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Admiral Wells reached up and scratched at the side of his nose, feeling the frustrating, almost venomous intake of the rebellious itch that flooded his face and shot up his nostrils like an intake of invisible water. The itch had been there for some time, and though he knew scratching it would only force it to burrow into him further for a more permanent residence, he found it to be impossible to resist the urge.

Fortunately none of the other esteemed men at the table noticed his slight breach in protocol, either they simply didn't care or were too enthralled in the discussions about to care. As much as the topics interested John Wells, he found it hard to follow, much of them discussing political "intrigue" and the effects of political standings with various systems and governments of the galaxy.

Worst of all for the poor admiral, they would constantly bounce back and forth in their topics - where one minute they could be talking about the Hapes Consortium and their oddities of emplacing a queen rather than a king, to suddenly discussing the bitter rivalries between the houses of the Vorzyd Cluster.

He stood firm to his belief that life was simpler in command of a Star Destroyer.

Just allow him to point and shoot.

He scratched a few more times and let his hand drop to the onyx table, with its smoothe, polished finish of swirling black and white. To his immediate right sat Director Hraskin, son of the late Grand Moff Hraskin and successor to Imperial Intelligence after the...untimely death of Jorai Kevel. He had done his job remarkably well, keeping Coruscant literally under his thumb until its final collapse at the end of the latest war with the Alliance. He himself had held more political sway single handidly behind the scenes than the whole senatorial body could ever hope to wield.

He wore his dust grey uniform, though modestly with only his rank bar, choosing not to flaunt the myriad of awards that had obviously been given him. He was a middle aged man, with hints of grey in his hair, but with a firm, locked jaw and a powerful presence. His brilliance in leadership, mathematics, stealth, and politics made him an ideal choice for Director of Intelligence.

To Wells's left was Lord Admiral Dagaroth, a spirited man, though aging and losing his luster and passion. He found it difficult to walk, favoring a cane and his right leg after using only his one ship to hold off a massive Rebel assault, buying the precious time needed for Imperial forces to escape a trapped moon base. His ship had been destroyed and he and his crew had escaped via shuttle, though the ensuing battle to retrieve that escape craft had cost him his ability to walk upright.

Across from the trio sat Grand Moff Dyaldar, successor to Grand Moff Hraskin after his unfortunate death at the Battle of New Bastion. Though hardly as brilliant in speaking and not nearly as powerful in presence, Dyaldar was nevertheless a genius in politics who had somehow managed to quell the rowdy Moffs shortly after their decline after Ralen Me'Vere's ascension to Regent and later Potentate.

The then Moff Provincial Council had used their direct influence over star systems - granted by the Emperor himself four years before his death - to band together to form a ridiculously strong power base. They had become a corellian clam that no one could smash open. Until Potentate Me'Vere had come, stripped them of their powers, and placed those in the hands of the senate and sub-potentates.

Dyaldar had been instrumental in the prevention of Imperial uprisings in that delicate time - and he himself was the greatest supporter of the Innauguration Movement to crown Ralen emperor.

To that man's right was Diktat Mulgrad of Corellia. If there was ever an irritating man it was the diktat of Corellia, the ever "banevolent" figure who had always either professed the system's neutrality or charged heftily for it. With the fall of the Alliance though, there was nothing for Mulgrag to fall back on - but would no doubt risk fighting the Empire to the bitter end in a bloody siege of Corellia that made Fondor look like a scrimage.

So the Potentate and the Diktat had been at each other's throats ever since the signing of the Die Gesamt-Auslifierg. They had been weaving intricate plots and counter plots against one another in a political game of chess that had left Wells behind at the first move. However, Ralen's latest announcements and degradations of the diktat had not only shamed him, but so blatantly put him in his spot that any refusal to accept Imperial rule may very well have led to a revolution against the diktat.

So now here he sat, well input in his place, seething with anger, and certainly willing to do whatever the Potentate had to say.

The final person sitting across from Wells was Inquisitor Lord Hayder, a man who wore a shadow on his shoulder and had the look of both a madman and a genius rolled into one. If not the latter he was definitely the former, with his deep, sunken eys and glisteningly evil grin. He was one Ralen Me'Vere's "skeletons in the closet" per se.

The inquisitor was the last of the survivors of the Inquisition after a series of bloody conflicts shortly before the potentate's ascension. He was a man of great influence and power who constantly found himself at ends with both COMPNOR and Imperial Intelligence, yet in a way he controlled both of them.

He could exact any information from anyone and had personally approved of the new modeled Imperial holding chambers, the very ones that now held such criminals as Hertzield, Corran Horn, and a myriad of Jedi. Everyone in the room had gone through great pains to sit as far from him and his menacing gaze as possible.

Ralen of course sat at the end of the table, to Wells's left. He sat upright and proper, his fingers drawing little taps against the onyx-clad tabletop while he stared down at each person as they spoke, making almost intimate eye contact with them. It was a brilliant gesture, allowing the person to both realize they were being given his utmost attention, and find themselves forced to question themselves under his unrelenting and scouring scrutiny.

"Imperial forces are placed throughout the entire galaxy," Lord Admiral Dagaroth began, drawing Wells's from his contemplations, "how the Bothan Spy Network hoped to get this over our heads is beyond us."

"It's an outrage," Mulgrad spat distastefully, his voice dripping with venom, "the Empire is the true sovereignty of the galaxy, those beyond us only await our grasp."

Several more voices piked in, adding to the constant fold of insults or statements of disbelief at the "audacity of the Bothan Spy Network". Director Hraskin had waited for the room to silent itself - which hastily came when they saw his erect form and gazing eyes waiting for the right moment to speak.

There wasn't a man alive who did not cherish hearing Hraskin's input on any matter. The greatest tactician often looked the most ridiculous fool when he began his own counter arguements.

"You've something to add Director?" Mulgrad beckoned from across the table, sitting back in his overly large and unnecessarily elegant chair.

Hraskin nodded and cleared his throat.

"What the Bothan Spy Networks overlooked is that we are receiving simultaneous reports from several governments and organizations throughout the galaxy. Even if the Spies, we'll refer to them as the BSN, did try to subvert us (which seems to be the case) we still have near conclusive evidence that something is occuring near the Bothawui area that we need to consider.

"What is most important to note however is that Bothawui did not act in conjuction with the Kothlis BSN, and rather transmitted a double communique to both the Alliance and the Empire shortly after the...well they call it a supposed decimation of military forces on patrol out there. The quarantine over Tatooine has captured a series of freighters and outbound...ruffians who stated they were inbound for Rodia - though their flight maps and communiques assure us they were heading to Nal Hutta, Ylesia, or Bothawui."

Hraskin took a breath to compile his thoughts, then continued.

"In short what we can come to definitely say is that there is definitely something happening near Bothan and Hutt space. I can't put my finger on what, my agents haven't gotten there yet, but with the Sith talking about 'disturbances', pirates risking the Tatooine run, and Bothawui going over the heads of the BSN, we can conclusively say that something needs to be looked into."

Wells nodded with that assessment and felt himself resisting the urge to applaud the serenity and lack of hostility or prejudice in his tone. He was matter of fact about the issues, and was confident in what he knew.

He was confident in his men.

"I'd like to add," Wells cut in before anyone else could start and throw the topic off course, "the Imperial Navy has been getting dozens of requests to send scouting teams to the Kothlis system. I at first felt it was an unnecessary breach of protocal given the...surrender of the Alliance, but the severity in the messages sent from the Sith has caused me some concern."

The others watched him, watched him as though he were a HoloDrama that just clicked off at the worst possible cliff hanger.

"I am going to ask the Potentate for permission to send a scout team to Kothlis to confirm the information."

Wells turned to Ralen, who was already nodding his approval, to the pleasure of the rest of the coterie here.

"I think we should adjourn this meeting then," the potentate said at length, "so that we can hastily get to our responsive measures to this...threat whatever it is."

"And what of Kothlis's boldness in refusing to contact us over the Alliance?" Hayder asked, ever the sadist.

Ralen blew out a sigh that turned the edges of his grey mustache. "We shall see about that."