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Beyond - Legends Interregnum (Post-The Last Command Action/Drama | Luke/Mara, Wedge | Epic) [Complete]

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction- Before, Saga, and Beyond' started by Bel505, Sep 12, 2020.

  1. Bel505

    Bel505 Jedi Grand Master star 2

    Registered:
    Jul 4, 2006





    Chapter Fourteen, Part II


    Eighteen hours later, Atril was beginning to think that Wedge might've cut the margin on his surprise a little too close when Ession Strike's board lit up with alarms from both her sensors and the fighters on CAP. "[A vessel just dropped out of hyperspace! It looks like a Quasar Fire-class bulk cruiser,]" announced Traks'zim, the Togorian turning his chair to look at the detailed readout appearing on his monitor. "[I can't tell if it's a bulk freighter variant or a starfighter carrier variant,]" he added, sounding a bit disgusted.

    The ship's alarm sounded, men and women hurrying to their posts.

    "It doesn't look like it's spoiling for a fight," Atril observed, stroking her chin with a finger. "And usually a Quasar Fire won't travel unescorted. Do we have it's IFF yet?"

    Wedge's voice startled her. She'd heard the rest of the bridge crew scramble in, but hadn't realized he'd been among them. "Don't bother. She'll ping as Uthorrferrell from the Eiattuan system defense forces," he said, offering a grin at her surprised look. "First rule of being a General, Atril," he said. "Always maintain your own supply lines. It helps if you have some favors to call in when the official channels get, well, excessively official." He nodded. "If I may, please authorize them to approach when they provide the countersign, and have your helmsman accommodate them into the formation. They're going to have some supplies and personnel to shuttle over."



    * * *​



    Wedge and the rest of the Rogues assembled in the hangar. Tycho wore an expression of amused acceptance; the rest of the squadron wore looks of confusion. "So, Boss, are you planning on telling us what's up, or is this a Tauntaun Stew event?" asked Hobbie, his hands pushed into his orange flightsuit.

    "Ask Tycho," Wedge said.

    "Apparently," Tycho said, already distancing himself from the fallout, "it's more of a me on Coruscant kind of thing."

    Hobbie and Janson, both of whom had been on training duty during the Rogues' mission on Coruscant, looked at each other in confusion, then both looked at Tycho. "So, what, does that mean Wedge called up Winter?" asked Janson. "Or did the Princess send us a resupply?"

    Tycho shook his head. "No, sadly."

    "He means that we're about to be surprised with some unexpected reinforcements," Corran Horn answered their persisting question. "Tycho came out of nowhere with fighters we could fly."

    Wedge snapped and pointed at Corran wordlessly.

    "Oh no," Janson said in faux-whisper. "Wedge thinks he's being clever."

    "We're doomed," added Hobbie.

    Wedge just stood there and mock-glowered at them both as the hangar bays aligned.

    One of the deck officers came over and waved them back, and the squadron pushed until they were nearly snug against the far end of the hangar. Ession Strike was a tiny ship to carry a full squadron of fighters, and there wasn't a whole lot of space left.

    Through the vacuum-seal came four X-wings; three under tractor, one under power. The first was painted in Rogue Squadron colors; the remaining three were unpainted, as if they'd come right off the factory floor. The deck officers waved them down, and the Rogues could see that the latter three fighters were each being piloted by their astromechs.

    The piloted snub popped its canopy and its pilot stood up. She was impressively tall for a human, easily the tallest member of the squadron, and powerfully built. As she took off her helmet, her thick blonde hair remained plastered to her head in a functional crown braid. "Plourrie!" Janson yelped excitedly, jogging forward ahead of the rest of the squadron to greet her as she climbed down the ladder. "How are the kids?"

    Isplourrdacartha "Plourr" Estillo hit the deck, ignored Janson, and smiled at Wedge, firing off an artfully sloppy salute. "Congratulations on the promotion, General, it's about damn time," before pretending to notice Janson as Wedge acknowledged her salute with parade-ground precision and Janson with a tilt of the head.

    Plourr immediately dropped her salute, reoriented, and made to greet the troublesome Tanaabian. Janson, expecting a friendly embrace, found himself instead locked in her headlock. No slouch at unarmed combat himself, and a born entertainer, Janson only made token resistance inside the grip of her arm. He squirmed, more to make a show of it than anything, and began issuing complaints that reached a shrill whine on a live flight deck.

    She talked over Janson's protests. "My children are fine, they love that Littlest Bantha holoshow you sent and the water pistols. And so does my consort. My government, not so much. They were ambushed by armed toddlers last week. But I'm guessing you didn't think about that, did you?" She sighed theatrically, equalling Janson's drama, and her gaze found Tycho. "I'm disappointed Tycho, you let Wes out of his cage," she said cheerfully, hauling the Taanabian to and fro with alarming ease. "Where do you keep it? I'd be happy to huck him back into it for you."



    * * *​



    It took Janson only a few minutes to talk himself loose, and then the squadron reunion had begun in earnest. Most of Wedge's pilots knew Plourr from past service, and they'd introduced her to those she didn't know and exchanged stories before getting down to business. Ession Strike's forward lounge was a poor excuse for a briefing room, but Wedge had seen far worse.

    Plourr hadn't changed that much since the last time Wedge had seen her. A long-time Rogue before she'd been lured into other duties, Plourr was the angriest, most physically intimidating human who'd ever strapped on a Rogue Squadron flightsuit. When Wedge had first recruited her, she'd also been constitutionally incapable of not using that size and strength to beat the stuffing out of at least three people in every bar she walked into. (Admittedly they always had it coming, and she'd never complained about the subsequent mess duty.)

    She'd mellowed some in the last few years. Becoming Queen Plourr the First of Eiattu likely had a lot to do with it.

    "So you found Tavira," Plourr said as she straddled one of the chairs, resting her elbows down on the table. The other Rogues present gathered around. "She's up to no good again, I assume." Plourr clasped her hands together in a manner that was more than vaguely menacing. "We should have squashed her on Eiattu, before she could run riot around the galaxy."

    "You're not going to get an argument from me, Plourr," Wedge said.

    "Tavira has come into possession of three things: a Star Destroyer, the Invidious, which is currently under repairs at the Imperial repair yards at Linuri—" Tycho began.

    "We hit it with a bunch of proton torpedoes, but we didn't have enough to close the deal," Janson put in.

    Tycho nodded. "But we did enough damage to hurt it, which is probably why it's in for repairs now."

    "Are we going after her?" Plourr asked, her expression one of hungry anticipation. Leonia Tavira had been Moff of Ado Sector, and her capital world had been Eiattu. Plourr's Eiattu. "Tavira dragged Eiattu through misery in her quest to squeeze as much wealth and power out of it as she could, and as the woman who has been left picking up the pieces, I very much want a piece of that dicred-ante Isard. Hopefully this time we'll get her."

    "Sorry, Beneficent Majesty, but not yet," Tycho replied. "Linuri is well fortified, with Golan platforms and two Vicstars on station to back them up. To hit Linuri we'd have to take our eyes off Ukio, and we can't do that."

    "If we were to let up on Ukio, the Imperials would bring in more supplies and make its eventual conquest even more difficult," Wedge explained with a sigh. "Once we take Ukio we can move on Linuri, but until then Ukio is our first priority."

    Plourr frowned, then offered a grudging nod. "Fine. So we need to take Ukio before we can take Tavira." She waved her hand in a small circle, beckoning Tycho and Wedge for more information. "What are the other two things Tavira has come into possession of?"

    "A Force user," Tycho said, glancing at Corran.

    "That's about all we know," Corran said with a frown. "He was armed with a lightsaber and was good with it. Better than me, which isn't saying much, but still he can bounce back blaster bolts and lift things. Thankfully we didn't get too close, or…" he glanced uneasily at Tycho and Wedge, "I suspect not all of us would have made it off that landing pad."

    Plourr's frown was deepening. "That's alarming," she conceded. "Looks like we should try some Jedi countermeasures. What's the third asset?"

    "We think she is working with a slicer who can penetrate the HoloNet," Tycho finished. "The extent of his abilities are unclear, but the situation is dire enough that General Cracken is sending out alerts to key facilities, instructing them not to send any vital information over the HoloNet, even under high encrypt."

    Plourr's frown had vanished into a cool, calm expression Wedge didn't remember from her squadron service. "That's very alarming," she said after a moment. She leaned back in her chair, folding her well-muscled arms across her chest. "I'm pleased you called me, Wedge. So, we have a plan, I assume? Even if that plan is just to fly in and start shooting?"

    "How long do we have you?" Wedge asked. "I know you can't be away for too long."

    "I shouldn't be away at all," Plourr said sadly. "But things aren't as uncertain back home as they used to be. There are multiple heirs to the throne now, and if anything happens to me their father can avenge my death and take over as Regent; he does most of the day to day as it is."

    Janson's eyebrows arched mischievously. "Is Thorr walking yet?"

    Plourr beamed. "Hurtling. Everywhere at full acceleration. He enjoyed chasing down my ministers with a water pistol, which I have to admit was the funniest thing I've seen in years. The twins are stumbling quickly. Combat should be nice and relaxing with a pleasant sleep schedule compared to that and court life."

    "Did Rial finally talk you into actually marrying him?" asked Tycho, grinning.

    The Queen of Eiattu laughed. "Oh, no. We're still just engaged. He wants to scandalize everyone and elope on a galactic vacation with me and the babies. I have no patience for a court wedding, and frankly you know I despise most of the planetary nobility anyway." She rolled her eyes. "They know it too, but it's their own fault for trying to kill me that one time."

    Janson was hopping from foot to foot, wearing an expression that gleamed with and glee. "Plourr, if four years ago I'd had to pick the Rogue least likely to settle down and start a family, I would've picked you. And here you are! The first of us to have kids! Kids you told to call me 'Unca Wes!'"

    "Not the first," Tycho put in. "Beruss and Ardele had a child around the same time. Just a few weeks before Plourr's first, if I recall."

    Janson waved his hand at Tycho. "They don't count. Everyone knew they were settling and sending lifeday cards. But Plourr! Our Plourr! And she has three kids!"

    "Wes, I'd threaten to thrash you, but at this point we all already know about your masochistic tendencies." His face fell, and Plourr continued, "I guess I'll have to get back into condition with a spar tomorrow. I wonder where I can find a partner for that." He brightened theatrically and Plourr sighed, shaking her head. "But really. Tycho, Wedge, it's been this long and he's still running around with the maturity of a caffeinated adolescent? Where does he find the energy?"

    "Just be glad he's not the one who had kids first," Wedge said dryly. His heart was warm at how clearly happy Plourr was, and at the reunion. It was too rare for ex-Rogues to get together, and he wished that this reunion was for its own sake, and not because they needed Plourr and the fighters she had brought. "We'd have more than one Janson running around."

    "Can you imagine?" Tycho asked with a sigh. "But I suppose he'd have to find someone who would put up with him first," the Alderaanian added.

    "Just what we need, an authoritarian female Janson," Plourr added, grinning wickedly at Wes.

    Janson folded his arms across his chest. "Now you're all beating up on me," he complained.

    "Yes, but you make it so easy," Plourr laughed.

    "Come to think of it," said Hobbie mischievously, speaking up for the first time to land a precise volley, "I'm surprised you two never tried dating." he said, head tracking back and forth between the erstwhile queen and aspiring jokester.

    Plourr and Wes glanced at each other, recoiled and glared at him, mock recrimination written on their faces while a ripple of laughter ran through the rest of the Rogues.

    "Well," Plourr said, standing "I should probably get some rack time so I can be haunted by tall, pale and gloomy's storytime." She held her hand out to Wedge, who took it in a firm grip. "Rogue Eleven, reporting for duty, General."





     
    Last edited: Dec 11, 2020
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  2. Bel505

    Bel505 Jedi Grand Master star 2

    Registered:
    Jul 4, 2006
    Ah, the Rogues. They're a fun bunch. I don't have as good a sense of how to write them as I (think I) do of Luke and Mara, but my editor (and in some of these chapters, my co-author really) DrMckay has been very helpful in that regard.

    As for the chapter I just posted, for those of you who never read the X-wing comics from the 1990s (by Stackpole) which introduced Tavira, Nrin, and Plourr among many others:

    Plourr, with Hobbie and Janson: https://www.oocities.org/area51/keep/1133/roguery/images/hobbiejansonplourr.jpg

    Plourr never made it into the books, which is a shame because she's awesome.
     
    Last edited: Dec 10, 2020
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  3. WarmNyota_SweetAyesha

    WarmNyota_SweetAyesha Chosen One star 8

    Registered:
    Aug 31, 2004
    I like Plourr. I'm surprised no one has tackled her back story here. It seems fascinating to put it mildly. :cool: Love the snark amongst the Rogues. :D
     
    Last edited: Dec 10, 2020
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  4. Bel505

    Bel505 Jedi Grand Master star 2

    Registered:
    Jul 4, 2006
    Funny story about Plourr. Her name (Isplourrdacartha) is because she was originally written to be Quarren, but a communications mishap between the writers and the artists led her to be drawn as a human instead. They decided to just run with it, so we got Plourr, whose character introduction was her using her size and strength to beat up everyone in a bar because they made her mad (right after Tycho told her not to). She ended up being one of the better new characters in the comics series and it's a real shame she never migrated out of them (other than an offhand mention to her in I, Jedi given her longstanding rivalry with Tavira, who did appear in that novel).

    Edit: and because I want you all to have a chance to keep going in the story, I'm going to post again early!
     
    Last edited: Dec 11, 2020
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  5. Bel505

    Bel505 Jedi Grand Master star 2

    Registered:
    Jul 4, 2006





    Chapter Fifteen


    Wedge checked his squadron's status reports one last time as Ession Strike hummed through hyperspace towards Ukio. This was the best condition the Rogues had been in since the Thrawn campaign. They had fresh new fighters and spare parts, and Zraii had done his usual exemplary job; all eleven fighters came up all in the green. But he still wished that Luke was there so they'd have that extra edge. And he'd have another friend to talk to.

    "Hyperspace reversion in five minutes," Atril's voice said into his ear. "The main formation and the secondary strike forces should already be engaged and drawing the Imperials out of our attack vector."

    "Let's hope that Bel Iblis' precise timing works out again this time," Wedge murmured, switching his HUD to review the battle plan one last time. It wasn't the most elaborate attack plan Wedge had ever seen, a relatively simple three-pronged thrust and retreat, but the timing was vital and there were plenty of chances for kark-ups, even assuming they weren't speeding into a trap.

    "We're cutting it a little close, but at least this plan doesn't involve us diving in to engage two Star Destroyers and their escorts all by ourselves," her voice came back, an odd mix of amusement and relief.

    "If this all plays out as it should, we'll just be taking on freighters and maybe some TIEs," Wedge agreed. "Nothing we can't handle. The rest of the fleet got the tough assignments."

    Gate whistled at him to let him know the rest of the squadron wanted his attention, and flipped his comm back to the squadron channel. He was pleased to hear confident banter. "So, Boss," Hobbie said. "What rank does Plourr have? I mean, she's a Queen right? Does a Queen outrank a General?"

    "Queen is not a military rank," Corran put in with a flat affect.

    "Plourr never resigned her military commission," Wedge replied. "And her current rank is Major."

    "Major Mom," Wes put in cheekily. "I like it, it has a nice ring to it."

    "Careful, Wes," Plourr's voice came next. "I'll order you to do some babysitting. You know my rank predates yours, so technically I outrank you, right?"

    "This is unfair!" Wes objected. "That's only because I kept turning down promotions. And I'm sure that's a violation of my dignity as an officer! Right, Tycho?"

    "I'm not sure," Tycho said, maintaining the calm command tone he used during briefings and battle. "I'm a Colonel, and Force knows I've babysat for the Solos enough."

    "You're dating their nanny!" Wes whined.

    "Go ahead Wes," Tycho said, voice dangerously even. "You tell Winter she's a nanny and see what happens. And do you really want to tell Plourr no? She's twice your size."

    "Wedge, the other Rogues are ganging up on me," Wes said with a laugh. "They're going to ask me to babysit!" There was a pause. "Although, you know, maybe that would be fun… didn't Plourr say something about shooting nobles with water pistols?"

    "Wes, no one sane asks a thirteen-year-old boy to babysit," said Wedge, "I give it a month before you get an insistent demand from Her Beneficent Majesty. And I will happily grant you leave to do so."

    "Thanks!"

    "Wait, no, what—" came Janson and Plourr's voices.

    Wedge's comm board lit up as Strike's Bothan communication's officer cut in. "Rogues, reversion in thirty seconds," he said firmly.



    * * *


    Ession Strike came out of hyperspace as close to Ukio as it could. On her plot, Atril saw the battle updates start to rapidly come in. The main battle was taking place on the far side of the planet, with the primary Republic formation and the primary Imperial formation slugging it out on the opposite edge of Ukio's gravity well, well out of range to intervene. On the other side of the system, the secondary battle opened as Freedom and Endurance charged towards the system's largest gas giant and its orbiting Tibanna gas mining station. Their shields already glowed under the barrage from the two enemy Impstars, but Endurance's fighters were about to get their well-armed teeth into their assailants.

    There were no enemy warships waiting for Strike, and Atril covertly clenched her fist and knocked it on the arm of her chair victoriously, letting out a tension-filled breath before slowly drawing in another and examining her prey.

    Three Imperial freighters, of a variety of makes, and all the time in the world to shred them. General Bel Iblis had been right, yet again. Now it was her turn to get the job done before they could escape into hyperspace, and before the Imperials could scramble a real defense. "Designate the freighters in front of us as Targets One, Two, and Three. Full power to the engines and guns. Rogue Squadron, launch!"





     
    Last edited: Dec 13, 2020
  6. Bel505

    Bel505 Jedi Grand Master star 2

    Registered:
    Jul 4, 2006





    Chapter Fifteen, Part II


    Admiral Teren Rogriss watched his plot in dismay as the electronic icon that was the Republican Star Destroyer Freedom poured turbolaser and ion cannon fire into Suwen Station. The station had two Star Destroyers defending it, but they had been outmatched by Freedom and the Republic's new fleet carrier, which had swarmed the Empire's TIE squadrons with A-wings, X-wings, and B-wings that smashed through the Imperial fighter screen and hit the the station with proton torpedoes and ion cannons. The Republic forces hadn't inflicted too much damage on the Star Destroyers, but with fighter cover gone from the station Bel Iblis' forces had executed a singleminded and inexorable thrust. The old Corellian's objective was plain as the two Republic ships singlemindedly focused on the stationary target. The much-needed Tibanna gas mines which radiated out from Suwen Station, hovering over the constantly-flowing clouds of the Ukio system's largest gas giant, rang with explosions. Each sub-district lighting up triggered a sympathetic detonation in its neighbor, surrounding the station with a ring of fire formed from the debris of costly Imperial investments and months of lost munitions.

    The station's repulsorlifts died under Freedom's ion bombardment and it started to slowly sink into the cloudy mists below. Evacuation craft launched from it, ejecting and rising unsteadily. They were ignored by the combatants as the survivors scrambled away from the doomed station and the gas giant's gravity.

    That was hardly the worst of it. The battle over Suwen was on the other side of the system, and while on that front Rogriss could do nothing more than watch, he and Pellaeon had enough problems all their own. Four Mon Calamari cruisers, Bel Iblis' dreadnaughts, and a smattering of smaller vessels had drawn in the bulk of Rogriss' forces, including Chimaera. They had seemingly presented the vanguard of the long-awaited New Republic invasion, but it was obvious now that Garm Bel Iblis had been hunting easier game than Ukio itself. Through Chimaera's bridge window he could see Agonizer and the Republic's Ivardal and Innasval engaged in a brutal brawl, red and green lights flickering between them. Agonizer took hit after hit under the metronomic pounding, it's never-fully-repaired engines finally flickering and dying. The ship started drifting out of line and lost formation with Chimaera, forcing Nemesis to evade.

    Nonetheless, Rogriss still had this flank of the Republic's attack on even terms with a full five Star Destroyers, including the wounded Agonizer, and their escorts. The Death's Head and Judicator were trying to cut off the Republic's forces to prevent their retreat, but there was no real chance of success; as soon as the attack on Suwen Station had begun, the main Republic formation had begun its withdrawal. They'd already exited Ukio's gravity well and could vanish at any time; they only remained to distract the Imperials long enough to ensure that the rest of their forces could also escape.

    And in the middle of the system, the damned corvette Ession Strike and the thrice-bedamned Rogue Squadron were making mincemeat of his freighters. They'd already smashed up three bulk freighters and were now engaged in a shootout with a doomed Star Galleon which had been locked out of Ukio when the planet's defensive shields had gone up. Unlike the freighters the galleon could've taken Strike in a straight-up fight, but it was ill-prepared to deal with the snubfighters. As Rogriss watched, too far away to help but close enough to see, three X-wings unleashed another volley of proton torpedoes, slamming them into the galleon's blunt nose. Explosions tore through the vessel, and even if he'd had TIE fighters to spare to engage them, there was no way to get there in time to do any good. Besides, his pilots were nowhere near as skilled as the Republic's top aces, and Rogriss was running precariously short of TIEs as it was.

    A three-pronged hit-and-fade. The attack underscored just how precarious Rogriss's strategic position really was. They were locked in a system they couldn't defend, protecting a planet that couldn't repair them, fighting off a superior force under one of the best military minds the enemy had to offer. Garm Bel Iblis was far too dangerous; offering him such luxury was tempting fate.

    It hadn't been all bad for the Empire. Agonizer had given as good as she'd gotten, and Innasval was sure to need some time for repairs. The initial fleet engagement had been slightly better than even, which had made Pellaeon and Rogriss both nervous, but they didn't have the forces to not take it seriously.

    All the Republic forces were in full withdrawal now, making it clear that they had no intent to try to take Ukio today. The main formation was the first to vanish into hyperspace, leaving Chimaera's final shots to hum through the void until they finally dissipated. Freedom and Endurance went next, blasting their engines until they exited Suwen's gravity well and then jumping away, a small hurricane of snubfighters leaping out with them.

    Last was the corvette and the X-wings. The X-wings didn't bother to try to dock aboard Ession Strike, the maneuver would've been too difficult under these conditions, but they didn't need to. One by one each X-wing streaked away into hyperspace. The corvette waited until all eleven had safely fled and then it too flared, its bed of engines glowing momentarily before a flicker of pseudomotion carried it into hyperspace.

    They could've stayed. Bel Iblis' forces had outnumbered the Empire in pure raw material terms. Had they fought it out, they might have been able to wreck his whole fleet. The only reason they didn't, Rogriss suspected, was they thought they'd be able to do that at some point of their choosing in the future, when the doing of it would not be so costly.

    No. There was no way to win. The defense of Ukio was simply untenable. The best he could do was stall, and Rogriss wasn't sure how much longer he could do even that.





     
    Last edited: Dec 14, 2020
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  7. WarmNyota_SweetAyesha

    WarmNyota_SweetAyesha Chosen One star 8

    Registered:
    Aug 31, 2004
    Super details. I feel like I'm right on the spot.
     
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  8. Bel505

    Bel505 Jedi Grand Master star 2

    Registered:
    Jul 4, 2006





    Chapter Fifteen, Part II


    Four hours later, the battle was concluded and the fleet group nursed its wounds. Rogriss was in his office, reviewing the after-action reports, when Captain Pellaeon arrived. "Admiral," Pellaeon's voice was rock-steady, a confident foundation and support. "We have just finalized the final casualty summary. Suwen Station is a total loss, and the Rebels destroyed three of our bulk freighters and the Star Galleon Ferox. Among our Star Destroyers, Agonizer reports the most serious damage, with more minor damage to Judicator and Nemesis. Two of Agonizer's three main engines have been seriously damaged." Pellaeon relaxed slightly, but his expression was grim. "Agonizer will require significant yard time before it can be made combat-ready again, Sir."

    Rogriss nodded, unsurprised. His still face did little to betray his dismay, but Pellaeon could probably see it anyway. Agonizer had never been fully repaired after the debacle at Hishyim, and the Republic had specifically targeted it during the engagement earlier that day. They had recognized a vulnerability, and they had exploited it. It hurt to see the ship which had carried his flag for most of the last two decades so badly maimed. "We'll have to send Agonizer to Linuri for repairs," he said with a sigh.

    "Yes, sir," Pellaeon agreed, "but, sir..." Pellaeon's expression somehow grew even grimmer, "I had Lieutenant Tschel contact the Linuri repair yard. The yard reports that there is already a seriously-damaged Star Destroyer already with priority repair status, and that the repairs are expected to take several more weeks at least."

    "What?" Rogriss looked up in surprise, then turned to his computer. "The Council of Moffs placed the Linuri yards under my exclusive purview," he said unnecessarily; Pellaeon already knew that. "The only person who can reserve their use for vessels outside this squadron is Moff Disra, and so far as I know he has no ships that might need repair. We've had no reports of Republic raids on Linuri."

    "I know that, sir," Pellaeon replied, also unnecessarily. "Nonetheless, they report that they won't be able to see to Agonizer's repairs for several weeks."

    Rogriss shooks his head. That was absolutely unacceptable. He needed all his ships in combat shape, and did not have weeks to spare. He doubted Bel Iblis would wait weeks before hitting Ukio again, certainly if the situation were reversed he would not wait that long. "Do we know which ship is under repair?"

    "I have Lieutenant Dreyf preparing a full report on that, Admiral. The repair yard reports that the Star Destroyer Invidious is under repair."

    There had been a time, not that long ago, when the Imperial Starfleet had possessed so many Star Destroyers, under so many commanders, that even an Admiral like Rogriss would not have known all their names. Star Destroyers could appear and disappear, carrying on their business, and seeing one you didn't recognize occasionally passing through your sector wasn't cause for alarm. There were simply so many ships, on so many missions, that he could assume that each and every one had a specific purpose, even if he did not know what that purpose was.

    That time was past. Rogriss had seven Star Destroyers and their escorts. He knew every ship in the Albrion Sector, and he knew every ship that the Empire had stationed in the galactic southeast at large. All of those vessels were under his overall command, and each and every one had a specific assignment that he had either given or approved.

    Invidious was not one of them.

    He scowled. "Prepare the secure communications center," he growled. "I need to have a talk with Moff Disra."



    * * *


    Moff Disra sat in his office, ruminating. At this hour, the sun came through the window at just the right angle, casting all the wood furnishings with a glowing, golden hue. His smattering of personal possessions gleamed with reflected sunlight, service awards and promotion plaques sending occasional glare through the room.

    Outside his window Kinham Bay was busy, the locals out in their antiquated sailing craft; the typical light, temperate breeze inflating sails and carrying the boats languidly through the calm waves. People in bathing suits or other light, comfortable clothes wandered the streets, chatting amiably, as if they'd forgotten there was a war on. Ever since Thrawn had suspended the forced impressment of Imperial youth into the fleet, the general tenor among the local populace had been that the war was all but over, especially among the upper-class that principally inhabited Kinham. Disra wondered what they would do when the Empire was inevitably forced to resume the practice, now that Thrawn's cloning facilities were destroyed.

    He scrolled through the datapad with the latest intelligence reports, fresh from the latest Imperial Intelligence courier. There were a few highlighted points, including the formal inauguration of the Smugglers' Alliance as an employed third-party actor by the New Republic, which was followed by several suggestions for ways that relationship might be undermined. Disra, with his long relationships both covert and overt with the Fringe, knew better than most the potential value that the Rebellion (and especially canny men like Airen Cracken) could potentially derive from the new business association.

    There were several long pages of Rebellion fleet maneuvers he skipped over as useless; only one part specifically was highlighted, which indicated that members of the Eiattu System Defense Force had been redeployed to an unknown location for unknown reasons. Intelligence suspected they'd been sent to reinforce Garm Bel Iblis, which was annoying (Disra hadn't been sent any reinforcements to help Rogriss cling to Albrion, after all), but not especially concerning. One system's defense forces was hardly a serious threat on its own.

    He kept reading. Every once in a while there was something in one of these reports that was exploitable, that he could turn around and use for his own benefit. He stopped, pursing his lips and re-read one of the miscellaneous items near the end of the document.

    IMPERIAL INTELLIGENCE INTERCEPTED COMMUNICATIONS FROM NRI FACILITY ON COMMENOR WARNING THAT REBELLION HOLONET COMMUNICATIONS HAVE BEEN COMPROMISED BY AN UNKNOWN THIRD PARTY. NRI SUGGESTED HOLONET BE RESTRICTED TO VITAL MESSAGES ONLY AND THE USE OF INCREASED ENCRYPTION OF ALL HOLONET COMMUNICATIONS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. INVESTIGATION UNDERWAY.

    Disra read it again, and then a third time, a distant memory stirring. When he'd been Moff Vorru's aide, back home on Corellia, Vorru had often had a knack for knowing things he shouldn't have. Vorru had always played it off with a polite smile, an insinuation of omniscience; an attempt to further enlarge his already larger-than-life persona. At the time, Disra had admired that about him. Disra had admired a lot about him.

    Disra stroked his chin thoughtfully. It hadn't been omniscience, of course. Vorru had an asset—a tool that he'd used to collect and use information to greatest effect. The rumors through the Fringe—which Vorru had used Disra to manage—had been of a legendary slicer, for whom the HoloNet was an open book. When Vorru had been arrested, such rumors had stopped, and Disra had always assumed the slicer had gone underground, or been arrested with Vorru and become a tool of Palpatine or Isard. But now Vorru was back, as pompous and self-assured as ever, and NRI was concerned that their HoloNet communications were compromised.

    No, he decided. It wasn't a coincidence. Vorru was back, and with him was his mysterious slicer. He wondered, idly, what the slicer had been doing for the past fifteen-odd years. He wondered even more why anyone who knew him well would be so loyal to Fliry Vorru. Blackmail, most likely, he thought with a bitter frown.

    His intercom buzzed. "Yes," he said, thumbing it on.

    "I'm terribly sorry to disturb you, sir," said the officer on watch. "Admiral Rogriss is on the HoloNet, and he wishes to speak with you personally."

    Disra frowned at the intercom. Rogriss? "Of course. Put Admiral Rogriss through on my office holocomm." One of the benefits, he thought as he swiveled his chair so that he faced the holographic projector on his desk, of being a Moff was that the Empire went through a great amount of effort to make sure that his secure communications were both convenient and comfortable.

    He reached to the interface on the arm of his chair, and the painting on the wall behind his head transformed from one of the Kinham harbor, which he used to make the locals feel welcome in his office, to one of an Imperial Star Destroyer, nose angled towards the viewer, confident and powerful.

    He thumbed the holocomm. Admiral Rogriss appeared as a small blue figure, his image flickering. He wore the traditional admiral's cap, and his arms were folded behind his back as he stood at attention. "Moff Disra," he said respectfully as the communications link was fully established.

    "Admiral Rogriss," Disra returned smoothly, although his voice and manner had never been able to match Vorru's calm, effortless charisma. "This is an unexpected pleasure."

    "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Rogriss replied, bowing his head again. "I am afraid that I must report the New Rep—the Rebellion has attacked Ukio. Their attack was successfully repulsed by my forces, but Suwen Station was destroyed and several of my heavy transports, including a Star Galleon, were damaged. The Star Destroyer Agonizer is also badly in need of repairs."

    Disra's expression tightened. It was not really a surprise that the Rebellion had launched another attack on Ukio—such attacks would continue until they captured the system, no doubt—and it was good news that Rogriss had managed to repel it, but those losses were severe. "I trust you gave as good as you got, Admiral," he said with forced cheer.

    "We endeavoured to do so, sir. We believe that one enemy Star Cruiser is similarly out of action, and several others took varying degrees of damage."

    "Excellent," Disra replied, not really believing him. Rogriss was a good admiral but even more than being a good admiral he was a good politician, and he had no doubt framed his report of the battle in the best possible light. Disra knew that everything he had said was true—no Imperial officer would be stupid enough to lie to a Moff, not with the penalties for such things—but he doubted the Rebellion (or Rogriss himself) would agree that the battle had been a "success" for the Imperials. "I thank you for your report, Admiral."

    "Yes, sir." Rogriss hesitated. "Moff Disra, I would like to dispatch Agonizer to Linuri for immediate repair. The Linuri yards are the closest ones we have for any kind of large-scale repair job, and Agonizer's engineers believe that two of the ship's Destroyer-I engines will need that kind of extensive repair. They're also concerned that the ship's number two engine might need full replacement."

    It was Disra's turn to hesitate. Normally, this would not be a complicated request. But the Linuri rapid repair unit could only manage a single Star Destroyer at a time, and thanks to Vorru they were already occupied. Invidious, with its extensive damage, was in the middle of a long-overdue overhaul, and its Captain (or Admiral, or Moff, or whatever Tavira wanted to call herself) had insisted that all components which needed or might need replacement be replaced. The procedure would take another week at least, and could not now be postponed—not without kicking Invidious out with half its systems non-functional.

    Vorru had been quite clear about the consequences if he failed to cooperate with Tavira's wishes. "I'm afraid the Linuri yards are otherwise occupied, Admiral," Disra said. He knew better than to elaborate—it was best to say as little as possible about the matter.

    "Otherwise occupied?" Rogriss' expression bore the polite surprise of a man who felt none. "Moff Disra, I was under the impression that the only Imperial-class Star Destroyers in this region were under my command, and I have all seven of them with me at Ukio. Has the Starfleet sent another?"

    Disra hesitated again. "Of sorts," he settled on saying. "The Star Destroyer Invidious has been performing classified missions on behalf of the ISB," he lied blithely, but that was the benefit of the ISB—no one would dare to ask, and ISB wouldn't tell even if they did "—and sustained damage on one of those missions."

    "Invidious?" Rogriss asked. His expression became thoughtful. "Invidious was once part of Admiral Teradoc's forces, I believe. Who commands the vessel now?"

    Disra silently damned Vorru for putting him in this situation. It was clear Rogriss already knew the answers to these questions, but they were innocent and if he had nothing to hide, he would have to answer them. "Admiral Leonia Tavira."

    "The former Moff of Ado Sector? I didn't realize she had connections to ISB. I hope the vessel's damage is not that severe." Rogriss shook his head. "Moff Disra, I need Agonizer fully repaired as soon as possible. General Bel Iblis is pressing Ukio and his fleet has received reinforcements, while mine has not."

    There was an opening for Disra to reclaim a bit of position. "Invidious did engage the Rebellion in Albrion Sector not long ago," he said. "In fact, Admiral Tavira managed to destroy or cripple five X-wings belonging to the fabled Rogue Squadron. Some small recompense for the losses you sustained at Hishyim." Hopefully, Disra thought, that would be enough to satisfy (or at least deflect) Rogriss.

    It clearly caught Rogriss by surprise, and his eyes widened for a moment. The small, blue-tinged hologram was not especially emotive—especially when dealing with Imperial officers who were trained from academy orientation on to conceal their feelings—but in this case, Rogriss had not done enough to hide it fully. "I see," he said after a moment to consider. The Admiral hovered, clearly debating what to say next, and then nodded his head. "How long until the fleet yards will be available for Agonizer?"

    "I will find out for you, and impress upon the yard crews the importance of finishing the repairs to Invidious with all due haste," Disra promised. "I apologize for the inconvenience, Admiral Rogriss, but I know that you are a good servant of the Empire, and I will deliver to you whatever aid and reinforcement I can as soon as possible." Disra ended the call before he let his anger show on his face.

    Damn you, Vorru. You have put me into a horribly precarious situation. If Rogriss decides to investigate and is bold enough to call me on my ISB bluff… but Rogriss wouldn't call him on that bluff. Rogriss was an Imperial commander of the old school, one of the few who still cared about concepts like honor, service, and loyalty.

    He thumbed his intercom.

    "Kelso here, sir," the officer on watch said.

    "Kelsin, I want a secure line to Invidious. Tell Admiral Tavira to be waiting for me in ten minutes."



    * * *


    "I don't care what you think you have over me, I want to speak to Vorru!" Disra hissed, serpentine, at the tiny image of Leonia Tavira.

    "Moff Disra," her image smiled, patience visibly thin. "As I've already told you, Moff Vorru is unavailable. He has gone offworld."

    "Offworld! Offworld!" Disra snarled angrily at her pretentious little face. "You have the gall to blackmail me and then ignore me? What will you do if I order the repair yards to cease its work on your Star Destroyer? What if I order them to start dismantling your weapons and shields and leave you vulnerable?"

    Tavira's violet eyes were cold. "I no longer need Vorru to hold you in check, Disra. Not that I ever did, of course. If you attempt to carry out any of those threats, I'll simply submit Invidious' actual record from the last six months to Imperial Fleet Command, along with a copy of the conversation you had with Moff Vorru and complete copies of all his files on your past activities."

    Disra froze.

    Tavira's smile was colder than her gaze. "Are we quite clear?"

    Disra favored her with a furious expression. "If you do that, you won't get the repairs you so desperately need. And you'll make yourself a target."

    "True. But I don't need the Empire, and I know better than to fear it." She brushed some invisible lint off her shoulder, then adjusted her bandana unnecessarily. "I have a base of power all my own, and leeching off the Empire is merely a convenience, not a necessity. Unlike you, who've sold yourself to it wholesale."

    Disra raised a finger angrily. "Fine. You tell Vorru that Rogriss is suspicious and I need to give him something, anything, to get him off our trail. And you tell him that I remember all his little tricks while we worked together in the Corellian office, and I know he's back up to them. You tell him that he's going to do one of those tricks for me, understand? I need to give Rogriss a victory, a real victory, or I can't even guarantee these repair yards will still be here in three months, not with the Rebellion breathing down my neck."

    Tavira considered him for a long moment. "Very well. I will tell him," she agreed. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Moff Disra?"

    "Yes," he snarled. "Get the hell out of my sector." He hit the intercom with a fist and her image vanished.

    His hand hurt, but that pain was barely an afterthought compared to the fear gnawing at his gut.





     
    Last edited: Dec 15, 2020
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  9. WarmNyota_SweetAyesha

    WarmNyota_SweetAyesha Chosen One star 8

    Registered:
    Aug 31, 2004
    Fantastic contest of wills and wits =D=
     
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  10. Bel505

    Bel505 Jedi Grand Master star 2

    Registered:
    Jul 4, 2006
    Oops... I just realized I forgot to put the proper spacing between scenes in that last post. It's been fixed.

    Edit: and since I just posted here, and I want to get the whole next chapter up by Friday, I'll go get the first scene of Chapter 16 ready and post it tonight. Be back!
     
    Last edited: Dec 15, 2020
  11. Bel505

    Bel505 Jedi Grand Master star 2

    Registered:
    Jul 4, 2006





    Chapter Sixteen


    If Han's Millenium Falcon was a set of battered and scuffed athletic shoes that fit just right, the Wild Karrde was a comfortable pair of business-casual brogues with a surprising amount of traction. Her exterior was just battered enough to give her character, but each interior addition was well thought-out and comfortable. More importantly, everything worked, all of the time. Wild Karrde was larger, of course, intended to move bulk cargo and as the roving headquarters of one of the galaxy's foremost traders, which explained the refined appointments, larger crew, and why Karrde clearly went out of his way to make sure his crew was comfortable: consideration (and lucre) bred loyalty. Not the sort the Isards or Palpatines commanded, but something more lasting.

    He and Artoo continued their tour, passing by the medbay. Wild Karrde had a medical facility, but a ship her size, with so much internal volume dedicated to cargo, had only so much space to spare, so it was quite compact. The last time he'd been aboard Wild Karrde had been after Wayland, when they'd all been bruised, burned and exhausted after the final fight with C'baoth. Mara had come out the fight the most badly hurt. At the time he'd had no time to appreciate the furnishings and had practically haunted the medbay on the trip back to Coruscant, sitting snug between her bed and the bulkhead in the only free space in the room.

    For as disreputable as he looked, Chin made a surprisingly adept medtech and while Luke never did get around to asking him where he found his expertise (he'd been too busy watching Mara), the Myrkr native had made a quick assessment and left Luke to watch over Mara while she slept.

    Unconsciousness had eased the usual harsh set of Mara's face into an expression more relaxed than he'd ever seen her, but a lack of any of her usual vivacity left Luke colder and more worried than he had been in a long time. He'd completely ignored his own lingering wounds. He'd had worse.

    Her former master had given her worse and then hung around in her own head to haunt her.

    It had taken Mara a long time to come to after the fight, and Luke had been exhausted himself. A gentle pressure on his hand had woken him from the chair at her bedside; his eyelids fluttering, haze with sleep, to stare into her brilliant gaze. Luke wished, in hindsight, that he'd had something clever to say. But she'd caught him off guard, as she always did, and all he'd managed was an awkward: "Hi, Mara. I'm glad you're alright. Are you alright?"

    She'd rolled her eyes at him, before smiling in a manner that left him quite unable to breathe. "I'll live, Farmboy."

    He smiled at the memory and continued on past the medbay into the main cargo hold, deploying his tremendous personal experience to detect the traditional sort of practical jokes that could lie in wait in such a place. The Rogues had perfected that art years ago, but Luke had no doubt that Karrde's smugglers could show Wedge's merry band of scoundrels a thing or two, if even half of what Mara told him about them was actually true.

    Luke carefully circled and avoided the forward cargo area where the ysalamirs slept and made the area a void in the Force, something no sensation or premonition could escape. In all of Luke's travels, it was this rare and seldom-seen forest dwelling creature alone that made it impossible for a Force-sensitive to draw upon its power.

    It didn't bother him exactly, but he didn't like it either.

    "Don't worry," Karrde said as he approached from behind him. "They aren't here for you. I believe in being prepared and—" he paused for a moment, peering back the way he'd come for a moment "—Mara appreciates having them aboard. There were times before Wayland she would take sanctuary in a bubble. Sometimes sleep in that section."

    Luke hesitated before nodding, reassured by the 'before Wayland' caveat in that statement. He wasn't sure how much Karrde knew about Mara's past, exactly, and while Karrde was her employer and her friend, that didn't mean it was Luke's place to discuss her personal life with him. "At this point, I wouldn't trade it for anything, but for some sensitivity to the Force can be a burden, as well as a gift," he said instead. "I remember Master Kenobi was attuned enough to feel Alderaan from sectors away."

    Karrde winced. "I think your perspective has been good for Mara. In the last year it appears to have been far more the latter than the former."

    Luke smiled. "Good, I'm glad."

    "I thought you would be." Karrde glanced sideways at him. "Are you comfortable with what I'm asking of you on Rendili?"

    A year or two before Luke would've been less confident. But he had more experience with manipulating perceptions now, and Karrde wasn't asking him to do anything that would cause permanent damage. "Yes," he replied calmly. "It's a good plan, but I'll need a disguise."

    "As will I," Karrde agreed. "You wouldn't know it, but Chin is a master of them. I know for a fact that he's been looking forward to seeing what you look like with a Froffli-style haircut."

    Luke blanched. "If it's absolutely necessary, but I'd rather not go that far."

    "A pity," Karrde said. "I believe Dankin was hoping to sell holos afterwards."

    "I would think that with the Smugglers' Alliance operational a few credits from sludgenews would be beneath him."

    "More for in-network favor trading than anything else, but still, I'd wager you underestimate your worth," Karrde chuckled. "And you overestimate the Smugglers' Alliance. Perhaps it will be worth so much in the future, but for now it is still very much a new endeavor. Smugglers do not turn down free credits, leverage, or favors—and we remain smugglers still—even if our business is now technically on the legal side." They stopped in the small lounge, comfortable if compact. It had a few comfortable chairs arranged around the walls, and quick exits to both the bridge down the hall and engineering and Karrde poured himself a cup of caf which wafted a rich, enticing aroma upward, before gesturing at Luke, who accepted with a welcome smile. "The organization has a great deal of potential of course, but what it will be when all is said and done is impossible to know. It will depend on what the New Republic needs, what our smugglers eventually decide they want, and on the actions of a few vital people."

    "People like me and my friends and family, I'd imagine," Luke said as he sipped his caf. It was quite good, significantly better than anything the Rogues had ever had while he led the squadron. For starters, it didn't have a thin film of machine oil on top of it, a seeming standard for all hot fleet beverages. Still, it wasn't quite as up to the level of the artisanally-spiced caf that Leia kept in her office, but Leia probably was one of the only people in the galaxy who sought to impress guests even more than Karrde did. "Including yourself."

    Karrde shrugged. "Perhaps. I certainly will serve as a… fulcrum, of sorts. My reputation and the size of my organization will draw the Fringe closer than it might otherwise be willing to come. But I will not be the one performing the day to day work on Coruscant, or attempting to persuade the Senate to reduce tariffs or deregulate controlled items, or attempting to soothe them when things inevitably go wrong."

    "So you mean Mara."

    "For now," Karrde confirmed. "She is one of the few people who I trust to be capable, but it's hard to say whether she will want the position a few years down the road."

    Luke could feel Karrde's eyes on him. "I haven't given her my recruitment pitch to join the Jedi Order," he said calmly. "I don't even have one. Or an Order for her to join at this point."

    "But you will, eventually. And you will want her to join you."

    "I only know of a few people with Force-talents, and of them Mara is the only one who received training other than myself," Luke said. "So yes, of course I would want her help. But what she chooses to do will be up to her." He paused, holding his warm cup of caf in his hands, before taking another sip. "The Force has been used against her for most of her life. I don't want to—no, I won't do anything that puts pressure on her."

    Karrde sipped his caf, his expression neutral.

    "I'll keep teaching her, if she wants to be taught. But there is a galaxy of difference between learning how to use the Force, and choosing to become a Jedi." Luke shrugged. "The Force chooses us as much as we choose it, but not every Force-strong individual chooses the life of the Jedi. That was true before Palpatine wiped us out, and it will likely be even more true after." He sighed softly, remembering his own winding, slow, precipitous path down the road to becoming a Jedi Knight. "If she decides that she never wants to take that path, then we'll walk another."

    Karrde's lip twitched. "I'm sure," he said finally. He put down his cup, washed it out, and placed it on the rack to dry. "I look forward to more fruitful discussions in that vein over the years."



    * * *​



    "Raise," said Dankin, nonchalantly tossing another credchit into the smaller pot in the center of the table. The ysalamiri attached to the tree hanging above them blinked slowly, almost entirely still from where it was wrapped around the long tree branch that jutted out over the hastily-arranged table and chairs.

    Luke examined his cards, his gaze flicking from them to the ysalamiri five feet from his head. The lizard's eyes were closed, its scaly length remarkably camouflaged with the bark of the tree it was attached to, and camouflaging the Force just as well to the Jedi Knight. It was an odd sensation. When Luke focused, it made him mildly nauseous.

    He focused on his cards instead.

    "Oi, the Jedi can't be using any of his Force powers to cheat, can he?" asked Chin, tossing in a matching amount.

    "That's what Karrde says," replied Dankin. "Not with our little friend here at the table. Right, Skywalker?"

    "Right," Luke said. "But you do realize I'm Han Solo's brother-in-law, right?" He put his own ante into the hand pot.

    Faughn quietly added her own credchit, watching the others without contributing to the conversation much.

    "Solo's got skill," Dankin conceded. "He was one of the best, before he went respectable. But just being taught by one of the best doesn't make you one of the best." He put down his hand, showing a hand that summed a solid twenty-one. The others showed their hand, and Dankin smiled coyly and collected the hand pot. "See? Sabacc takes natural talent."

    They started the new hand, collecting cards and putting credchits into the hand and sabacc pots.

    "So, Skywalker," Dankin said. "Had any—" he wiggled his fingers in the air "—Force intuitions lately? Mara's been having more and more of them of late; they came in handy a few times on our trip out around the Outer Rim."

    "Really?" His lips curled into a smile, "I'd like to hear about that later if you've got time," replied Luke, thinking of Mara. "Every time I've meditated of late I've had the same vision," Luke said.

    "Oh? Not of us in danger I hope?" asked Chin cautiously.

    Luke shook his head reassuringly. "No. I would have told Karrde already if it were. I've been having a vision of a Jedi and a student doing lightsaber training. One of the practice katas. The student is having trouble performing them properly, and the master is encouraging him to listen to the Force." He sat up in his chair. "'Stretch out and feel the Force. We will show you the way'," he quoted the master from the vision, before chuckling. "He seems less intense than Yoda was."

    "Yoda?"

    "Picture a small green Nala-frog of a barve, speaking in riddles and whacking you about the knees with a stick." There was a ripple of laughter and surprise that went around the table. "But that seems to be the only vision the Force is showing me," said Luke. "Maybe I'll see more of it as time passes. The Force clearly is trying to tell me something, I'm just not sure what it is yet." He shook his head. "I feel like I'm missing something obvious, to be honest."

    "Maybe you are," said Chin. He drew a card, exchanging it for another. "Or maybe there's another piece you're still missing that you need to put it all together." He nodded at Dankin, who anted up and exchanged a card of his own. "I bet Mara could figure it out," Chin added. "Never seen a puzzle she couldn't solve with brains, beauty, or brawn. Usually brawn."

    "Probably," Luke laughed, feeling his lips twitch into a fond smile. "Maybe when things with the Smugglers' Alliance are more stabilized I'll see if I can get her help with it for a while." He paid the requisite fee to continue the hand and exchanged cards, drawing one of the Idiots in the deck.

    "What do Jedi do, anyway?" asked Dankin.

    Luke considered that. "I've been asking myself that question a lot lately," he said.

    "Well, you and Mara killed that C'baoth scuzzer," Dankin said. "So really all I know about Jedi is that you've got mind powers," he wiggled his fingers, "and fight bad guys who also have daaaark—" Dankin wiggled his fingers again "—mind powers."

    "Nah," said Chin. "Jedis is about finding ways to solve disputes when no one else can. Resolving disagreements without violence." He used his free hand to wave an expansive circle in the air. "Being able to see the big picture, that other people can't, and find a way to go forward. And when for they can't," he continued slyly, "they have a laser sword."

    "Older smugglers have stories about Jedi," added Faughn. "Back before the Empire. You wouldn't have any trouble with them as long as you weren't hurting anyone, even if you were doing things that were illegal. But if you hurt someone and a Jedi was around…" she plucked a card from the deck and tossed one of hers away, "you would have trouble. They said Black Sun and the Hutts weren't so strong under the Old Republic, because of the Jedi."

    "Personally," said Karrde from the doorway, standing just out of the radius of the light illuminating the table. They all jumped, even Luke—without the Force, he hadn't had forewarning of Karrde's presence. "I always heard the Jedi were the guardians of the Republic, but to be honest when asked people didn't usually know what that meant. By the end, most only remembered seeing them on the front lines of the Clone Wars."

    The bet had come back to Luke again and, finally liking his hand, he was in. "I've heard all these stories too, and ones much less complimentary," he said, getting rid of the Idiot and drawing another card. "I imagine they are all true, from a certain point of view."

    "What is yours?" asked Karrde.

    "I haven't decided yet," said Luke. "I'm still trying to figure that out. I hope, though, that in the end the answer is we're all of the good things and as few of the bad as possible." He glanced over at Karrde. "I'm not foolish enough to think there won't be any bad. As Leia's told me over and over, good intentions aren't enough for good outcomes."

    His cards glittered, and everyone at the table took a breath as the characteristic element of sabacc—the possibility that all the cards could randomly change to any other card at any time—took hold. Luke found himself holding a pure twenty-three and flashed it to his now-disheartened tablemates, grinning a Solo-taught smirk as he raked up both the hand and the sabacc pots, adding them to the growing pile of credchits next to him.

    "Speaking of outcomes, did I mention I used to play quite a bit with my squadron?"

    Chin glared at the ysalamiri. "Oi, Thrawnie the Useless, you're lettin' me down out 'ere," he complained. The ysalamiri ignored him, but pivoted its head towards Luke and gave a long slow blink.

    Karrde pulled out the free chair and sat. "Deal me in. I want to see if I can out-bluff a Jedi."





     
    Last edited: Dec 17, 2020
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  12. WarmNyota_SweetAyesha

    WarmNyota_SweetAyesha Chosen One star 8

    Registered:
    Aug 31, 2004
    I loved the memory Luke had of Mara on the way back from Wayland, how discombobulated she could make him even then [face_laugh] I also enjoyed Luke and Talon's talk. Luke has a great deal of wisdom and perspective about Jedi paths in general and for Mara in particular. He really doesn't want to crowd her and can see that not every Force sensitive person will choose the role of a Jedi, although of course some training is necessary for safety's sake. [face_thinking]

    =D=
     
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  13. Bel505

    Bel505 Jedi Grand Master star 2

    Registered:
    Jul 4, 2006





    Chapter Sixteen, Part II


    "Are you sure this is absolutely necessary?"

    "I remember what you looked like coming out of the forest on Myrkr," Chin replied, applying the last touches on Luke's makeup. "Terrible disguise, that was. Far worse than this. And it had to hurt."

    "Mara took as much delight in applying it to me then as you're taking now," Luke grumbled.

    "Whatever works," Chin laughed. "We all think she needs a little more fun in her life." He gripped Luke's cheek and pulled on it, then stepped back and admired his work. "There. You look nothing like Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight." He drew his arm out with a flourish. "B'hold, and weep, the galaxy's noble 'ero has a new face."

    Luke glared at him, then stepped over so he could see the floor-length mirror that rested along the wall of Chin's quarters. "Huh," he said, tilting his head to the side. The touches of makeup shifted his features enough that his resemblance to Luke Skywalker could plausibly be overlooked as a coincidence, and with the colored lenses and hair dye, combined with the slight change in the pigmentation of his skin, it might just work.

    "Here," Chin said, handing him a uniform. "One junior Lieutenant in the service of the Corporate Sector Transit Authority." He also handed him a datapad. "And the rest of your identity packet. Ghent's work, but I made a few tweaks for realism and dramatic effect."

    "Dramatic effect, huh," Luke muttered. He examined the datapad, reading quickly. It had been a while since he'd been sent on an infiltration—not counting the mission he and Iella had done for Cracken on Corellia six months before—and this reminded him of nothing more than a last-minute briefing before an ill-conceived intelligence op.

    "And I should warn you, the Capt' likes to improvise." Chin leaned in. "He's got more dramatic flair than the rest of us put together, though Dankin tries real hard."

    "Great," Luke replied with a sigh. "Anything else I should know?"

    Chin held up a comlink, then a datapad, and then finally Luke's blaster. "Well, this is a blaster," he said, gesturing at the weapon. "The trigger is here, and this is the safety—"

    Luke scooped the blaster out of his hands, checked the charge and gas canister for damage, and holstered it. He was particularly careful to make sure that Mara's electroscope was firmly attached and undamaged. "Do you give all your guests such sterling personal service, or do they have to pay extra?"

    "Can't rightly say. We don't have many." Chin adopted a thoughtful expression. "But we haven't locked you up yet this time." He patted Luke's arm reassuringly, abruptly becoming more serious. "Karrde doesn't usually do these missions himself, but on this one he feels a certain personal obligation to take the risks. We're not gettin' paid by NRI, this is pure charity—Karrde is trying to repay his debts to Gillespee, and this is his way of doing that." He lifted an eyebrow. "That's another way of saying bring him back safe, hee?"

    Luke adjusted his new comlink and slid the datapad into its spot on his belt. "I get it, Chin. He may not be my boss, but I consider him a friend too. And I know Mara does. If anything happened to him, she'd find ways to make me miserable." He offered a confident smile he'd learned to use before ordering the Rogues into battle. "We can handle it. This one's not so tough, I've done worse."

    "I remember," Chin nodded. "Also, when you get back we're definitely messing with your hair. We'll give you a share of the profits and everything. You did win the sabacc pot, so you owe us."

    "You and Janson would get along like an orphanage on fire," Luke muttered. "Vultures, all of you. I'll think about it, but I'm not promising anything." He finished adjusting the outfit, looking himself over in the mirror. He looked like a moderately-incompetent, too-young security officer from the Outer Rim. Perfect. "How long until we reach Rendili?"

    The Wild Karrde gave a smooth jolt common to the drop out of hyperspace. "My Smuggler senses tell me just about now," Chin said with a grin.





     
    Last edited: Dec 18, 2020
  14. Bel505

    Bel505 Jedi Grand Master star 2

    Registered:
    Jul 4, 2006
    I know, this post is a short one... probably the shortest one in the whole novel. I'll make up for it tomorrow with a lengthy one.
     
  15. WarmNyota_SweetAyesha

    WarmNyota_SweetAyesha Chosen One star 8

    Registered:
    Aug 31, 2004
    Loved the teasing from Chin. Put the Wild Karrde crew and the Rogues in one room at a party/celebration and WATCH OUT! [face_rofl]
     
    Last edited: Dec 17, 2020
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  16. Cowgirl Jedi 1701

    Cowgirl Jedi 1701 Force Ghost star 5

    Registered:
    Dec 21, 2016
    Like, literally same.

    I also enjoyed watching Luke kick their butts at cards without the Force. After all, he did learn from the best.
     
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  17. Bel505

    Bel505 Jedi Grand Master star 2

    Registered:
    Jul 4, 2006





    Chapter Sixteen, Part III


    The Rendili system was one of the oldest shipbuilding systems in the galaxy. It wasn't the oldest—that honor belonged to Kuat, where Kuat Drive Yards had been founded 25,000 years ago. But the Rendili Hyperworks were nearly as old, some 20,000 years old. During the Old Republic, the system had been the heart of the shipbuilding industry, out-competing Kuat and acquiring multiple extremely lucrative contracts, including the contract for the Katana Dreadnaught, which had been exclusively produced at the Hyperworks. It continued to be vital under the Empire, but the largest contracts inevitably went to other shipbuilders, leaving Rendili back in its traditional role of Kuat's little brother.

    But Rendili was nonetheless still one of the busiest systems in the galaxy, and the Hyperworks—which consisted of thousands of dispersed construction platforms that stretched through the entire system, mostly clustered where the system's asteroid belt (long since mined to exhaustion) had once been—were busy, even if they weren't Super-class Star Destroyer busy.

    Colonel Demetrius Mendelholm was, like most of the station's staff, a Rendili native. Technically he was a part of the Imperial military, but that was only a technicality—he had been recruited, trained, and served in the Rendili Military Services Committee's Designated Task Force, under the direct command of the Arch-Provost. Which was Rendili's unnecessary cumbersome way of saying the Rendili System Defense Forces. At some point, Mendelholm suspected, the last of Hyperworks' Imperial contracts would expire—they no longer built as many Victory-class Star Destroyers as they used to, and the design was approaching obsolescence—and Rendili would simply dissolve its formal ties with the Empire.

    Until then, he had to deal with the actual representatives of the Imperial military constantly hovering over his shoulder. Colonel Farwell, the Imperial commander and overseer of Station 51X-9525, walked into the station's security center and nodded at him. "Colonel," he greeted.

    "Colonel," Mendelholm echoed. "How's the caf this morning?"

    "Terrible."

    "Is it ever not terrible?"

    "Not in my experience."

    Farwell's clipped, aristocratic Coruscanti accent was outrageously annoying, and Mendelholm hated his guts. The Empire insisted on having oversight over 51X-9525 starting about a year or two ago, although why they bothered he had no idea. Once upon a time, the facility had been at the cutting edge of research and development, but the bevy of scientists and researchers and technicians and engineers down in the guts of the station hadn't produced anything in ages, and all Farwell ever did was make his life miserable, drink their station caf, and carry around an undeserved, smug sense of superiority.

    Mendelholm couldn't wait until Rendili finally declared its independence. "We've got a freighter scheduled to pick up some cargo today," he said. "An Action IV. I've sent the specs over to you for review."

    Farwell picked a datapad up off his station, then tabbed through his messages. "What are they here for?" he asked without looking up.

    There was the slow alert sound that indicated an arriving ship. Mendelholm turned to his right, looking out the observation window over the bay as the freighter came slowly into the hangar, settling to the deck with a neat, skillful landing. He looked back to his own datapad. "Says here they're picking up a variety of spare parts for Vicstars. Must be a ship out in the Corporate Sector with a sudden shortage."

    "Why are they picking them up here?" asked Farwell with a frown, paying full attention to him for the first time that day. For the first time in a month, Mendelholm thought sourly. "There are at least a hundred other platforms in the system they could pick up those parts from."

    "Yes," Mendelholm explained slowly, trying to keep his contempt out of his voice and not quite succeeding, "but we build some of those components here, and we'll have to ship them out sooner or later. The Vice-Provost's office assigned this freighter to us."

    "I don't like it," Farwell muttered.

    Mendelholm wanted to put his face in his hands. Farwell never liked anything that made life easier. "Look, they're only sending two people to help with the loading process," he said, trying to sound soothing. "Our people will load all the packages onto the conveyors, and they won't go anywhere sensitive." Not that there's anything sensitive left on this worthless hunk of spinning metal. "It will be fine."

    "I still don't like it," Farwell repeated, and Mendelholm wondered how badly a murder conviction would set his career back. It couldn't be that bad. Besides, maybe he'd find ten to twenty years on Kessel relaxing. At least there wouldn't be any Imperial stooges floating around his office, chirping at him like the most annoying of Candorian magpies. "They can come aboard, but I insist that they stay here with us for the entire duration of their stay."

    "Fine, fine," sighed Mendelholm. "I'll have them brought here as soon as they arrive. We can make smalltalk with them." I'm sure they'll be better conversation than you. But I've had better conversations with Threepio droids. He lifted his comlink. "Trooper GX-106, please have our guests brought to Security once they've passed their contraband checks." He very carefully did not scowl at Farwell. He did start considering new careers. I always wanted to be a chef when I was a child. Is it too late to go that route now? I know there's a decent culinary school in Ervinger. But what's required for admission to culinary school? I bet—

    His train of thought was interrupted by a loud, robust conversation. "Well, my boy, that was quite a good performance on the landing," an older man, greying at the temples was saying energetically. He had an odd accent, distinctive yet not quite placeable, and wore a Corporate Sector Security uniform. "You landed the ship without so much as a scratch! It was a perfect performance. I daresay you performed even better than expectations." The man stopped and offered Mendelholm and Farwell an enormous grin. "You two must be in charge of this station and its security! It's my pleasure to meet you. My name is Captain Nail Dokket, and this here is my new helmsman Derek—"

    The younger man, perhaps in his early twenties, with dark hair and eyes, looked horribly embarrassed. Mendelholm couldn't blame him, and he would've said something in greeting except that he couldn't get a word in.

    "—Derek is from Belderone, but I picked him on Corellia on our way out from the Corporate Sector," the older man was going on, seemingly losing none of his enthusiasm. "I didn't think much of him at first, but my niece seems to like him so I decided to give him a chance."

    Mendelholm almost laughed at the suddenly frozen expression on the younger man's face. Sheer, unadulterated terror had crossed his expression and his cheeks had started to turn quite red. Mendelholm glanced over at Farwell, who was watching the exchange with a sort of dazed, distracted disbelief. Mendelholm understood—he was having a hard time looking away himself.

    "It turns out he can really fly! Not surprising, everyone from Belderone is a born pilot, that's what my Uncle Drayvan says anyway. I wouldn't really trust Drayvan, though, he's a crook. But in this case he's right! Derek is quite a pilot, if our trip on this run is any indication. I decided to take him in to see what it looks like to pick up cargo—and speaking of," the man handed Mendelholm a datapad, "here's the list of the items we'll be picking up. Serial numbers and designations."

    Amused, Mendelholm took the datapad and started inputting the codes into the system. There was movement out of the corner of his eye and he looked up but… no, there was nothing important there. He shook his head a bit and resumed his work.

    "And that's it!" Captain Dokket was saying, with enthusiastic gesticulation. "You just tell them what you're here to pick up, you should have a full manifest prepared—Rendili is much more precise and competent than most of the rest of the galaxy, and you can count on your manifest to be valid when you arrive. It's not like cargo transfers in Corellia, which are very hit and miss—some runs it'll be smooth as Ottegan silk, other runs it'll be as tough as Athiss rough-grass." The older man turned towards the younger, putting one of his hands on both of Derek's shoulders. "Now, tell me." He leaned in, and Mendelholm again found he couldn't look away from the unfolding drama. "Young man, what intentions do you have towards my niece?"

    The sheer terror that had been on Derek's face earlier redoubled, and all the color drained out of his face. "Is … now really the best time for us to discuss this?" he managed. "Shouldn't it wait until we're back on the ship?"

    "On the contrary. When else will we get the chance to talk alone without one of the crew listening in? They're born eavesdroppers, every one of them." Dokket jerked his thumb towards Mendelholm and Farwell. "These two probably don't care, and they'll forget all about us by mid-afternoon."

    That was unlikely, thought Mendelholm, grinning. He leaned back in his chair, caught Farwell also unable to turn away. He was quite sure they'd be talking about this for years. They'd probably even be interested in hearing about it in culinary school.

    Through the observation window, the conveyor belts were now rolling, and large cargo boxes were being brought across the floor of the hangar and into the Action IV's cargo bay. It's large, mouth-like cargo door was dropped open, and the large packages of spare parts were being mechanically moved from the floor conveyor onto one that lined the cargo door, which took each of the large packages and ushered them into the freighter's maw. For other deliveries, Mendelholm would more diligently watch the process unfold, but the drama of Captain Dokket was not to be missed.

    Derek didn't answer, looking away and visibly trying to come up with an answer. His expression was pinched with fear and embarrassment and focus, and Mendelholm had to lean in to hear. "Well, Captain…" the young man started slowly, finding himself quite trapped in the older's gaze. When he did speak there was a bit more strength to it than Mendelholm had expected, and he found himself rooting for the young man. "I think that is up to her."

    "But it is something you want." Dokket's tone was confident and certain, and his gaze bored into Derek with a calm certainty that ought to have made the shorter man melt. To his credit, Derek didn't back down or look away—or deny the accusation. Dokket nodded once, as if his suspicions were confirmed, and then turned back to the two Colonels. "My apologies for the drama, gentlemen, but this was the only time the young man and I could have this conversation without interruption."

    There was a loud buzzer and all four of them looked up. The cargo transfer was complete. Mendelholm took the datapad which had listed the ship's requisitions manifest and handed it back to Dokket. "It appears you've paid in advance for the cargo, and it should all be loaded now."

    Derek's expression was pinched with concentration and worry, and Mendelholm offered him a reassuring smile. "Safe journey."

    Dokket threw his arm around Derek's shoulders and they turned towards the door.

    Mendelholm turned to Farwell. "That was strange."

    "Think the kid will survive the trip back to the Corporate Sector?"

    The question was so out of character for Farwell that Meldelholm gave him a second look. The Imperial Colonel had a stupefied expression, but there was a hint of fondness to it, and Meldelholm thought that perhaps Farwell hoped young Derek would survive the trip back. And maybe even survive dating Dokket's niece. It was, Mendelholm thought, probably the first time he'd ever been in agreement with Farwell since the nerf had been assigned to his station. "I don't know, but I wish him luck."



    * * *


    Karrde leaned towards Luke, huddling near him and pretending to murmur something as Artoo-Detoo wheeled—as quietly as the little astromech could manage—around in front of them. The two Colonels still seemed not to have noticed the droid, and he and Luke were so close to getting back out of the security office.

    They'd had to come in here. There was no way for them to simply steal the package they sought, not with all the security mechanisms between the hangar bay and the secret research facilities in the deeper levels. But they didn't have to—they simply needed to requisition it through the Empire's own main station computer. Thanks to Karrde's informant, they knew exactly which designation they needed to requisition, they just needed to make the requisition from an authorized terminal. That had been Mara's final contribution to this little mission of his—computer access codes to the Imperial computer mainframe, which had allowed Artoo-Detoo to slice into the system, tell the computer to ship a classified piece of technology up from its location in the system's deep storage system, and deliver it to the hangar where the Wild Karrde was patiently waiting. After that, the automated loading system, which would have no way of knowing that the perfectly legitimate instructions it had just been given were anything more than what they appeared to be, would do the rest.

    So far, Luke's mind-trick had kept the droid out of their awareness. If they moved fast enough, maybe it would stay that way. He triggered the door and the droid wheeled out, Karrde and Luke following, Karrde's arm still thrown around his shoulders.

    "That wasn't what we rehearsed," Luke hissed once they were outside, heading down the corridor back towards the Wild Karrde.

    "True," Karrde admitted quietly. "But you said the distraction would work best if there was real emotion involved. This worked much better than anything we discussed." They walked along the corridor behind Artoo, Luke depressing the awareness of the various Imperial personnel in the facility, allowing them to focus on him and Karrde, but keeping Artoo out of their awareness. As far as they were concerned, the little droid wasn't even there, and as most people paid little attention to droids in the first place, it wasn't that hard to push their awareness fully away.

    Luke spared enough of his attention to continue the conversation, his tone accusing. "You wouldn't have done that if M—if your niece was here."

    "You'd be surprised. She's quite adept at dramatic improvisation. Though, usually with some sort of weapon for additional punctuation…"



    * * *


    The crew of the Wild Karrde stood outside the large container that they had managed to secret out of Rendili Station 51X-9525. The Wild Karrde had managed to slip out of the system and back into hyperspace as quietly and innocuously as it had entered it; the entire visit had taken less time than a usual cargo run. There are benefits to collaboration with New Republic Intelligence, Karrde thought with a smile.

    Dankin hefted a large mechanical crowbar, and he and Chin went to work opening the box. They pried off the security latch first, then went to work on the box itself.

    "Are you sure you don't want me to just cut it open?" Luke asked.

    "No, that's all right. I don't want to risk whatever is inside being damaged, and we don't know how far it is from the inside of the container," Karrde said.

    Luke had never quite stopped glowering at him, but he'd get over it. It wasn't as if Karrde really needed confirmation that Luke had feelings for Mara, that was plain to anyone who saw them together for more than five minutes. Well, anyone except Mara apparently. But he had certainly enjoyed watching the normally completely calm and controlled Jedi twitch like a marionette when confronted with it. Besides, Mara was one of his people. That made her happiness one of his priorities.

    With a grunt, Dankin and Chin finished opening the box. "Oh no," said Faughn, groaning and covering her mouth.

    Dankin and Chin shared an unhappy expression, then both looked to their boss. "It's empty, Capt'," said Chin. "There's nothing in here."

    "Is that right?" Karrde asked calmly, peering into the box. It was, indeed, empty. "Excellent."

    His crew stared at him in confusion, and Karrde produced a remote that he and Mara had retrieved in the Corporate Sector from a certain disgruntled Rendili StarDrive employee. Smiling, he pressed the button with flourish.

    A panel on the side of the box beeped in response, and an enormous contraption abruptly appeared in the empty box. Faughn yelped in surprise, and Dankin and Chin both jumped back, Dankin holding the crowbar like a battleaxe. Sadly, Skywalker didn't seem at all surprised. "A working cloaking device," the Jedi said.

    "Yes," Karrde said smugly. "A working cloaking device."





     
    Last edited: Dec 21, 2020
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  18. WarmNyota_SweetAyesha

    WarmNyota_SweetAyesha Chosen One star 8

    Registered:
    Aug 31, 2004
    Awesome extraction; I'm glad they got away with a working cloaking device! :cool:
     
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  19. Bel505

    Bel505 Jedi Grand Master star 2

    Registered:
    Jul 4, 2006
    I wonder what they're going to use it for... hmmmm... [face_whistling]

    We're getting to part of the story that I've been looking forward to having people read for months... *is excited* I'll post the first part of Chapter 17 today, and then the rest of it on Friday.
     
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  20. Bel505

    Bel505 Jedi Grand Master star 2

    Registered:
    Jul 4, 2006




    Chapter Seventeen


    The Lefler's Rose lacked a full communications suite, so Vorru had converted one of its unused passenger cabins into one on a temporary basis. He wasn't excessively concerned about security—there were no people on the ship, except maybe the pilot, who were theoretically dangers to him, and they'd already passed through the customs hurdle—but there were certain habits it was best to rigorously maintain, and communications security was one of them.

    Leonia Tavira's face wore a smug expression that he found rather distasteful. "I have Moff Disra under control for now, but his anxiety is growing," she said. "It would be best not to leave him hanging, or the rope might snap. I believe Admiral Rogriss has learned that Invidious is occupying the repair yards and is quite irritated about it."

    Vorru leaned back in his chair, steepling his hands together. "Disra is an irritant, but also an asset," he said. "We're better off having him as a tool we can use than allowing him to expire. He knows that as well... but he always had a tendency to panic when things got threatening," Vorru mused thoughtfully. "I suppose it's best to give him some salve. What do you have in mind?"

    Tavira's smile was her familiar, predatory one. "Disra believes that you have the ability to hunt down information with the HoloNet," she said, arching an eyebrow. Her tone was coy, and he could see her enjoying the surprise he couldn't quite keep from his face.

    "Does he," Vorru replied, keeping his own tone cool. It wasn't really surprising, but there was no reason not to let Tavira enjoy her momentary advantage. "Well, I suppose that Disra always had a certain cleverness, otherwise he wouldn't have made it as far as he has. Do you think we ought to give him what he wants?"

    "I do," Tavira replied, crossing her legs as she pushed her hair back, adjusting her bandada. "I have access to Rogriss' last combat report, and I noticed a certain Corellian corvette and squadron of X-wings making mayhem for Rogriss' logistics. I have a small grudge against them myself, and I thought that perhaps they would make an ideal candidate for testing your pet Drall's abilities."

    Vorru considered that, not letting himself react to the derogatory reference to Eliezer. "I will see what we can do. Send me that combat report, and I'll forward it on. Perhaps we can give Rogriss a badly needed victory. How long before Invidious' repairs are complete?"

    "Another four or five days," she replied. "Maybe longer. I've put the facility's labor force to work resupplying my lost TIEs. It took them a little while to get a handle on how to assemble a clutch, but they have or can acquire all the necessary components to make good on the losses I accrued helping you rescue your pet."

    No doubt that process would also deprive both Linuri and Rogriss of all their reinforcement TIE interceptors, but that was hardly Tavira's concern, Vorru thought sourly. Though it wasn't as if he was particularly invested in Rogriss' long-term success holding Ukio. The Empire was dying, and he wasn't about to hitch his futures to a half-drowned shadow of past glories. He'd already made that mistake once.

    His communications station beeped as the combat report finished downloading, and he transferred it onto a datapad. "I'll have something for you before your repairs are complete," he said.

    Tavira's eyes gleamed. "When do you go after the real prize?"

    Vorru smiled thinly at her. "Soon. Good day, Moff Tavira."

    She chuckled. "Of course. Good day, Moff Vorru."






    Vorru exited the makeshift comm station back into the primary lounge, where Eliezer's workstation was assembled. Behind his primary screen the Drall coughed heavily, wiping his snout with the back of a furred arm. He looked up from his screen as he heard Vorru approach, the steady clacking of his claws on the keyboard ceasing as his attention shifted. "What did Tavira want?"

    "Disra is growing restless," he replied as he drew a chair to sit across from the Drall, placing his elbows on the table and leaning forward. "We're going to need to give him something to make his position a bit more secure." He pursed his lips as he considered possibilities. "Can you identify the New Republic's ships in Albrion sector?"

    Eliezer's claws scraped over the arm of his chair. "Tracking ships is a lot of time and effort," he said, "especially without a full computer and droid suite to help me sort through all the information. But I can still use pings against the HoloNet nodes as an effective tracker, yes."

    It was impossible to track a ship through hyperspace. Even a tracking device only operated between hyperspace jumps, sending information through the HoloNet before a ship began its jump, and after a ship completed its jump. Eliezer had once explained to him, years before, that a holocomm was essentially a tracking device. Every time a ship used one to connect to the HoloNet, it provided the connecting node with an incredible amount of information, including its location. This 'metadata' didn't go anywhere, and most of it wasn't publicly accessible; it was buried deeply into the HoloNet, saved to seemingly forgotten files.

    Unless you knew how to access them. Vorru did not… but Eliezer did.

    The HoloNet was ancient, and Vorru suspected that at some point during its design process, maybe six or seven thousand years ago, one of the original designers had seen the HoloNet as a potential espionage tool. Perhaps their heirs still used it for that purpose. Or perhaps it was an addition Palpatine had made to the system more recently, seeking to enhance his all-consuming control over the galaxy. Or it may have been there for a reason entirely unrelated to espionage, long since forgotten. Vorru didn't know, and for the moment it didn't matter how or why the information was collected and anonymously saved to files which Eliezer had years ago stumbled across. What mattered was that it was there.

    "I just need you to find just one ship, for now. A modified Corellian corvette named Ession Strike. It's the ship that harassed us during your escape," he said. "We know its last location, also; it was just engaged in the Ukio system, fighting Admiral Rogriss. That should narrow it down, yes?"

    Eliezer's claws scratched harder over the arm of his chair as his snout wrinkled, his beady black eyes narrowing in concentration. "Yes, that should help me find it," he agreed. "But it will still take some time. The files are enormous and can be unwieldy to sort through, and I'll have to set up a search function manually. And I can't get started right away—we have more pressing obligations that shouldn't wait."

    "After we break into Isard's safehouse, then," Vorru said with a nod. "Are you ready?"

    Eliezer nodded, looking fatigued. "I am ready," he said. "Not looking forward to it, but ready. Are you?"

    Vorru nodded firmly. "I'll make one more call to Roeder, and then I am ready. We'll go tonight."





     
    Last edited: Dec 24, 2020
  21. WarmNyota_SweetAyesha

    WarmNyota_SweetAyesha Chosen One star 8

    Registered:
    Aug 31, 2004
    Eagerly awaiting the break in =D= Fascinating bit of techie lore about the HoloNet being used to track ships.
     
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  22. Bel505

    Bel505 Jedi Grand Master star 2

    Registered:
    Jul 4, 2006
    So, this is a convenient moment to discuss exactly what I'm describing here. What I've set up is a HoloNet which works more less like a cellphone network. Whenever you make or receive a call, your phone sends a ton of information to the cellphone company (which is mostly used for billing). This "metadata" doesn't include any of the content of the call (which would take up an extraordinary amount of storage space, so much to make it impractical even if it weren't unethical), but it does include things like your location (via the GPS in your phone), the number you were calling, its location, duration of the call, etc. This information is also used for intelligence purposes in real life.

    So, basically the HoloNet is a cellphone network, and every time a Holocom connects to the HoloNet, it sends a ton of information, which is what Eliezer can access. This doesn't mean he can get the contents of the call—although in theory he could get that too, if he was prepared to intercept calls in progress—but he can get the call records. And, among the items in those call records are ship location, ship destination, ship design... all kinds of useful stuff. Because he knows how to breach the HoloNet, he can vacuum up all this information, and his principal problem with dealing with it is sorting through it all. (Which is more or less the same problem intelligence agencies have dealing with this information in real life, there's just so much of it, it's impossible to sort through.)

    Anyway! That's where the rules I'm using for what Eliezer can and can't do come from.
     
    Last edited: Dec 22, 2020
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  23. Gabri_Jade

    Gabri_Jade Fanfic Archive Editor Emeritus star 5 VIP

    Registered:
    Nov 9, 2002
    I just love the rich details of this story - sometimes lots of details bog down a plot, but the way you've handled it, they just add to the overall depth of the GFFA.

    I grinned quite a bit at this part. Is there anyone who hasn't had this exact mental conversation with themselves while at work?

    Dying, I am dying

    Poor Luke! Karrde and his protectiveness toward Mara! Mara's terminal embarrassment if she knew about this! "They'd probably even be interested in hearing about it in culinary school" - it's all so...so beautiful *wipes away a tear*

    Bless Luke and his endless consideration for others, even if he's slightly oblivious about how transparent he is in this area. And Mendelholm rooting for him! This whole scene is a delight [face_love]

    Such a good decision to have this scene from Mendelholm's POV, it adds so much.

    Hard to blame Karrde here, and he did save Luke the embarrassment of any of the crew confronting him about it :p Ah, Mara. She'll figure it out eventually. She's more than halfway there anyway, even if she doesn't realize it yet [face_love]

    This is just a brilliant story, so very well written and balanced, and I can't tell you how much I'm enjoying the L/M storyline in particular. Very much looking forward to reading the rest of it!
     
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  24. Bel505

    Bel505 Jedi Grand Master star 2

    Registered:
    Jul 4, 2006




    Chapter Seventeen, Part II


    The airspeeder meandered through Coruscant's aerial traffic as if it were just another vehicle out for a late-evening drive. On either side of them, Argosy District's largest, most ornately decorated and lavishly furnished buildings gleamed with lights matched by the long lines of glowing airspeeders. The speeders hummed in and out of line, landing on the reinforced balcony landing platforms that all the buildings had on offer.

    In addition to being one of Coruscant's primary business and financial districts, Argosy District also had a reputation for a busy, dramatic nightlife, as all those businesspeople ended their daily work routines and went in search of relaxation with credits to burn. Large transparisteel windows peered out into the urban canyon, and within the windows life was as busy as it was beyond them, with people mingling and socializing. But below them, forty or fifty stories down, those same structures possessed humans and aliens of a distinctly different character; less prosperous, more desperate, looking not for an enjoyable evening but for a quiet, safe one.

    The emotional intermingling of the rapturous cacophony of luxury with the quiet desperation of poverty, all within his mental reach, was not new to the Tevas-kaar, but it had been a long time since he had experienced it in such density. Coruscant's sheer weight of population made the city pulse with emotion almost like a heartbeat. Susevfi had some of the same emotional flavors, but it was not nearly so overpowering, and of course life on Invidious was life living among wolves—rapacious, sometimes vicious, always hungry for the next good meal.

    The trip with Vorru and Eliezer had been almost a relief. They weren't like Tavira or the people Tavira surrounded herself with. Vorru had a bit of the wolf, but restrained by refinement. The restraints were not binding—he'd seen that with the way Vorru had unceremoniously murdered Acib—but they were there, and while Vorru's politeness was perhaps a facade, his mind was ordered and diligent. Eliezer was harder to read; the Tevas-kaar had never been as skilled at comprehending alien minds as human ones, but in Eliezer he could feel the Drall's calm preparation, anticipation, and patience.

    Speculating how Vorru and Eliezer had ended up being partners had entertained him through many a dull hour of waiting. Speculation about both of their ultimate objectives had passed many other dull hours of waiting. But he knew his role. He served.

    The airspeeder dipped out of line with the rest of the traffic, dropping down until it reached what would be considered the lowest levels of prosperity. These were far quieter, darker, with fewer lights and no large gatherings of people behind large windows. There was still airspeeder traffic enough, but not in the volume that occurred above. They neared one of the newer towers, a simple, inauspicious building that blended seamlessly in with the ones on either side. Its highest levels saw plenty of airspeeder traffic, but more leaving than coming.

    The settled onto a landing platform, dim lights automatically illuminating as the airspeeder's repulsorlifts went quiet. The Tevas-kaar opened the vehicle's door, swinging it up as Vorru did the same on the other side, Eliezer sliding out of the car slowly after them, looking miserable. "Are you sure this is safe," he muttered to Vorru.

    "It's as safe as it can be," the Moff replied. "Roeder has support standing by if we need it, and you said there is no sign that this safehouse has been used in some time."

    "True," Eliezer growled softly, his snout wrinkling with distaste. "Okay. Let's do this. Which way?"

    Vorru nodded at the Tevas-kaar. "After you."

    The Tevas-kaar frowned, wishing he were wearing his mask—but Vorru was right, it was too conspicuous for now. He took a moment to adjust his armor under his bulky clothes, fitting it securely back into place after the airspeeder ride. Once he was sure he was prepared, he gently tapped the entry door with the ID card that Eliezer had made him. The name Rasmus Damask appeared on the attached screen in blocky green font, then the door clicked open.

    He pushed through it, ignoring the twinge in his danger sense.

    At this level, the apartments belonged to employees of the major local businesses. It was well-enough maintained, but not ornate, with occasionally flickering lights on the hall. The floor was made of a material that had the appearance of wood, but not any of wood's maintenance requirements, and each door was labeled with only a number. Occasionally they would pass shoes or bags or other personal items against the walls or doors.

    They reached the end of the first short hallway, after passing about six apartments on either side. The lift arrived after a brief wait and a couple stumbled out, gave the three of them (especially him and Eliezer; Vorru got barely a glance) and then moved down the hall at a more-brisk-than-normal pace and shut themselves behind one of the doors they'd passed.

    The trio entered the lift, and Vorru pressed the button for their destination. They descended two levels and exited into an identical floor, with more of the same style of apartment, maintained almost exactly as well.

    Walking back in the direction of the building's exterior, they reached Apartment 1788. Its door was like any of the others, though it had no items scattered about outside. The door was slightly more worn than some of its neighbors, as if it hadn't received a new coat of paint recently, and its keycard access terminal was just different enough from those of its neighbors for the difference to be notable.

    The Tevas-kaar turned to watch the hallway, reaching out with the Force. He could feel the people above and below them, going about their daily lives; could feel the activity twenty stories above, with the congregations of people in the much larger, fancier skyward apartments. He did not feel anyone that seemed alert to their presence.

    "We're clear, for now," he murmured to Vorru.

    Eliezer was already working on the keycard terminal. He pulled out a datapad and plugged it in, then started clacking away on the datapad as he searched for a security vulnerability.

    "How long will it take?" Vorru asked, his hand inside his jacket—clearly holding the blaster pistol he had hidden there.

    "As I told you before we left, I don't know," Eliezer responded, sounding irritated. "It depends on how good Isard's security teams were." The Drall worked quickly, text scrolling across the datapad he was holding faster than the Tevas-kaar would've been able to read.

    It seemed like a long time before anything happened, but the Tevas-kaar's wristcomm told him it had only been four and a half minutes. There was a beep, and the keycard terminal went green. Vorru didn't hesitate, pushing the door open and ushering all of them inside. The apartment within was dark, and the Tevas-kaar searched for the activator for the unit's lighting.

    "Did you trip anything?" Vorru asked Eliezer.

    "I don't think so," Eliezer responded, breathing heavily. "But that was a lot more complicated than I was expecting it to be. And older, too. Isard might've used this place, but I think it predated the Emperor's death by quite a while."

    "Any idea who?"

    The rustle of Eliezer's shoulders in the dark suggested he had just shrugged. "Someone who learned a lot of their computer skills during the days of the Old Republic. I'd guess this safehouse was set up when the building was first built."

    The Tevas-kaar found the switch and flipped it, sending a flood of light through the apartment. Eliezer gasped, and Vorru stopped a step short.

    The space was much larger than he had expected. It appeared, at first, to be a simple apartment—plain, heavily-built furnishings in the space near the door, stretching into a good sized kitchen against one of the walls. But on the wall opposite them, where normally windows would be, hung a large, three-story sized symbol of the Empire: The classic white and black symbol loomed over the entire lofted space.

    The three of them just looked at it for a moment, then at each other. The Tevas-kaar felt a shiver of dread—a shiver the Empire had spent a great many years instilling into as much of the galaxy as possible—go down his spine. It was odd, he thought, that one could spend so many years being a tool of that dread, and yet never fully lose it themselves.

    Eliezer's distasteful expression regarded the banner for only a moment. He started meandering through the room slowly, slightly hunched, searching for computer terminals. He found none, but the banner could stand three stories tall because the apartment interior stretched all the way up, with two levels of loft above them. Eliezer coughed, then shook his head with dismay and started climbing the narrow spiral staircase upwards. "The computers must be up here," he said.

    Vorru stepped into the center of the room and looked up. From the floors above, there were flickers of light and the quiet whirring of machinery. "You're probably right. I'll come with you. Tevas-kaar, do a quick search of this floor and then join us."

    The Tevas-kaar nodded. He stretched out in the Force as he meticulously searched all the places he was most likely to find recording equipment, knocking against the walls to make sure there were no hidden rooms. The apartment itself was remarkably unremarkable; the kitchen was extremely well-stocked with non-perishable food supplies which looked like they dated back to the Clone Wars. He pulled open a cabinet and found himself staring at dozens and dozens—perhaps hundreds—of boxes of Imperial ration bars, still in all the original packaging. Only a handful of them were missing. He checked the expiration date on one and found it would be good for another few centuries.

    He closed the cabinet again and kept looking.

    In the bedroom he found a hidden wall closet. Working his fingers along the edges of the not-quite-totally-hidden crease, he searched for the latch until he found it. It refused to budge, so he quickly ignited his lightsaber and swept it through the locking mechanism. The doors to the closet came free, and he was able to pull them open, an interior light triggering automatically as he did.

    It was a weapons locker—no, not just a locker. A full, if somewhat small, armory. A collection of weapons: a longblaster, disassembled with a set of extra power packs; a blaster pistol of a particularly wicked make that looked vaguely familiar; a holdout blaster, which for him would be too small to easily wield but which an Imperial agent might be able to stash on their person. A collection of easily concealable vibroknives. And, he realized, his heartbeat quickening as he took his lightsaber and tested it against the empty hook, a spot for a lightsaber.

    His danger sense, before that moment a low, unnerving feeling of concern, suddenly became one of menace.

    The Tevas-kaar hastened his search. Next to the weapons was a set of armor. He examined it quickly—black, flexible and comfortable, to be worn under thicker, equally black blaster-resistant synthfabric, with a few pieces of heavier but still lightweight armor for additional protection.

    His feeling of dread heightened. He'd seen this fabric before, and the blaster too. Years before, such things had been available for secret Imperial agents. Custom make only. He removed pieces of the armor, looking for anything identifying. He found nothing, but he did learn that the armor was much too small for him. Much too small period—it was sized for a particularly petite alien, or maybe a human adolescent?

    While he had never had the dubious pleasure of meeting Ysanne Isard, he—like everyone else in the Empire—had been quite familiar with her. She hadn't been the tallest woman, but at 1.8 meters in height she would certainly not have fit into this armor. He couldn't imagine which Imperial agent would have.

    The rest of the room was uninteresting. The bed was made, probably kept by service droids, though he hadn't seen any yet. It was otherwise empty, but for all the normal things an apartment would have.

    His search had not revealed anything that could be considered an imminent threat. Regardless, his feeling of danger stubbornly refused to fade. "Trust your feelings," his master had taught him. Right then, his intuition was telling him that they were in far more jeopardy than appearances would indicate.



    * * *


    The second floor of the apartment, which was approximately level with the middle of the enormous Imperial symbol hanging against the wall, was nothing like the first. The loft swung out about one-third the distance over the living space below and was clearly not meant as a casual living space. Instead, Vorru and Eliezer found a large computer terminal, set with a comfortable chair. Eliezer was already sitting in it—conveniently, he didn't have to re-size it much to suit his small frame—inserting his datapad into the computer's available access ports.

    "Isard's network access?" Vorru asked.

    "I don't know," Eliezer coughed as he rolled the chair into place, adjusting it just a bit higher so his claws could move comfortably over the available keyboard. "Probably. Give me a minute to find out." The Drall went to work on his datapad, looking for security vulnerabilities and testing out the myriad of security codes that he'd procured to try to breach the computer.

    Vorru knew he would succeed, but it was harder to guess how long it would take. "I'll check out the upstairs," he said, leaving Eliezer with the computers. He took the second spiral staircase up to the third floor loft. It was a small space compared to the lower two floors, and it took Vorru a second to realize what he was looking at.

    A full holocomm suite. And a fancy one, too. A secure communications unit, sized for one person. It included a compact platform which would, when active, project a hologram that would be fully-human sized (or even larger, though space here was limited). The platform itself, the floor plating with the holo-projectors, had a ceremonial feel to it. Whoever was on this end of the communication was expected to kneel, he realized.

    Palpatine.

    Isard had served Palpatine directly, and would've been expected to kneel. This might have been where she expected to stay in contact with him—a way to be isolated in a safehouse and yet stay fully in command. With the holocomm she would be able to run Imperial Intelligence, do most of the Emperor's bidding, and be safely isolated in a nondescript safehouse all at the same time.

    It would've suited both of them, he thought. Palpatine with his need for control and domination, for total subservience, and Isard with her need for praise and approval. This place would have suited her just fine. And when Palpatine had died, and Isard had quietly assumed his place, she would've been quite pleased to be the one being kneeled to, also.

    Vorru traveled back down the stairs to rejoin Eliezer. "I found the holocomm," he said. "It's upstairs. A fancy one, one of the Emperor's personal appearance tools."

    Eliezer seemed not to hear him. He was focused on the display in front of him, his claws clacking against the keyboard vigorously. It was a good ten seconds before he glanced at Vorru, belatedly processing the spoken information. "Good, that'll give me easy access to the Coruscant HoloNet node," he mumbled distractedly. He concentrated on the computer for a few minutes more, then hit a key with victorious finality. "I'm in," he announced, and the display before them, the large monitors arrayed conveniently, flickered to life. "Okay," Eliezer said as he started to sort through the myriad of data suddenly presented to them. "This next part might take a while."

    On the screen before Eliezer and Vorru was Ysanne Isard's private secure network. As Eliezer searched, he and Vorru came across everything one might imagine in such a place: lists of covert operatives and their assignments, some of which appeared to still be active; thousands of dossiers on important politicians, corporations, and military officers; tens of thousands of intelligence reports, sortable by date, location, and reporting officer… all of the secret files of Ysanne Isard and, by the looks of some of the dates, of her father before her.

    Ten years ago, while the Emperor had still lived, this information might have given Vorru the wherewithal to challenge him. Isard had been one of his most loyal and trusted advisors, loyal to his memory long after his death; loyal to his Empire because it had been His Empire. Now, ten years later, much of this information would be worthless, or outdated, or no longer relevant in a galaxy where the New Republic ruled Coruscant. But, New Republic or not, some people who had been powerful before remained powerful, and information always had value.

    "Can you transfer these files off-site?" Vorru asked.

    "Probably. Go back upstairs and get the holocomm up and running, and I'll start an upload. We can go through these once I have a computer system capable of sorting through it all," Eliezer coughed, his beady eyes locked raptly on the screen. "I don't see what we're looking for yet, though."

    "Keep looking," Vorru instructed. He jogged back up the stairs, the old Kessel-inflicted aches and pains forgotten for the moment. The holocomm was a complicated piece of equipment, but essentially Imperial standard issue; he had the system up and connected to the HoloNet in only a few minutes. The steady buzz and hum of the equipment betrayed that it was in use, stealing all of Isard's secrets for future use.

    He returned down the narrow spiral staircase. The Tevas-kaar was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, carrying his broad frame stiffly, his face covered once again by his white mask. The bronze of the tall man's armor was mostly concealed by the unremarkable brown of his long jacket.

    "Did you find anything?" Vorru asked him.

    "Not very much," the Tevas-kaar responded. "Some old equipment. It seems Isard had a child operative using this as a safehouse at some point."

    "A child?" Vorru asked in surprise. "Why do you think a child?"

    "No one else would fit into the armor I found," the Tevas-kaar said. For the first time Vorru thought he heard just a hint of sarcastic wit, although it was possible he was imagining it. Either way, it was gone. "But I don't think it has been used in quite some time. By now the child is certainly grown."

    Vorru nodded slowly. A child? That was strange, to be certain, but not completely unknown. Still, it wasn't like Isard; she had preferred to train her operatives herself, and while she would have appreciated the malleability of a child so that she could impose herself upon them, it struck Vorru as unlikely that she would have employed a child for intelligence work. Not impossible, though. Merely unlikely.

    The Tevas-kaar's attention was wandering, his head tilted slightly towards the sky, peering back in the general direction of the center of Argosy District. That was unusual enough that Vorru felt the need to comment on it. "Is there something else?"

    The tall man's masked face turned back to him, and Vorru found himself staring into the brown eyes of a d'oemir bear. In the dim light of the computer center, the white of his mask faded to a dull, slightly ghostlike appearance. Vorru couldn't see the man's expression, but the slight hunching of his shoulders betrayed enough nervousness that Vorru started to feel it himself. "I'm not sure," the Tevas-kaar said after a moment. "But I think we ought not to linger here any longer than we must. Something… feels wrong."

    A shiver went down Vorru's spine. He'd never worked with Force adepts, not before the Tevas-kaar, and he'd only had occasion to meet Darth Vader once. He didn't understand the Force—it was said that none outside the Jedi really did—but he was familiar enough with its power from his experiences with Palpatine not to doubt the man's sincerity. And there was enough weight behind his words to take him seriously. Suddenly waiting for Eliezer to finish uploading all of Isard's secrets no longer seemed like the most important order of the day.

    But he would not leave until he knew Eliezer had exhausted every option to find the rest of what they had come for. "Let me know if you think we are in danger. Comm our pilot and tell him to take off and come back for us; I'll make sure our backup is in place."

    The Tevas-kaar nodded, already reaching for his wristcomm.

    Vorru took out his comlink. "Colonel Roeder?" he said.

    "Roeder here," the comlink replied instantly.

    "Are your men prepared in the event they are required?" Vorru asked, putting all the weight of Moffdom, not to mention the Underlord of Black Sun, into the words.

    "I have three teams in Argosy District, awaiting your location and instructions."

    "Very good. Stand by," Vorru said, switching the comlink back off.

    "Fliry?" Eliezer's voice was rapt. Vorru had known the Drall for a long, long time, and never heard him so awed. "Fliry, I found it."

    He was back at the Drall's side in an instant. The screen was a mess of account numbers and passwords, and it took Vorru a second to realize what he was seeing. Once he did, he felt like the breath had been sucked from his chest. It took him another second to regain it, his heart thudding in his chest, blood pounding in his ears. There it was.

    It wasn't much to look at. Just one line, among others. An account number. A password. A sum.

    A staggeringly large sum. A sum so large that he almost had trouble conceptualizing what it meant. Almost.

    "H-have…" His voice was throaty and haggard, and he was forced to clear his throat. "Have you started transferring the funds?" he asked, the awe in his voice matching the awe in Eliezer's.

    He felt the Tevas-kaar peering over both their shoulders, and heard even him gasp.

    "I spent days working up a routing system," Eliezer reminded him. "It will take some time to transfer it all… HoloNet credit transactions have a cap, so I'm having to utilize a few hundred different banking institutions and thousands of individual accounts. But after it's into the HoloNet I can make sure it's impossible to trace." He smirked, the first to recover. "I'll route most of it through Muunilist, they won't participate in any New Republic investigations."

    Vorru nodded. He'd known it had to be here. Ysanne Isard's personal slush fund. Funded by years of the Emperor's largess… and her seizure of the previous Underlord, Prince Xizor's, personal fortune.

    It wasn't all there. Isard had taken a fair amount of it when she'd abandoned Coruscant, and squandered much more of it even before her flight. But there was enough. There was more than enough.

    "How long?" he asked Eliezer, still barely hearing himself speak.

    "Twenty, thirty minutes… there are a lot of credits here."

    Vorru nodded, forcing himself to breathe. With the secrets, and the wealth, and Black Sun, and Eliezer's skills… he suddenly had more power at his fingertips than he'd had since Palpatine had stripped him of his Moffdom and sentenced him to life on Kessel. He was, in that instant, the most powerful person in the entire galaxy. And with that power, with the secrets and the money and the omniscience that Eliezer could offer, Fliry Vorru could finally show Palpatine that he was the man's equal, Force or no Force.

    Visions of future glory danced in his head.

    Eliezer's claws clacked frantically over the keys, setting transactions in motion, buying and selling assets; Isard's personal accounts were laid bare and the fortune within vanished slowly but steadily into the HoloNet.

    Time stretched, moving glacially slow as Eliezer worked.

    "Moff Vorru," the Tevas-kaar said for a second time, the words finally breaking through the haze of Vorru's ambition. He turned slightly to look at the Tevas-kaar. The masked figure stood very still, peering up towards the sky, and Vorru got the distinct impression that the man's eyes were closed under the mask.

    "Tevas-kaar?" he prompted.

    The mask came down and brown eyes bored into him. "We need to leave," the Tevas-kaar said firmly.

    Vorru's head shook automatically. "We can't leave. Eliezer is still transferring the funds—"

    The Tevas-kaar grabbed his arm, one powerful, armored hand squeezing almost painfully. "We need to leave now," he insisted. "Or we're not going to be leaving at all."

    Vorru swallowed, and looked at Eliezer. "How much longer?"

    "I've got much of it. Almost fifty percent. Give me another ten minutes and I can get the rest of it," the Drall said hastily, the clacking of his claws interrupted by a hacking, desperate cough. "I'm starting an automatic routing program, in case we're interrupted here…" the clacking resumed, with even more haste.

    "We can't leave yet," Vorru said firmly. He flicked his comlink, adjusting it to also transmit their location. "Roeder, send reinforcements to me now. We're about to have trouble."

    The Tevas-kaar shook his head, a hint of anger in the motion, but he didn't object. His hand pulled the lightsaber from his cloak, holding it in a ready position, peering especially back towards Argosy District.

    It was all quiet except for Eliezer's hasty efforts. Vorru watched the Tevas-kaar's head slowly turn, as if he was looking at an invisible foe on the far side of the walls. He peered up the spiral staircase to the holocomm facility on the third floor of the apartment, the only lights from up there coming from the equipment; the Imperial banner on the opposite wall cast in light and shadow. The Tevas-kaar stared up towards the holocomm, his stance shifting slightly, as if suddenly anticipating a new threat. Vorru turned to look—

    The tip of a blue lightsaber burst through the wall of the apartment and into the holocomm, sending a shower of sparks through the room and plunging the third floor into total darkness.





     
    Last edited: Dec 28, 2020
    Chyntuck likes this.
  25. WarmNyota_SweetAyesha

    WarmNyota_SweetAyesha Chosen One star 8

    Registered:
    Aug 31, 2004
    Fascinating discoveries and then a cliffhanger! =D=