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Sep 26, 2006 16:11

It is no small accomplishment for an Imperial Intelligence training class to score marks high enough to merit a visit from Intelligence Director Ysanne Isard. The class members know this, says the Director’s sharp gaze. She doesn’t need to say so.

Madame Director Isard stands tall at the front of the class in her blood red uniform, hands clasped coolly behind her back. This is no stirring speech of fire and brimstone and neither is it instruction; it’s a cold congratulation followed by a short talk. The gist is simple: you are the best of the best. You will serve the Empire in these troubled times. And if the occasion rises where you must give your life for the good of the Empire - there will no be hesitation.

The class files out, buzzing with barely-suppressed excitement. Two students, braver than the rest, salute the Director. She salutes back shortly, impatient disdain obvious in mismatched eyes. The pair slink out. No one else dares to do anything but nod respectfully to the dark-haired woman.

Once most are gone, Isard shares a quick, imperious word with the instructor and then turns to the desk, gathering up her datapad and stylus.
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