The Battle of

Where there is chaos, the universe brings order.
Where there is order, the universe brings chaos.
Then, account for scheming, swindling, and the
perfect double-cross. The universe has never
been a simple place.

~Author Unknown

The drop off went smoothly. Dalon Marr encountered a Corellian Corvette with markings that he didn't recognize at the designated coordinates. Once there, he checked his account: the proper amount of money had been deposited; half of the original 'live' bounty. He forwarded the pertinent data to de Devastator to make sure he received full compensation, as had been promised.
The Corvette sent out a shuttle that docked with the Maw. Two men in uniforms, similar to the Empire's but distinct, came in and with very little talk checked the body, and then left. Marr didn't wait around for the shuttle to return to the Corvette, but instead turned around and headed for Corrus II.
Once there, he left the ship with a man he knew by reputation for doing stellar work on hull and shield upgrades, without ripping a guy off. It would take a couple of days, so he set up some middle class lodgings, and decided to look around the city. There were all types of people here, so he didn't worry about a disguise and kept to the protection afforded by the armor. He hadn't gone far when, passing by a café of some sort, he heard an angry, startled yell of, "MARR!"

Since realizing the identity of the man who was hounding Alia's trail, Neb had done whatever research he could on Dalon Marr. There wasn't much to go on, mostly rumor and speculation. There were even some rumors about Marr collecting a bounty on Han Solo from Boruma the Hutt. Neb was fairly certain that they were unfounded, because he doubted that Marr was good enough to take Han Solo. The rumors about Marr killing the daughter of an Imperial Moff, those were easier to swallow.
After over a day of research, sitting in the same tapcafe, drinking little and eating less, he looked up, for no particular reason that he knew of, and saw a now familiar flash of red armor glinting in the sunlight. In surprise, Neb bellowed, "MARR!"

Marr turned around to see a young Twi'lek male approaching him cautiously. Marr knew that stance to be that of a man ready for battle, and adjusted himself accordingly. Then he replied, "Aye, lad. Ye've got me at a disadvantage, ye do. Ay'm afraid that Ay dinnae know yer name."

Instantly, Marr knew he had to play it cautious. This was a friend of the girl's, and probably a Jedi. Which meant that most likely this boy was the Wookiee's trainee, Neb Calluna. Marr decided it was best to just tell the truth. "Ay'm sorry, lad. The girl is dead."

Neb flushed, unable to respond. Instantly, his hand was in his tunic and his lightsaber rested easily in his palm, but he did not ignite it. He clenched his jaw for a moment, and then his training took over. Calming techniques that Tashannoc had taught him long ago in Mos Eisley, when dealing with the hatred of his father. Quickly, but for what seemed to Neb to be an eternity, the anger dissipated. However, he wouldn't grieve now. There would be time for that later. 'There is no emotion: There is only the Force.' As the ancient words played through his mind, he became cold as ice. "Well, then, murderer, You will have to come with me to pay for your crime. If you do not wish to submit to the justice of the Rebellion, then I will deal you justice here.

Marr knew that the situation was getting bad really quick, but wasn't about to be ordered around by this little Jedi whelp. "Ay'm nae going anywhere but back t'moy hotel, lad. And yer nae goin' t'be able t'stop me."

"I was afraid that would be your answer." The lightsaber flipped on, and the blade came down...
....on nothing. Marr ducked out of the way, his Force Pike popping off of his forearm and into his palm, extending to its full length, all in one deft move. Marr blocked the next downswing on the lightsaber's hilt, being cautious to avoid the blade.
Neb yelped as the pike smacked his fingers, and for a moment let go with one hand. That was all the opening that Marr needed, as he brought a blow down on Neb's wrist, causing him to drop the blade. He followed it with a blow to one of the sensitive Lekku to disorient the boy, then swept the legs out from under him. The Jedi fell soundly to his back.

Placing a foot on Neb's chest, Marr spoke tersely "Ay didn't kill the girl, boy. Ay merely transported her body for the bounty on her. Believe me, Ay would have preferred her live, for then she'd've been worth more. But de Devastator had something against her and he got her first. So, ye've nae any truck wi' me. Because Ay've had good dealings with yer Master before, Ay'll let ye go alive. But tell the Wook that Ay've been t'de Devastator's palace, and at the right price Ay may be willing to tell what Ay know.
Marr had his dart launcher pointed at Neb's chest, and brought his hand up to adjust it. Neb felt the dart puncture his skin like a slight insect bite. He recognized the substance as it entered his blood: it was a minor relaxant, and would leave him immobile for about thirty minutes. As soon as the foot was off of him, Neb started to detoxify his system.

Two minutes later, Neb was on his feet again. Only now did he notice the crowd that had gathered and had, wisely, not interfered. He picked up his saber, and asked someone where the man in the red armor had gone. Some were able to point in a direction, but the man had somehow managed to disappear. Neb doubted that he would be able to find the Bounty Hunter again. And besides, he left for Kashyyyk in less than twelve hours. He'd leave a message at Home for Tasha, but doubted that Marr would hear from him anytime soon.

A series of complex three dimensional studies swirled across the screen, indicating the currency translation relationship between the Bothawui hard-credit and the Kothlis monetary system. In the lower left corner of the screen, the computer showed the $10.1 mega-credit balance in Imperial credits of the "Field Agent Survivors Fund" and a $1,767,000 credit profit on the trade. Something on the screen disturbed the non-descript, dark-haired human who sat in the chair drinking an imported fizzyglug. "Close out the spread at market, now," he ordered the computer. "Transaction closed. Profit on the trade of $756,231 credits, net of commissions," it replied in a throaty female voice.

The door to the corner office slid open quietly, but with the tell-tale static hiss of electronically reinforced and snoop-proof security augmentation. Another human, this one dressed in the generic gray uniform of the Empire's officer corps, stepped in chortling. He was smiling at a small gray stasis tube cylinder in his right hand. The talberds on his uniform had the grasping gauntlet of Imperial Intelligence, but no rank or specialty patches. Field Agent Smith, of the Empire's Bureau of Imperial Intelligence, Adjustments Division (the nastiest of the Black Operations sub-sections), looked up from the terminal as his partner, Agent Jones, entered the windowless corner suite they shared at Imperial Intelligence headquarters on Coruscant.

"Fleas," responded his partner as he walked to over to get a look at the screen.

At that moment, the computer commenced a very annoying but attention-getting bleeping. Smith glanced at the screen and saw that the Bothan hard-credit had plunged and the spread that he had excited had gone negative. "Damn, I'm good. We just made another $2 million for the retirement account today. It's too bad I wasn't trading our real money accounts, but Admiral Kanaris recently lectured me about having to 'waste good money on you two scoundrels'. The class account was officially over-funded as of 09:20 Standard this morning, and, as you know we are the only two survivors." Smith downed another swig of the expensive drink, which had never left his hand, while Jones moved to his own chair and sunk into it.
"No, I'm not going to ask," said Smith staring pointedly at the stasis tube.

"This is my ace in the hole for when we meet up with that Wookiee Jedi Master, Tashin-something. These are genetically altered Wookiee fleas. They only like Wookiees, and they bite worse than a rabid vornskrr. I tested these babies on the survivors of that Wookiee sabotage team in cell-block six. You know, the "Second Wookiee Expeditionary Force." The agony from the itch was so intense they were rolling on the floor. And the best thing is, these fleas are immune to a sonic shower. You pretty much need a chemical bath to get rid of 'em," he said with a smile.

"I'll wager that there hasn't been a Jedi trained who could muster the Force with these babies chewin' on him," declared Jones.

"You wasted your vacation on that?" joked Smith. "We've been working special ops for eleven years and Kanaris has never sent us after a Jedi, let alone a Jedi master," Smith continued.

"There's always a first time," responded Jones, who refused to let his partner rain on the parade. Jones liked to think ahead. Better prepared than dead, he smirked to himself.
The communicator belched, a special modification to the standard issue "bleep" that Smith had installed to warn them of impending communications from above, and a miniaturized holographic projection of Admiral Kanaris appeared between them in the room. "Your leave his hereby canceled, effective immediately. You are to report to my office for a mission briefing, again immediately. Smith, I know what you have been doing during your rest leave, and if the Imperial Accounting Office finds so much as one of those Rim Sector dummy accounts you have been using, you will be teaching cadets Espionage 101 for the rest of your miserable career, the continuation of which is a constant source of irritation for my ulcer and embarrassment to my tenure as commander of Adjustments operatives," scowled the ten centimeter tall, eye-level hologram. Underneath the projection, and outside of its field of vision, flaming script proclaimed "On a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being maximum, Admiral Kanaris's irritation index today is an unusually light 23."
Smith noticed the message and raised an eyebrow at Jones. Jones shrugged, to indicate it wasn't his fault he had augmented the programming with subtext. The holograph scowled again, certain something was going on between his two best Field Agents but having no idea what. "Kanaris out," it said with a trace of anger, and flicked off.
"Drink Cormorant Combine Imported Fizzyglug" replaced the prior text, and faded out.

"Sorry," said Smith, who had quietly amended the hacked system during the projection. The door slid open as they walked briskly down the hall to the interior transport.

Domino stepped onto the bridge of the Deathwail. The three ranking officers on the bridge snapped to full attention in his presence as he approached. "My Lord, the man who claims to have the location of a fairly vital rebel supply base is being brought in aboard the Blackfire." Admiral Emago began. "It seems, however, that there could be evidence against him that he attacked and destroyed an Imperial Star Destroyer."

Domino looked from Admiral Emago to the viewport where he admired his homeworld for a few moments. "He attacked and destroyed a Star Destroyer? Why is he still alive?"

Captain Delsin stepped forward. "Lord, his accuser was a fleeing rebel pilot who had been held captive by this pirate captain's mercenary fleet. Captain Vredlt felt it would be best for you to meet with this Captain Lavaran to see if there was any truth to the allegations."

"Good. Best to test the evidence before reacting rashly." Domino turned to General Tamar. "Good General, assemble Alpha Battle Group. If this Lavaran does have the location of a rebel ORD then we'll want to send in a recon team. Depending on how vital this base is, we may want to simply infiltrate it."
The Dark Lord walked right up to the transparisteel of the main viewport and touched it with his right hand. "We've been idle for quite some time my friends. The time has come for us to muster our strength and systematically extinguish the fire of rebellion that has swept through the galaxy."

The door of Alia's room opened and Marquis stepped in. "I do hope you will forgive me for my deception back at your academy. That hunter would have had you in no time at all if I hadn't been there to retrieve you. Then where would you be?"

"Alia, you will really be looked after here. Lord de Devastator is very interested in continuing your Force training. He knows that you cannot and will not stay here forever. Your only hope is to accept Domino's training for now. He will equip you with the skills you will need to face your father if such an occurrence should take place."

Alia couldn't hold back the laughter. "And just why in all of his unholiness is Domino so concerned with my well being?"

Marquis could feel the growing frustration within herself. 'Rayla or Tionne should be in here with her, not me.' She looked at Alia and smiled. "There are two things to be accomplished by you being trained by Lord de Devastator. One is that Domino will not have to be concerned with Sith Lord Trynyty if you kill him. That thorn will be removed from his side."

Marquis paused and Alia shook her head. "That's certainly convincing Marquis. I'm all ready and set to cooperate now. What's the second benefit?"

"The second is simply that you will have the abilities to face your father and defeat him."

"We are doing too well," said Admiral Kanaris grimly. A holographic projection in his office showed the Moddell Sector, with Imperial systems in green and New Republic systems delineated in red. Neutral systems were shown in white, and there were a number of unexplored areas marked with yellow. "Up until two months ago, this had been a real slug fest. Not that Admiral Ta Veer has ever been quick on the offensive, but he knows his job and has made slow but steady progress." Kanaris paused to look at his two best Field Agents, making sure they were paying attention and that their hands were not remotely near anything in his office they might expropriate or modify. "You just step back there, Jones," he said pointing at the middle of the carpet, having noticed the Agent reaching for a mechanical sculpture on his desk. "Both sides are pretty heavily committed, and over the past two years - excluding the last two months -- we have probably managed to obtain and hold approximately one inhabited system every seven months."

Smith nodded, familiar with the heavy loss of capital ships that this progress had entailed. Admiral Ta Veer had moved methodically forward. First, agents were sent in. Then, reconnaissance by pickets followed by an attack in force. Usually a large fleet of capital ships was required to batter the heavy defensive shielding. On rare occasion the Empire had managed to sabotage or suborn a critical defensive installation. In any event, large garrisons were needed to pacify the inhabitants and the first priority was to establish even greater defensive fortifications to forestall the inevitable Rebel counter-punch. Twelve Super Star Destroyer command ships, plus innumerable Imperial-class Star Destroyer's, had been lost in the meat grinder. Losses for the Rebel Fifth and Seventh Fleets had been proportionate. Task force level battles had even raged during chance meetings in the unexplored areas, where neither side knew of anything of strategic value to further its plan except to deny such areas to the other side. Jones nodded, too.

Kanaris continued. "Well, Admiral Ta Veer just picked up two industrialized systems in the past two months. The Rebels counter-attacked in each case, though we repelled them. Ta Veer's losses were modestly below the average for this campaign by a statistically significant degree."

"Is that a problem?" asked Jones, who was beginning to get an idea where this conversation was leading.

"Admiral Ta Veer has taken full credit for the improvement with the Emperor. He believes he has crippled their supply lines, exhausted their supplies and turned the tide through his strategic plan," noted Kanaris. "But I am worried, and the Emperor shares my concerns. We have noticed that instead of decreasing, Rebel production of munitions, replacement parts and other supplies has increased," Admiral Kanaris said looking at them expectantly.

"And, let me guess, we do not know where those supplies are going except that they have not been routed to the Moddell Sector, right?" asked Smith.

"We are still working on it, but I think the supplies flowing to the Moddell sector have decreased beneath the level required to maintain the Alliance forces we have engaged in that sector," added Admiral Kanaris.

"And everything else in the rest of the Galaxy is normal, right?" asked Jones.

Admiral Kanaris nodded, pleased that his two most annoying but competent Field Agents understood the situation. "And I am convinced that the reason all of these things are happening is that the Rebels have withdrawn a full fleet or more from this sector, and are planning something especially undesirable for the Empire with them," he finished. They all nodded in agreement.
"I am far from sure what they are up to, but I am convinced it must be big for them to effectively cede us that sector. There really is nothing going on in the universe today. I have taken the liberty of browsing through the Imperial Staff's upcoming agenda and we have nothing new planned for the universe tomorrow, either. However, the Emperor's trusted ally, Domino de Devastator, who has been assigned the very valuable Second Imperial Fleet and has an extensive battle group of his own, has been gearing up for some approved expansion into Rebel space," noted the head of Adjustments.

"There is a fast courier waiting for you now. Your official mission is to ascertain what the Rebels are up to and notify me immediately. Briefing materials including local contacts, equipment, and the usual necessary materials are being loaded even as you two stand there gawking." Smith frowned, wondering if the Admiral viewed imported fizzyglug as mission-necessary.

"Tess slipped your fizzyglug onto the list, though I fail to see why that should come out of my budget," stated the Admiral, reading his mind. "Now get going. The rendezvous coordinates are already programmed."
'I am exceptionally pleased to be able to send you anywhere else but here,' the admiral thought to himself. 'de Devastator, your sector will never be the same again.'

As Smith and Jones exited the transport that had carried them across the building and from the 113th floor of the modern office tower to its recessed command center, at least that far underground, they immediately noticed that the security arrangements had changed. They were intimately familiar with the usual advanced measures: hidden anti-snoop, detonation suppression, surveillance and computer controlled termination devices; the gas, chemical and biological sniffer/cleaner systems; and the triple-reinforced alloy walls with the protective power of an Imperial Star Destroyer. They could see, as was always the case, the pair of combat armor suited Imperial Commandos guarding each door and the computer controlled heavy blaster hard-points every five feet. But there was now a double-airlock corridor just after the receptionist desk.
An attractive human appearing female with a mildly blue complexion looked up at them and in a soft voice said "Welcome back boys. I missed you." She gave them each her best smile, accidentally displaying her canine fangs. "Except for the auditors and those Wookiees, this place has been as boring as pure vacuum." She pouted in what she hoped was an enticing manner at each of them, in turn.

Following procedure - failure to follow this or any mandated procedure on a priority secured floor had immediate and obvious consequences, some of which could not fully be cleaned off the floor -- Smith and Jones each placed one hand on the palm sensor plates conveniently located on each side of the corridor. There was a soft hum as their palm prints were scanned and compared to the Adjustments section records. Simultaneously, sensors confirmed that the prints actually belonged to living beings with normally operating circulatory systems and stress levels within Adjustments' parameters. A green translucent holographic cube appeared around each of them as other systems ran a variety of checks, including weapons scans, to confirm their identities and that neither was accidentally carrying explosive devices that would de-stabilize in the heavily scanned environment. Throughout this procedure, two electronically guided heavy blasters in ceiling ball-mounts tracked their every movements. One focused on the head, the other the center of gravity if the potential target had one.

"Glad to be back to serve the Empire, Tess. What's this gadget?" asked Smith eyeing the new construction.

"She's really nice, but kind of experimental. She's a checkpoint cyberdroid from Research. Mostly, she helps me with my dictation. Her real job is to make sure none of you tasty things are clones, particularly crazed Jedi-clones," answered Tess, who was actually from an alien race that considered human flesh a delicacy. "The security walls substantially reduce the threat of a Force-based compulsion or a Jedi spy scanning from outside the complex, but Admiral Kanaris has always been concerned about the consequences of Jedi infiltration," she said. "Now you two boys go in and see the Admiral, pronto. One at a time through the corridor," she finished.

"Please enter, Mr. Smith," said the checkpoint with a low-pitched, but distinctly female voice, as the front door recessed into the ceiling. Smith walked forward, and the airlock door slammed back into place with a thump. Too quick for an untrained being to perceive, the temperature cycled in a random sequence and active and passive electronic systems conducted a number of complex tests. "Remain still," ordered the cyberdroid.

"Ouch, ouch, ouch!" yelped Smith as invisible needles, essentially micro-tractor beams, drew single cell samples from random points on his exterior and interior physical person. "What in blazes are you doing to me?" he demanded.
"Confirming you are the original you, and not a human type with a sheaf of your genetic material to fool scans, and not a clone. Clone cells have a more uniform structure than naturally grown cells, and respond differently to these tests." The checkpoint prudently did not elaborate on the ultra-top secret methods used to ascertain whether the creature being tested had any Force capability, and whether it was sufficiently strong to pose a threat. Tess, a long-fixture in Adjustments, could get away with being casual about such things, but the Admiral was less likely to condone a breach from a re-programmable 'droid.
"Can I get out of here now? I have to go make the Empire safe for its citizens," whined Smith. The process had taken approximately twenty seconds, but did indeed work as advertised and had confirmed that the person in the death-trap between the two airlock doors was who it was supposed to be.

"Identity confirmed," announced the checkpoint to Tess and the corridor security control who flashed back an electronic "send him in." The rear airlock door opened and Smith headed out. As he was exiting, it slammed down into place, forcing him to lunge forward to avoid bifurcation. The heavy, bomb containment door just missed the heel of his left foot.
"Wonderful improvement," Smith muttered to himself.

The front airlock door recessed, beckoning to Jones. He stepped forward into the chamber and quickly whispered "Three terra-gigs of extra memory if you remember who your friends are," to the checkpoint. The door dropped smoothly into place without a sound. It cycled through, including the physical testing, without Jones feeling so much as a pinprick.
"Have a nice day, and let me say it is a pleasure to meet such a discerning and handsome Field Agent as yourself, Mr. Jones," purred the cyber-droid as the rear airlock door opened. "Come again, anytime, sir!" she added helpfully.
Jones sauntered out, with a smirk on his face. Smith glared at him. As they walked forward into the ultra-secured area, Jones turned his head back at the checkpoint and winked.

Captain Delsin was just about to begin establishing Holonet communication with Captain Sergus Lanox of the Cyclone when Domino appeared on the bridge. Along with General Tamar and Admiral Emago, he stopped what he was doing and snapped to attention. As the Dark Lord spoke with Emago and then Tamar, he waited for the appropriate moment to enter the conversation. Finally he recognized his opportunity to speak.
"My Lord, I was just about to send word to Captain Lanox. We have decided to have his fleet form up with Alpha Battle Group for this campaign we're launching into the Outer Rim."

Delsin turned to the Holonet terminal to begin his transmission. Domino cleared his throat and stepped up to the terminal alongside Delsin. "But Captain, is that the best way to suppress the enemy?"

Domino smiled. "Have I managed to stump one of my greatest tacticians and advisors? I doubt you misunderstood me Captain Delsin."

Delsin turned from the Holonet terminal once more and gestured out the viewport to Deominia. "Lord, if Deominia and her people were totally cut off from the Galactic Empire, what would happen?"

The Sith Master smirked and nodded. "Nothing. The worlds here inside the Deominian Cloud have been a self-sufficient community for untold millennium."

Delsin nodded. "Exactly. Even if the rebels were able to pinpoint the location of the Deominian Cloud, they would certainly not be able to locate a supply base or munitions ORD that affords Deominia her military resources. With all due respect, my Lord, I defy you to show me a rebel base that can exist without a viable supply chain... indefinitely. They have a wide network of support, but no one location can serve them for too long without drawing unwanted attention." He stepped further away from the terminal and proceeded, addressing everyone on the bridge as they listened to his lecture. "The thorough elimination of the enemy's supply chain effectively places them under siege, causing actions of desperation to reinstate those supply chains. Actions of desperation are by nature poorly planned and, if anticipated, ill-advised." Delsin turned once more to face the Dark Lord as he concluded. "Lord de Devastator, our assault on this rebel supply ORD will be the first of many actions to strangle the rebel outposts of the Outer Rim, causing them to whither and fade."
The men and women on the bridge of the Deathwail began to applaud as Delsin turned to Domino and bowed. "My Lord, shall I contact Captain Lanox now?"

Delsin looked at Domino and let out a simple chuckle. "Lord, my rank is Captain."

Domino nodded. "Yes, for too long now you have been 'Captain Delsin,' and your abilities have been squandered. Not in my command, not any longer. You will accept this promotion, Admiral."

"Certainly, my Lord." was all Delsin would say. 'I won't fight it. I have turned down many promotions in the past, and Admiral Emago is such a bleeding idiot. As an Admiral I can offset his asinine decisions.'
He noticed that Domino was studying his features, wearing a slight smirk on his face. He realized that he had practically broadcast his estimation of Admiral Emago to the Dark Lord. "I will contact Captain Lanox now, my Lord."

Repairs to the Cyclone had begun and Captain Sergus Lanox was going over the holorecordings of the recent battle with the pirates. 'These pirates gave an amazing display of skill and cooperation in facing my fleet, though they lost several ships. The damage sustained by the Cyclone was far beyond trivial. Once she is repaired, our task will be to track...'

~Captain, a priority message for you. It is arriving via Holonet transmission. It is from an Admiral of the 2nd Imperial Fleet.~

"Patch it through to my ready room immediately. I will be honored to speak with this Admiral."
As he stepped to the communication terminal he began to imagine what an Admiral of Lord de Devastator's fleet could want with him. 'This could be my ticket out of pirate patrol.'
As he touched the switch to begin his end of the transmission he saw a young looking man in a Naval officer's uniform with no rank insignia and a figure that could only be Domino de Devastator.

~So my reputation preceeds me? In truth, Lord de Devastator has only just moments ago promoted me.~

~Captain Lanox, it is the unanimous and joint decision of myself, Admiral Emago, General Tamar and Lord de Devastator that you be given new orders; that for the time being you will form up with Alpha Battle Group of the 2nd Imperial Fleet. We have an operation that will begin in one standard week. How long will it take for you to get your ships to Yaga Minor?~

"Sir, we have sustained some damage from a recent battle with pirates, but we should be able to reach the Ubiqtorate base at Yaga Minor in less than three days."

Field Agent Smith, of Imperial Intelligence, Adjustments, was cramped -- actually 'stuffed' would be a more accurate description -- into the "fast courier" ship Admiral Kanaris had promised, along with his partner, Jones, and the young pilot, Kristhan, another human. Kristhan was wearing a mail service Lieutenant's uniform, as were Smith and Jones though their uniforms had no rank insignia.
"That was a tidy piece of work, disguising one of our infiltration jobs as a neutral hard-mail packet," said Smith to the pilot. "I examined the hull during loading and there isn't a trace of the assault-grade shield emitters or the CM-9 tubes. I can't see anything an expert would find to distinguish this from the real thing."

Kristhan wiggled a bit and stared nervously at the piloting display, pretending to examine their programmed hyperspace velocity parabola while he decided what to say.

"I particularly like the way you included real privacy mail chips as cover. And even if an Alliance patrol notices some of our gear, it is in genuine sealed mail containers so we have plausible deniability. By the way, where are the fast-access slits to our personal arms, in case we flunk an inspection?" added Jones. Smith raised his eyebrow at the ridiculous comment about plausible deniability. He knew exactly how the Empire would treat even a cleric "mistakenly" transporting weapons or, if anyone were able to actually assemble their goods and discern what they really were, intelligence equipment for the other side.

There was an "aagh" as the pilot accidentally bit his tongue. He tapped his right heel against the floor plate, and fingered his uniform collar, which was starting to get a bit moist. The voyage was about ten minutes into hyperspace. They had cleared Imperial Center's ring of orbital defense stations in record time, and made their hyper-jump immediately upon exiting the gravitational umbra. That in-system maneuver was more than a little dangerous, and few skilled captains had the guts to risk it. Smith and Jones had both been impressed by the minimalist safety margin their hot-shot pilot had deemed necessary.
"I knew it would come to this," said the Kristhan. "This ship is all engine and small profile. It looks like a mail packet because it is a mail packet. It was the only thing available on short notice with the speed and range to move you two to the destination in time for the rendezvous," he finished, coming clean.

"You mean it looks like an unarmed civilian craft," started Jones with a look of shock. "Because it is an unarmed civilian craft," finished Smith, more than a little concerned. "What about the shielding - they did some changes, right?" asked Jones.

"Sorry. No. No time. And there aren't any access ports to the mail vault, let alone panels into your personal stuff. Uncle Kanaris said that if we were boarded, the secrecy of the mission would be better maintained if we went about our way with no incident," the young pilot finished.

Smith looked at Jones and Jones looked at Smith. Their eyebrows raised, and they both silently mouthed the word "Uncle." Smith was elected in their moment of clarity to ask the necessary question. He decided to be subtle. "Say, you appear awfully young to be pilot for an Ultra-Top Secret intelligence mission. Rejuve treatments?"

"No, but I was first in my class," the Lieutenant answered. Jones started coughing in terror.

"Just how many missions have you logged in one of these babies?" continued Smith.

"I have over 2,000 simulator hours in this precise type of craft, and I have the full required space hours to graduate the Emperor Palpatine Imperial Navy Cadet Academy at Imperial Center," said the pilot in his most reassuring tone. Smith and Jones were motionless, except their eyes which were looking about the pilot's compartment for the vacuum suit storage and emergency exit, just in case. "Uncle Kanny couldn't find any of the regular pilots willing to go hyper in-system, and he knew the extra 3 hours were vital to the mission," he explained further. "Look, don't worry. I am 32nd in my class, or at least I will be at the graduation ceremony if we get back in time."
"Oh, one more thing," he said reaching down by his feet with his left hand. "Tess handed this 12 pack of fizzyglug to me. Which one of you is Smith?" finished the pilot.
Jones closed his eyes and shook his head no - no to being Smith, no to going into Rebel space with no shielding beyond the Level 3 ray and particle shielding required as minimum on all civilian craft to protect against the normal conditions of space, no to the lack of any offensive armament whatsoever, stealth capability and even access to their mission kits that were safely tucked away in the sealed mail compartment (sealed to minimize the incentive of any pirates to harm the pilot for access). Smith reached for the fizzyglug, which at least was his favorite imported brand.
"Just sit back and relax," said the pilot, now correctly regarded by his passengers as a cadet rather than the Lieutenant his talberds said. "And remember, you are going first class. It just happens to be first class hard-mail," the very young looking pilot said smiling.

Evan's communications line beeped... and beeped... and beeped. 'Whoever this is better realize what time of day they're calling.'
~Sir?~ Evan focused slowly on the worried figure twitching on his computer terminal. ~I didn't wake you, did I, sir?~
"If it's not you, it's Kethren, Landau. What do you want?"

Capt. Aswar Landau grinned with uncharacteristic emotion as he held up a small holocube. ~This, sir. I think we've found a bit of what we were looking for.~

Evan sat up straighter. "What are you trying to tell me, Laudau? You found Siona?"

Laudau's smile faded a little. ~Not exactly, sir, but there is someone who can help us. This,~ he said, activating the holocube, ~belongs to Jedi apprentice and sole heir to the White Star Line fortune, Tynidian Chartise.~

The soldier frowned genuinely now. ~I...he's been known to be in the company of Siona, sir. I thought....~

~Sir, if anyone knows anything about Siona, Chartise will. One of our agents had the pleasure of being in the company of Chartise's cousin during a routine stop and the cousin can be a bit lose with his knowledge when he's had a bit too much to drink.~

Evan considered the possibilities for a moment. "Have my ship ready in 3 hours and meet me in the side hanger where we'll proceed to his last seen location, is that what you were thinking?"

Alia decided that it was probably to her benefit to take Marquis seriously. "Ok, I defeat my father, for myself and for Lord de Devastator. What then? He's not a Jedi and he doesn't know those Force disciplines. The only disciplines he knows are those of the Sith. Is that what he's going to be teaching me?"

Alia rose and walked over to the window again. "There's always that perhaps, isn't there? I want straight answers and I'm not getting them."

Domino's minion seemed decidedly frustrated. "I'm not the one to give them to you, even if I did know what it is you're seeking!"

"I'm seeking the truth, and nobody's giving it to me, just the 'perhaps' and the 'you'll know soon.' Look, I know more than the next guy about Sith and whatnot and what I know isn't pretty. If Sith is what Master de Devastator plans to teach me to evade Kethren, then I'll be no better than he is."

"Knowing how lowly Domino speaks of your father, I don't believe you can be that inferior."

Alia bit her lip against a stinging retort. 'It almost hurts to hear them speak so lowly of Kethren. Not that he doesn't deserve it, but these people are supposed to be his allies.' She seemed to contemplate what she had been told, then she responded. "C'mon, Marquis, you know I'm even more substandard. At least my father freed his conscience years ago; I can't seem to get rid of mine. Is that what you intend to do? Kill my conscience? Destroy my honor? They're not going to die as easily as yours did, I'm sure."

Scheming & Swindling