E X A R C H
The corridors outside of the Exarch’s office were quiet, predictably so at this hour. Another late-night session had driven most Prefects and Liasons back to their offices for a brief reprieve before returning to their work. The gears of government never truly stopped turning. Truth be told, Karl preferred this hush far more than the incessant squabbling of Prefects picking apart each other’s arguments like carrion birds. Silence made his mind cleaner. Sharper.
While it was silent, he could still hear the soft echoing footsteps behind him of his attaché, Lt. Moira Thif. She was a few steps behind him, always to his left side, always within reach. His robotic bodyguard, C1RC3, was also present, but with her advanced stealth technologies, Karl often suspected she enjoyed being unfindable.
He was talking to Lt. Thif, nothing of particular note, just observations about the session’s few promising developments. Upon reaching his door, he took out a code cylinder from a pocket in his tunic and placed it into the receiver. Before entering the passcode, his gaze paused on the keypad. The fifth button sat flush with the others.
He turned to Lt. Thif, a sorry smile on his face, ”I hate to send you off the moment we arrive, Lieutenant, but could you fetch some of that tea I adore from the south wing commissary? I find myself quite parched. A lively debate will do that.”
She looked mildly disappointed, but defiance was not in her nature. “Of course, Exarch. I will fetch it right away.”
”Thank you, Lieutenant.”
As she walked off, whatever faint hint of a smile Karl had worn vanished completely. That fifth button was never flush. He kept it purposefully depressed; it was an old habit, a quiet alarm. Someone had entered his office while it was locked. He exhaled through his nose, set his jaw, and entered the passcode. The panel chimed; he withdrew the cylinder and stepped inside.
The office was quaint by Exarchal standards. He’d passed on the oversized corner suite offered to him upon his elevation, preferring this smaller, cozier room nearer to the COMECI chambers. Wooden furniture, leather-cushioned seating, the faint scent of polished varnish. As he closed the door, the lights hummed on, bathing the room in a soft, welcoming warmth.
He crossed the floor to his desk, unhurriedly, setting down a trio of datapads in a neat stack. The moment they touched the surface, his posture straightened, his weathered hands folding behind him as he spoke to the office.
”You do know,” he said evenly, but with a colder demeanor, ”that people generally make an appointment if they wish to speak with me.”
He stepped toward a small wooden globe of New Alderaan, positioned to the left of his desk. The globe opened cleanly beneath his touch, revealing a selection of liquors in crystal decanters. ”I am aware an invitation was given to speak with me through my address, but I don’t believe that breaking and entering were part of it.”
He lifted a decanter, swirling the amber liquid inside with practiced familiarity. Two crystal glasses came next, placed on a nearby side table. He filled one. ”Ordinarily, I don’t offer interlopers anything short of a blaster bolt to the chest.” He paused. A faint tilt of his head, the closest thing he allowed himself to amusement. ”But, a supposed colleague can be afforded a nightcap.”
He gestured lightly to the empty glass. ”I have still or sparkling water as well, should you not drink. After all, there is remarkably little information available about you, even to me…” He turned slightly, eyes narrowing with measured curiosity.
”...Warden Primus. Though I imagine that, ultimately, is the point, isn’t it?”