Ciphered Holos

She turned the saber over in her hand, shifting its weight against her fingers and palm before setting the hilt down.

Life had become a blur of activity again, an endless cycle of too little sleep and too many lies and too many gaps and breaks of conscience. The enforced rest and break had turned into a slightly extended one, the woman floundering on what to do after the advice she'd offered her master.

Why had she made that suggestion? It'd bring further condemnation, further distance, but in the end she could see why.

The same reason she had done despicable things to get in with the Barge. The same reason she'd hired Rax-tex, hired the thugs and murderers of the underworld, the same reason she still did. The same echoing statement that she'd agreed with long ago, so long ago, when she and Zachiry had spoken.

The same thing she'd discussed with Akkai.

Someone had to - someone had to get the blood on their hands so the idealists could live in a better world. Someone had to make the choices a better person would never accept, because they were capable of making them. Because someone had to make them. Because sacrifices were worth protecting the people she still cared about. Even when she knew they wouldn't understand. They were people of conscience, people who would do the upright thing when pressed, because they believed so much in it that they would never bow.

They'll think you're truly gone, though, a voice whispered, the Miralukan running a hand through her hair at the thought. They would. She knew they would. If they found out, if they learned what she'd counseled - they wouldnever understand this time.

She suspected not even her master knew why she'd really suggested what she had. Or if he did, he didn't care - did he, maybe, glean the reason? But it'd tempered the rage, tempered the risk, until he had been able to see the reason. Now it was a matter of waiting, watching, continuing her work.

It will cost you everything, and she accepted that. She would do the despicable things no one else would and maybe be able to offer information it'd be otherwise impossible to get.

She picked up the saber, hearing the siren call of it and the way it yearned for battle and blood, and shifted it in her hand again.

The confusion over her friendships had faded, settling uneasily into a pattern of ignoring the fragments. If she ignored them long enough perhaps her friends would ignore the division, stop asking questions, and let her pretend. She had faded again, trying to edge away from study but at the back of her thoughts there was the itch and call and desire and she clipped the saber to her belt, standing up abruptly.

She'd been so long from her work. So long from her research, her studies, her practice. So long from the life of Sith, of her place, that she wondered what and why she'd been allowed to for so long. Perhaps the focus of the House had shifted so much to counter the threat that her subtle shading had gone without comment, as long as she did her work at some point.

She picked up her datapad, tapping out a message on it then closing the screen. Ark had contacted her last night, admitted his infection and taken advantage of the dispensation of the anti-fungal she had set up at her offices. Said the Rose had a possible leak of information.

What had the Aristocra promised her, if he found out she had crossed him?

She'd remember at some point. For now it was time to get back to work.