Free Star Wars: Battlefront: Twilight Company by Alex Freed Page B

generous guess, with gleaming sapphire eyes and flowing black hair. He wore an outfit of deep-gray cloth, augmented by a cloak in the style of the Serenno nobles and a single bejeweled brooch. Tabor was left with the impression of someone who would have been at home in the Republic Senate, gaudy and elegant and alien all at once. Yet aboard the ordered refinement of a Star Destroyer, the prelate was chaos personified—unconstrained by regulations, a singular persona in the midst of diligently enforced uniformity.
    Tabor had heard of the prelate before his summons to the
Herald
, if only vaguely: the youngest member of the Imperial Ruling Council, a rising star among the ministers and advisers who gossiped and played politics on Coruscant. Emperor Palpatine himself had supposedly granted Verge his title, though what
prelate
actually signified, Tabor could not guess.
    Prelate Verge strode into the conference room with a broad smile, reaching out to clasp Tabor’s shoulder with harsh enthusiasm. “Captain,” he said. “Welcome to my ship.”
    Your ship?
Tabor thought.
You’ve never spent a day in the Imperial Navy.
But he nodded politely and said, “Thank you, Prelate. She’s a fine vessel”—Verge released his grip; Tabor continued before the prelate could reply—“but I’m not sure why you brought me here.”
    The corners of the prelate’s mouth twitched. Then his smile tightened and he backed away. “Of course,” he said. “It’s been a long journey for you, and you must be eager to begin.”
    Tabor wondered
what
, exactly, needed beginning, but this time he refrained from prompting Verge.
    “I’ve been appointed a task,” Verge said, “by our beneficent Emperor: the capture of Everi Chalis, former emissary to the Imperial Ruling Council and honorary Grand Architect of the New Order—now defector to the Rebel Alliance. I believe you knew the traitor, and I need someone at my side who understands how she thinks.” He flashed a smile before adding, “So much as any true Imperial can comprehend the thinking of a traitor.”
    Tabor tried to keep the confusion from his face. Chalis had struck Tabor as capable in her way, an adequate successor to the genius of Count Vidian but better at promoting herself and outplaying her foes than anything truly remarkable. Had anyone asked Tabor whether Chalis might betray the Empire, he’d have denied the possibility altogether; such a woman had neither the courage nor the will to turn on her masters.
    “With due respect,” Tabor said, “you overestimate my understanding of the woman—we haven’t spoken in years.” He racked his brain, tried to remember the endless meetings and receptions on Coruscant; remember who had worked with Chalis and, of those, who hadn’t yet retired or passed on. “Perhaps Tiaan Jerjerrod or Kenth Leesha could be of more use?” he tried.
    Again, the prelate’s mouth twitched. “I chose
you
,” he said, “as the Emperor chose
me.
Chalis is dangerous, and this is not the time for humility.”
    Boyish fingers closed into a fist and reopened. Verge’s voice fell to a whisper, and Tabor had to strain to understand. “You were once a great man; you served our Emperor and our age with distinction. Now you waste away at the Academy, and I am offering you the chance to serve truly once more.”
    With his final words, he raised his voice again. His tone was cold and lifeless. “To refuse this privilege would be as incomprehensible as Chalis’s own acts.”
    Tabor stared at the prelate as he parsed the knot of verbiage.
    He’d been in his own world so long he’d forgotten the language of the court: how polite men accused each other of treason.
    Defiance rose in his throat. He banished it like he had the buzzing in his stomach. “I apologize,” he said. “I meant no offense to the Emperor. I’d be proud to serve at your side.”
    Long-forgotten rumors surfaced unbidden in Tabor’s mind. He recalled stories of a child of one of