For those who would serve the Alliance, peace and stability are the foundations of order, just as vital as food, air, water, shelter and medical care. One cannot endure without the other. An absence of order is a disturbance, and interferes with the basic necessities of life.

Order obligates control, and so were created the parliament, the judiciary, the military, the very Alliance itself. The Alliance exists in the service of all citizens of the 'verse, and by extension, all humankind.

To do the greatest amount of good for the greatest amount of people, it is therefore essential to maintain this order at any cost, to protect the security and safety of the interests of the government. For services rendered in return, all citizens ultimately owe their loyalty to the Alliance. Their loyalty must be tested, and become stronger by the testing, never weaker, never broken, lest they become a danger to those they serve.

There will always be another test, and failure means death. Those who would betray the Alliance had rejected life, and must be made to reflect this.

He could recite it effortlessly. They all could.

This was what it was to be an Operative, one of the men and women who gave their lives and very identities for the Alliance. To exist outside the rule of law, the last line of defense between order and chaos, with only the command of parliament to save them from falling to the other side.

Was it what the young prospective was thinking as he stepped down the stairs into the circle of moonlight? As they watched each other, from across the flat expanse that would become their arena, salted by blood? Was he thinking about how he had failed his mission, the man he'd been sent to kill to prove his allegiance dead by another's hand? Was he wondering why the man who was his real test had the same face, the same skin, the same voice?

It was silent. Not even the parting of air marked the curve of their blades, a shadow dance, each already gone when the deadly steel passed through