him, and the Three have been bullied into providing ad hoc alimony for Yana-Ton. All in all, not an unsuccessful mission.
He's about to start trying to trace Temple's comm when the airlock cycles open.
Cipher Nine strides to meet her, and halts when she comes into view. She looks uninjured—but she doesn't straighten or salute when she notices him. That's unusual.
He furrows his brow to indicate concern. "Are you all right?"
"Not really, sir," she says, voice very small.
He takes a step forward. "What happened?"
Temple takes a steadying breath and gestures to follow; she goes to the cockpit, her usual haunt, and he trails in after her. It's not perfect privacy, but the rest of the crew is otherwise occupied.
Temple stands there staring at the monitors along the starboard wall for a moment before turning back to him. "Several days ago, I received a message from an old friend in the CEDF. Someone I trusted. It was ... it was an intercepted holo of a Sith Lord reporting to his superiors that he'd located a fugitive Cipher agent who was on the run for hiding a Force-sensitive."
"Your father, presumably," says Cipher Nine.
She nods. "Cipher Three," she says stiffly. "There were coordinates, in the message. I had to do something, sir. If the Sith found him first, they'd torture him, put him on public display—I couldn't let that happen. The least I could do was give him a ... a quick death."
He stares at her.
"I found Cipher Three—I found my father—and I executed him so the Sith couldn't. He said he understood."
"Why," he says—what is he supposed to be feeling, here? Sympathy? Sorrow? Approval? All he knows is that his lungs feel like they're about to shatter from the cold.
"Because I believe in the Empire," Temple says, as if that should be the end of it.
"... Your father's treason saved your life."
"That doesn't mean it wasn't treason, or that he shouldn't have faced the consequences long ago. I had to be better than him. I had to do my duty."
Anger, crackling through the ice. He can do anger. "And what about yourself? Do you intend to face the consequences?"
"... Sir?"
"You were a child when he made you disappear," says Cipher Nine. "You're not a child anymore, but you're still Force-sensitive. According to the Sith edicts you hold in such high regard, you are obligated to turn yourself in for training. Do you intend to face the consequences, Raina Temple?"
She flinches. "I wouldn't survive Korriban, sir, you know that," she says, almost pleading. "I can serve the Empire much better where I am, it's to everyone's benefit if I don't—"
"Then you're no better than Cipher Three. Worse, you're a hypocrite. At least he was honest about his betrayal. You, though ... you think you're somehow an exception to the rules even when your own damned father wasn't, despite the fact that he broke them to benefit you."
"I would give my life for the Empire!"
"You can't have it both ways. Korriban, or treason. Which is it?"
She glares up at him, spine ramrod-straight, jaw tense. "I will not betray the Empire," she says. "But I will not throw my life away for no reason, either. Sometimes, there need to be exceptions. Sometimes, the rules didn't anticipate a situation, and need to be worked around instead of followed blindly. Sometimes, you have to make a decision that ... isn't ..." She trails off. Then her eyes go wide, and the anger drains out of her all at once. "Oh. Oh. I think I understand now, sir."
"Understand what?"
Temple beams as if she's just had some great epiphany. "Operational discretion! This is what you meant, isn't it? For the sake of the Empire, sometimes you have to make a decision without any clear guidance. You have to look at the big picture, ask why a rule exists, what purpose it's really serving, and act accordingly. That's what Intelligence agents do. And if we make a mistake, or someone crosses a line ... we clean up our messes."
The ice in his chest cracks wide open, a chasm echoing mistake.
"Thank you, sir," Temple says, all sincerity. "I'm sorry it took me so long to understand what you were trying to teach me."
If he pushes, then he reveals that he was not trying to teach her any such thing. She reads it, correctly, as willingness to overlook what she regards as unforgivable treason—what she will not, cannot allow herself to regard as anything else, otherwise she can't justify killing Cipher Three. And she needs to be able to justify killing Cipher Three. So she reacts badly, whether with immediate hostility or an attempt at something more subtle. At which point he can either kill her outright—and he'd prefer not to; it's wasteful and it would raise questions—or he can use her secret as leverage.
Blackmailing her into cooperation would only be a temporary solution, though. And it's not as if he's free of dangerous secrets himself. Or above needing to sleep, on occasion. Temple may be straightforward, but she's still resourceful, and he can't watch her constantly.
... He can't risk pushing her.
Cipher Nine exhales, and puts on a sympathetic face. "I'm sorry, too," he says. "It's a difficult lesson to learn, even under the best of circumstances. Which these ... were not."
"I do appreciate it, sir." She looks down and away. "I'm—it's been a very long few days. What with one thing and another."
What with all the patricide. He keeps his expression gentle, his voice soft. "We're still several days from Dromund Kaas. Take some time to—" Reflect? Recalibrate? Grieve? "To yourself," he finishes.
"I think I just might, sir." Apparently the emotional weight of what she's done is beginning to sink in again; though her Imperial stiff upper lip is in top form, her eyes are suspiciously watery.
"Very well." And Cipher Nine leaves her to it. Whatever "it" happens to be. He retreats to his quarters, seals the door, and buries himself in finalizing the mission report.
He miscalculated. He failed.