Re: Imperial Renaissance

Immediately the ten storm commandos fanned out. In the shade of the little wood, weaving in and out between bramble and stunted oak trees in their black light deflecting armor, you got the idea of shadows moving. Right now you still heard their steps, crackling on dry leaves, withered twigs snapping—when the mission required, a sound-dampening field would eliminate these noises, and a casual cursing, too, making you into the embodiment of what rebels called you: A damned, death bringing Shadow.

Overlooking them, Roth spontaneously thought of his own service –side by side with Sirana– when a grunt over the headcomm aborted the nostalgia.

‘Drek, you still make out something?’

‘Not really. Where the ground gets dry you can only guess.’

‘Frak,’ the first cursed. ‘We should’ve brought akk dogs.’

‘It’s 16 ABY, buddy.’

‘Yeah, but my sniffer’s so screwed it must be from before the Sith Wars.’

Davin made an annoyed noise in his throat. ‘That’s no news. Do what you can, where you are, with what you got—and damn cease griping!’

Roth gave a small grin. The commandos back at work, he stepped up to their commander and held out the sleek efficiency of SiranAxum’s latest model. ‘Here,’ he whispered, covering the throat mike, ‘this should do.’


The track led them through brushwood, a sea of waist-high bluish broom and eventually bent off direction a rural farmhouse that, built of amazingly large natural stones, was visible from a long distance.

‘Cark.’ Nash spat. ‘Looks like a chundering rebel hideout.’

‘Or a farmhouse.’

‘What’s the same. Just about any of those barves would stab your back if he got the option.’

‘Keep your hair on, Cadman. You heard what Big D. ordered.’

There was a snort. ‘Wrong message my arse. If but one more of us dies in some frakking ambush, that’s the wrong message.’

That’s right, too. At two stone gateposts that marked the entrance to the grounds, Kix paused. ‘Four to twelve: Surround and go in stealthy. Cadman and I make contact. Marks, Roth, you stay here and cover our backs.’

Despite Nash pinning a twig of broom on his reflec plastron, a girl ahead dropped her washing and ran up to the building.


Talks lasted but minutes. Humping back to the gateposts, Nash kicked the crumbly lane. ‘You believe her?’

‘Why not? The track ending in their barn, it’d only make sense that Dunn got himself some new clothes and headed off to the city.’

‘If that’s true he’s probably long safe. And we’re wasting our time chitchatting with the mothers of rebel bastards!’

‘I made sure we’re informed the very minute he turns up.’

‘Sure. Like they always do what you ask.’

Kix shot a peeved glance. ‘Alright, gentlemen. Gaspar, Cowal, return to the city. Comm the police and check back with the folks at every roadblock and control as well. The others cover the area from here to Salis and make sure he’s not stuck underway.’

The commandos regrouping, Roth stepped up to Kix and approached him in quiet. ‘Commander, if you don’t mind I’d do air recon.’

‘Your speeder’s got sensors?’

‘Yes. I modified a Resource Recon. All I’d need was one of your men to operate.’

Davin nodded. ‘Good thinking. Marks, you’ll escort Roth.’

communication

Two valleys further, two just as black dots crept up an overgrown slope. At snail’s pace, it seemed, the scarfaced and the youth followed the narrow, well-trodden tracks that sheep had been leaving along the hillside. Sun stung. Crows hooting in cloudless sky, the miner’s boots and black overalls they retained from yesterday’s ruse turned muggier and more burdensome by the minute. Far down, now concealed by treetops, murmured the brook. Up here buzzed insects, the air whirred with a tang of sheep droppings and withering thyme, and a swarm of all too pushy flies steadily tussled for the sweat that ran down your face. They made you furious. Till another noise, the distinctive drone of repulsors, made you jump and duck and seek cover under a gnawed on tree.

There they crouched. Side by side, spying through the wickerwork of branches till the roar faded back into crickets’ chirp, the rustling of leathery leaves and flies’ buzzing. ‘They’ll come for their pilot,’ Matheron muttered, then gave Seon an inquiring glance. The youth, once again checking his comm, replied with a shake of his head. No Connection. Still not! Continuing uphill, Matheron frowned. Meant no communication. Not knowing about Cirrian, Rhina or Bowl. No getting picked up—at least not by anyone you’d welcome. To say nothing of getting a message through to the New Republic! Perhaps this dead spot was intentional –an Imperial countermeasure to keep them disorganized– or perhaps they would have net again once they reached this ridge.

Looking round at the frail youth who, the new boots likely having reduced his feet to blisters, set his teeth with every step, he hoped. Unfortunately it was still a good stretch—and in the east, whence now sprang a chillier breeze, the mountain scenery was gradually smudging in a worrying grey.


An hour later, just when they neared the crest, fell the first drops. Thick, splashing balls that came through your uniform, breached gaps to the wind that now came rapidly more chilling. Seon’s face, having been sunburnt and twisted with pain before, slowly but surely took on a look of despair. As in the lee of a man-high, overhanging boulder Matheron decided they take shelter, the boy flopped down, practically collapsed, and huddled his drenched frame against the rock, trembling. Concerned, the elder sat down beside, gave a habitual glance at the comm that but offered no grounds for hope. ‘Well marched,’ he whispered, tugging up the boy’s collar against the wind and rain. ‘Now’s a good time to rest.’


Squalls whipped the ridge; dipped rock and bush in a twilight of roaring, dripping wet grey swaths of which would thrash against and around their boulder. Shortly, you couldn’t make out the opposite slope, or the path they’d come for that matter—but there’s something else: another roar; the drone of repulsors once again and the shape of a bulky, large enough ‘van –from it’s chassis a Sorosuub Resource Recon– that slowly passed then returned and flew towards through the drumming rain. Instinctively, Matheron pulled his blaster, shook up the boy while, some thirty metres above where the ground was level, the speeder hovered to a standstill. Off jumped the pilot –a stocky guy in camo gear and a blast vest– as well as a trooper in ominous black that quickly merged with the pouring rain.

‘Captain Dunn?’ The pilot shouted as they came closer. ‘Captain Dunn, is that you?’

Finger on his lips, Thayer gestured Seon to silence. ‘Lie still,’ he whispered. ‘Aim on the Shadow. As soon as he spots me: Fire.’ With that he limped off ducked across the slope. Seon felt his heart hammer. Rain drummed. His finger cramped around the trigger he followed every movement of the armoured, who suddenly lifted his rifle—the recoil thrust through his wrist. A blue beam briefly glowed around the armoured just when, from his left, a like flash went over the aiming pilot and threw him against a rock. Seeing his target was tumbling yet stood, Seon pulled again and again; till the plated knees buckled and the Shadowman doubled up, bucket-first upon the incline. Seon trembled. Heart pounding, he saw Thayer emerge from behind a rock, give each of them yet another helping before he squatted down and put on the trooper’s helmet. ‘Dead loss.’ The youth heard him say as he moved closer. ‘We keep searching.’

Taking off –wrapped up in an oversized blast vest, nibbling at an Imperial concentrated ration in the windowless rear of the Resource Recon– Seon wondered how long it would take till someone would chance on the trooper; or rather his corpse that –armour replaced by Thayer’s uniform and covered by shrubs and stones– was now taking their place beneath the boulder.

Re: Imperial Renaissance

It was dusk, the sun was setting and the moons were already out. Dusk and dawn are the best times to stage an attack, it’s when the troops are least alert. They either just woke up or really want to go to bed. I was hiding on the third floor of an abandoned apartment building or hotel or, whatever the hell it was. I made sure to stay few feet away from the window and at an angle so I wouldn’t be easily seen, the same way that snipers do to hide their shadows and sihlouettes. I felt like I was back on Ithor standing post. Now I have to sit and wait. Having been in their shoes, I know the stormtroopers would be less than motivated. They would cross cover, clear their corners, check their sectors, but not in the most enthused way, but more in a good enough way to where their squad leader wouldn’t get on their a** about it.

I tried killing time by flicking namana nuts in the air and catching them in my mouth. It took a little while, but once you have it down, you almost have to try to miss. That’s when I heard footsteps. I peaked out the window and saw a tactical column formation of stormtrooper shadows turning from the corner the child told me about. I guess that little kid wasn’t lying. The thermal detonator I stole from the pilot’s shipment was in my hand. I waited till the middle of the patrol was right below me, that way it would force them to split up and cause confusion.

I dropped the detonator, all it had to do was impact against a hard surface, preferably metal. The impact would cause a spark and trigger the baradium. Everything in a 5 meter radius would be turned inside out, everything in a 15 meter radius would be so severely hurt it would wish it was turned inside out. That is, if you remember to flick the spoon off the detonator. I don’t have to explain the look on my face when I saw some random stormtrooper call the patrol to a halt when the grenade did not do it’s intended purpose. Then he was dumb enough to pick it up. Even if the explosive is a dud, never, ever pick it up. When I got up and ran out the room to escape from the building, I heard the thermal detonator explode. The  temperature in the baradium must of rose when it was swooshed around, causing it to become unstable.

What a freak mistake working in my favor.

Explosions were randomly going off throughout the city, must be the TIE bombers. Assuming someone had heard the explosion, they would have reported it in by now. It would take about a half hour for some Private First Class talking with a Lieutenant in the command room to realize they hadn’t received a radio transmission from this squad when they never reached whatever their designated check point was. I had a short amount of time to work. When I walked downstairs and outside, there were numerous stormtrooper parts scattered everywhere. The nearest intact one had puncture wounds on his left rib cage from the shrapnel. He was still conscious, his big stormtrooper helmet eyes looking at me. Tk151, his number was on the back of his helmet. I fireman’s carried him to the first floor where I found a bath tub earlier that day. Days would get pretty hot in Bakura and hardworking vendors would make a living selling blocks of ice from their carts. I bought the biggest block I could find. I had to make sure the vendor walked completely away before I carried the ice in. Even being in good shape, that thing was heavy to carry in. What was I going to do? Ask him to help me drag it in an abandoned apartment building?

I layed him on the block of ice, took Tk151’s helmet off and bashed his face in until he was unconscious.

He woke up a few second ago and found himself partially naked and chained to the tub laying on a block of ice. I had no clue how much time had passed, I just knew he was near the point of dying. His breathing sounded like a hacksaw going through wood, you know, quick and shallow, lips chapped and breaking. I wasn’t going to kill him immediately, that wouldn’t accomplish anything. He still had a chance of surviving if his people found him on time, until then he’d have to suffer until his nerves were so cold they felt like they were almost burning, then respiratory arrest.

I knelt beside him, “did you know…I was in your place once? You know, a prisoner to the enemy.”
He couldn’t speak, he just looked at me with helpless eyes.
“You know, there is a good chance no one is coming for you,” I licked my bottom lip, “there’s nothing personal between you and me, this is just war.”
I had one more thing to tell him, “revenge is a dish best served cold.”

I just had to laugh, only someone like me would find humor is such a literal and grotesque comment.

In mere minutes, stormtroopers, by the battalions, would be out searching the city, if they followed SOP that is. Pissed off guards would wake up from their sleep and stand posts at the check points. This was the worst time to deal with them, they are angry, they want to kill something.

I on the other hand, had to find somewhere to hide…..

Re: Imperial Renaissance

Tk151 armor fit me alittle snug, but it would do for now. It didn't matter anyway, he was left for dead, if anyone cared to follow standard operating procedures, this street would be flooded with battalions of stormtroopers, AT-ATs and what not. I had to find a good hiding place and find one now.

After they would discover he was missing, they would find his body.
Once they verified the body, Lieutenants and Captains would personally check every stormtrooper in the unit to verify everything matched up.
Another massive man hunt would go out. This is called a BOLO or, “Be On the Look Out.”
Houses, ruined buildings, every structure would be poorly searched by a pissed off stormtrooper for armor or someone that possessed the armor that says Tk151 on it.
I had a few hours to about two days at the most.

Nearby, as in rock throwing distance away, was a warehouse that looked abandoned from the outside. It had that creepy, eerie feeling when I walked by it, like it was haunted or there were gangs doing a drug deal inside of it. I went in anyway, nothing could go wrong, I got a blaster rifle. What made me thing that this place was poorly or not even guarded was that there were a good number of windows wide open on the top deck.

Or maybe, if it was guarded, they thought no one would be dumb/ballsy enough to slip right in.

It just takes one very simple, gentle mistake to make something go horribly wrong.

A nurse forgetting one time to wear gloves before giving an IV is the one time she contracts something.
A soldier complaining of misery will take off his flak jacket for five seconds then gets shot in the chest.
A worker was late for work and didn’t put the E brake on his land speeder parked up hill.

If complaceny won’t kill, it will screw things up royally.

I decided to take the door instead and inside I found a surprise even I wasn’t expecting.

The kid that answered wasn’t a day over twenty, he look strikingly familiar. He had two blasters on him and a knife attacked to each limb, a mercenary. It explained the lack of security.

“Stormtroopers have no jurisdiction here, Im sorry, this is a private business,” with that he pointed his blaster at me, I knew who he was now….I took my helmet off…………”Telemachus!?!?! I haven’t seen you since Nar Shadda.”

I remember I fought this kid a couple of times in the bar, but I couldn’t tell you his name to save my life.
“I need a place to hide”
“Come right in…hey, remember when you broke my ribs?”
“Not exaclty…”

My ex-wife will feel much better . . .

Arden Ring, checkpoint Stadia Corridor, outbound. Hovering in a line of speeders, illuminated by the blue lamps of Salis D’aar’s centre, idles a Sorosuub Resource Recon; behind its controls a fully armoured storm commando, matt black visor down; on the backseat Cirrian, Zisah and Seon; wrists zip-tied, pale faces reflecting the bluish light.

Dusk had fallen. Ahead, separating the blue-lit high security zone of Salis D’aar’s centre from the yellow-lit sectors of Dunisai Ring, lay the floodlit checkpoint: a spot in the corridor that was intentionally constricted by rubble and heavy barriers. The two narrow passages, in and out, were besieged by teams of stormtroopers while to the sides, next to the droning generator-powered spotlights, hunched droids in gun emplacements waiting for those who would dare and run.

Wrists tied in her lap, Cirrian tried to calm her breath. She knew it were droids. Though on first glance they looked like humans, Bowl’s report and the thing that –uniform and synth-flesh tattered, cables dangling– had risen from the rubble of an Imperial bar they’d bombed and taken up the chase had sharpened her perception—and the guys over there, that so patiently squatted behind their big guns, looked the same. All machines! She shuddered. Machines that had wreaked havoc among her people already a time prior. Machines that, since she’d been a child, were giving her nightmares—in which she wasn’t alone: Deploying a host of disguised droids all over their capital, the New Order was disregarding a Bakurans’ greatest trauma.

Yet another breach in Dodonna’s farce of friendship and an outstretched hand, that she –apart from pointing to the hope that was General Kontrak– had exposed in the Resistance’s first leaflet –Caratras 21–, that groups of volunteers were circulating since this morning. The thought was cheering. Still, the sight of the checking troopers in front wrecked her nerves: Speeder halting, IDs passed, driver waved through—or ordered to pull over to where another heavily armed five were conducting in-depth investigations. Yet again, one of the speeders coming towards had to pull over. The passengers, a Bakuran couple in their thirties, were roughly dragged out, in no time frisked, handcuffed and taken away.

‘Flarged barves,’ Cirrian muttered. ‘Is it just me or are they being yet more waspish than when we drove in?’
‘No,’ Matheron murmured in reply. ‘Here are more guards and gun emplacements as well. Looks as if something’s happened.’
‘It’d probably be better to postpone looking up that warehouse address,’ fixing the rear view, Cirrian sought his eyes; all she came upon was the matted black of the helmet’s visor. ‘If it actually belongs to Sirana, as you suspect, and he actually uses it to store arms or anything of value, it’ll be thoroughly secured anyway. We’d better wait and bring Obry to take care of possible electronic.’

Matheron shook his helmet, ‘We need to get that through now, before they discover the bodies and start a raid for their missing Commando—or his armour.’
‘That’s right, too,’ joined in Zisah. ‘Where’d you leave that corpse, anyway?’
‘Stuck him into my clothes, erased his face and hid him under a boulder up in the mountains.’
‘That should give us a while.’ Zisah grinned, ‘That is, until they suss it can’t possibly be you, so young and handsome.’
‘Right,’ Matheron ignored the dig. ‘That’s when our cover’s gone west and checkpoints will close on us.’ The speeder in front moving on, he gave a growl, ‘Now gob and look like prisoners for a drokkin’ moment.’

Sweating, once more moistening his lips under the black storm commando helmet, he moved up their Sorosuub and lowered the window.  ‘Convoy of prisoners,’ he forestalled the inspecting stormtrooper’s enquiry in the deadly bored manner of those who’d answered the ever same questions once too many. ‘Destination Salis D’aar Penitentiary.’
 
The checking trooper craned his bucket, took a look at zip-tied Cirrian, Zisah and Seon in the rear, then back at supposed Storm Commando, ‘There’s been an ambush. The passage to the Penitentiary is currently obstructed, but we can take over your prisoners right here.’
Matheron’s mouth turned suddenly dry. ‘Thanks,’ he grunted direction the group of five in wait, ‘But no—I’m not yet done with them.’
The stormtrooper hesitated, momentarily looked back and forth between the driver and his alleged captives before he lowered his voice, ‘You know that we’ve got a protocol.’
Matheron snorted, ‘In this ambush right now, how many of us were killed, mangled or maimed for life?’
The guard still vacillating, Matheron lifted his visor, revealing his lacerated face. ‘Never forget: They’re terrorists!’ He revved up and flicked a salute. ‘Long live the New Order!’


Their vehicle leaving the floodlights, Cirrian looked askance at Thayer who, since he’d returned in that black armour, once more felt like a complete and devious stranger. ‘You’re actually just playing this?’ Tearing at her zip-ties she grumbled. ‘Why, I get the feeling you really enjoy it!’
Glancing back at her in the rear view, Matheron grimaced, ‘About as much as you'd having a shag with me.’  
Cirrian flushed, ‘You’re disgusting!’
He grinned, focused back at the corridor ahead where another ambulance came towards with its sirens wailing. In a distance, about two crossings further, there was a whole concert of flashing blue light. Driving closer, you made out armoured vehicles, a tank and barriers that blocked off the entire corridor; beyond, a huge gathering of police, ambulances and orderlies that carried out mangled troopers on stretchers.

‘Looks they hit a whole unit,’ Matheron kept studying the scene as he forked right –past Salis D’aar Penitentiary– into the third of the city rings where, few hundred meters further, they would have to pass the next checkpoint, ‘I wonder who’s behind this.’ ‘We’ve not scheduled further bombings,’ Cirrian shrugged. ‘Perhaps Kontrak’s men.’ ‘Perhaps,’ he mumbled, when Cirrian’s comm rang. Yanking it out with difficulty due to her bound hands, the camwielder glanced over the small screen. Zisah leaned in, trying to decipher, ‘What is it?’ ‘Good news,’ Cirrian flashed a triumphant smile. ‘A friend’s friend picked up a New Republican agent.’

What? Instantly, Matheron felt his heart speed with anticipation. New Republic. Home. Gavin. But how would an NR agent suddenly have managed to get to Bakura? Or had one been around all the time—watching his every reprehensible move? Or was it a lure? Working for CorSec, the Rebellion, and finally the OPC –under a plotter like Miroslav Channing– had taught him one or two things on scheming—and what better decoy could, for example the Imperial Security Bureau, devise than that of a New Republican agent?

On the backseat, Zisah, Cirrian and Seon however seemed tickled pink. Glancing up from the little screen, the camwielder looked at him expectantly, ‘Now what do you say?’
‘Message back: Before that chap sees any of us, we want to see him kill at the very least one Imperial.’
Her face fell, ‘One would think we’re more of a petitioner in this case. If we come around like this, how likely the New Republic will be inclined to send help?’
Through the rear-view Matheron gave them a serious look, ‘You need to realize one thing: After what we did these past three days, the Imperials will want to eradicate us. Any inquiries made therefore could indicate a sympathizer—or a spy of theirs, ready to infiltrate and blow us away.’


Five minutes later, their Sorosuub hovered through the red-lit industrial area of Bakur Ring. The stormtroopers at checkpoint 33 would report a Storm Commando came through, taking three extremists to the Penitentiary—though perhaps only after he had put them through a little extra payback on behalf of their killed comrades. Around the next corner, the drone of diesel-generators behind having melted into the ongoing wail of sirens, Cirrian stretched out here bound wrists, ‘Now if you could please remove those flarged binders.’
Matheron patted his frame, drew the combat knife that was standard in a Commando’s armour and passed it back, ‘Help yourselves—makes for a good exercise.’

Following Zisah’s directions, they soon made it to the address: A large warehouse that, the once white paint flaking, looked even more dilapidated than the surrounding buildings; and the proprietor of which –judging from how several windows on the top deck stood wide open– seemed rather unconcerned about the structure’s security.

‘Think we’re right?’ Cirrian peered about sceptically.

Zisah shrugged, ‘It is the address specified.’

‘Perhaps a cover.’ Avoiding the radius of the hovering red lamps Matheron let their speeder glide onto the dimly-lit backyard, halted in front of the good’s entrance where there were no windows and gave a glance at his comm. ‘Wait a minute,’ he took the Commando’s rifle from a mounting next to the passenger seat, ‘I’ll check if there’s guards.’

With that he slipped out and sneaked around the building’s corner. Three minutes later reappeared; picked up a handful of gravel—with the armour’s sound-dampening field in action all you heard was a dog’s distant barking and the ongoing wail of sirens—and passed round his comm with a trio of photos: One showing the interior of a warehouse, dimly lit, packed with crates; the next the an inside view of the good’s entrance, right next to a metal staircase leading up to the second story; the third, finally, two humans: A young man with a crew cut, blast vest and two holsters at his hip and a stormtrooper –bald, bucket under his arm, blaster rifle shouldered– apparently in animated chat.

‘The kid to the left’s a mercenary I’d guess,’ Matheron commented. ‘We gotta suppose he can shoot as well. Means we’ll need a distraction.’

Seon looked up, ‘What kind of?’

‘First of all: Everyone set your comms to vibration. Zisah, you sneak around the building. When your comm buzzes, take out the streetlamps on the front. Seon, same back here: Take cover next to this ramp,’ he pointed to the crete access to the good’s entrance, ‘with the signal, give a blast at that lamp,’ his black gloved hand swept upwards indicating an old neon strip flickering above the good’s entrance’s red double gate. ‘That should suffice to short-circuit the building’s lighting. After that, you both see produce some noise: tackle your respective entrances, smash a window, next pick up some gravel and aim for the roof and skylights. Create the impression of a squad entering. Nevertheless maintain your cover; best directly beneath the windows. Cirrian, stay behind the controls and keep a lookout.’ He looked round about. ‘Questions?’

Zisah raised a hand, ‘What should I do if someone runs out?’

‘Other than me: Shoot!’
 

Re: Imperial Renaissance

Arden High…


It didn't take too long for Janus to deem the school a waste of time. Bayner’s address was easy enough for the police droids to pull from Arden's student database but the recent riot on campus meant the kid wouldn’t be back here any time soon. It was possible he had been killed during the riot, but things didn’t look that way for the time being. A casualty list had been compiled following the incident at Arden and his name did not appear as one of the deceased; however it was possible that they just never found the body. Either that or it was vaporized by an overcharged blaster round.

Aside from the address, there wasn't really much to be found at Arden. Making his way back towards the shockball field, he produced a small disc shaped object bearing an odd variant of the Imperial insignia and conducted a quick scan. Since the estimated time of the scandoc's origination overlapped with the time of the school riots, it seemed logical to assume that Bayner was somewhere in the vicinity when he sent it.

The scanner appeared to pick up the source a few clicks away in a long neglected industrial sector that was visible way off in the C ring. It appeared active at first glance due to the plumes of smoke that were still rising in the distance, but with a squinted stare one could still make out a few burning fires, and seemingly fresh damage to the infrastructure where the smoke plumes were originating. Probably the handiwork of the ISB as they attempted to quell the student uprising. A bit excessive, but that was to be expected of them.

The police droids returned to Janus' side as he leaned over a small handrail, glancing out towards the damaged industrial sector.

"We're pretty much done here." One of them stated with convincingly human cadence.

"Send the pictures to Jasra, I'm sure she'd like to see the damage to Arden before finalizing her talking points. Did you get the address?" He asked, already glancing at his pocket comm to see if it had been transmitted. It had.

"Yep." The other droid replied in a different voice from his counterpart.

"..Lovely.." Janus replied, giving the droid an odd glance. It was easy to forget what exactly you were talking to based on the design of these droids. Bakuran riot police in full armor were practically identical in appearance and even their speech patterns and choice of words was very uncomfortable to hear coming from something you knew to be a machine.

Not as impressive as replica droids obviously, but still, quite a feat for something that was capable of being mass produced fairly cheaply. However, unlike the replica droids, these droids operated on a much less powerful processor, meaning they had to abandon much of their behavior emulation protocols if they were forced to focus on a more complicated task, such as combat. They also obviously lacked the advanced synthskin, but that wasn't a huge problem in this case.

---

Janus and the two droids took a Bakuran squad car downtown as not to draw unwanted attention to themselves. As they made their way through traffic, Janus couldn't help but glance out the window. He found talking to these types of droids uncomfortable as he could not tell what they were thinking. Plus the programmed voices of these particular two struck him as creepy.

As the speeder passed over the city below, he caught a glimpse of a group of Bakuran citizens attacking a group of patrolling police droids. It seemed the Bakurans weren't as impressed as he was with their design. Either that or they had already cracked one of them open to discover it wasn't human. In any case, Jasra and Randyl's upcoming media campaign should ease some of the tension, particularly Aath's decision that the droids would be phased out once the actual Bakuran police were properly trained.

---

Spreading the Word…



Though security had been kicked up considerably since Bayner's last visit to Salis Daar, the sewage access tunnels that ran throughout the city were still largely unguarded. From an old water treatment plant sitting outside of the city limits, resistance members were still able to access a series of drainage tunnels that emerged at various spots around the city so long as they traveled in small teams and made sure to steer clear of main access points. As Bayner and Terra made their way through these tunnels into town, they met up with another group of Arden survivors heading in the opposite direction.

“Heyyy Tek, getting a refill?” Bayner asked with a smile as the two teams paused for a moment to shoot the breeze.

His counterpart on the other team only smiled and nodded, flipping his backpack upside down and shaking it to show that he was out of Cirrian's leaflets. “You know it!”

“Have you guys seen any police droids yet?” Terra asked curiously, pulling one of Bayner's leaflets from his bag and pointing to the rough sketch of one of the new police droids that were now said to be roaming the streets of Salis Daar.

That was the rumor going around the resistance anyways. Supposedly one of these things chased someone halfway across the city on foot and when they finally blew it up with a thermite charge it was all gears. Nobody in the resistance really knows if they're all droids, but most people seem pretty sure. Cirrian probably more vocally than anybody else, always saying the Bakuran population would never work to suppress its own people.

“You kidding? City’s crawling with 'em!” The other team replied with a chuckle, turning to his teammates to share in what was apparently a very obvious joke.

“Are they dangerous?” Terra seemed asked nervously..

“Well, no….." One of the other team members began. "Not really, they just sorta stand around these checkpoints asking for ID. Just don't go near any of 'em and you guys should be straight..”

"ID? I think I still have my driver's license on me.." Bayner began to check his pockets but was quickly stopped by the other team leader.

"Nahhhh. They set up some new ID system since we've been gone. Trust me you don't have one. If they catch you without one they'll just arrest you if you're lucky…"

"If we're lucky?.." Terra asked.

"Yea.. just stayyyy away from the checkpoints.. simple as that.." The other squad leader replied as he and his team continued on in the opposite direction.

Bayner gave Terra a worried look upon that last bit of information, but he only received a cheery, confident smile in return as she hoisted her basket full of fliers a bit higher on her shoulders and continued on. Her confidence made him feel a little bit better, as much better as he was going to feel anyways. She had been quite enthusiastic regarding the resistance since she healed up and her high spirits seemed to be bringing other people up with her. Still, he didn’t particularly like the idea of her putting herself in danger by volunteering for these pamphlet dumps, but then again, it was arguably safer than staying in the mines all day as the Imperials carpet bombed the hillside.

---

Crossing Paths…



Janus had the droids park the squad car in an alleyway a few blocks off from Bayner's address as it didn't appear too beneficial to be seen with the Bakuran police based on what he saw on the ride over.

"Stay here." He said as he exited the squad car, pausing for a moment to notice that the droids turned on the radio and reclined their seats in response to his last command.

As he made his way towards the address, he was relieved to see that this particular section of town appeared to be more civil. A handful of police droids were stationed at various checkpoints along the center ring, but they weren't particularly noticeable if they weren't on your mind. Downtown was still fairly busy, even at this hour. With all the foreign companies on Bakura, the nearby financial sector and the neighboring commercial sector were alive late into the night

Crowds flooding into the subway tunnels to head to work made up only a small portion of the morning foot traffic. Restaurants were open all night due to the large demand from contractors working revolving shifts. Even at this hour, kiosks were still set up all along the walkways with Salis Daar natives peddling a wide variety of Bakuran memorabilia and traditional meals to offworlders . Overall, the pace of Salis Daar's central square hadn't slowed a bit since the invasion. In fact, city business had probably doubled with the infusion of so many offworld companies and their reconstruction efforts.

Even so as Janus made his way through one of the checkpoints to the next ring the scars of conflict were still visible. Large chunks of debris still lined the walkways, having fallen from one of the nearby skyscrapers that was apparently damaged either during the initial invasion or during the insurgent bombing raids that followed.

Janus let out a bit of a frustrated sigh as he stood before the address he had acquired from the school database. A large section of duracrete appeared to have fallen onto the building from a nearby skyscraper, crumbling the top three floors of the structure, including Bayner's listed address.

"Oh…that's great…" Janus replied with a shake of the head and his hands planted on his waist, unconsciously imitating the rustic Corellian accent of one of the two police droids.

"Tell me about it…" A man's voice emanated from behind him.

As Janus turned around to face the voice, he noticed a man and woman staring at the same building from behind him.

Janus gave a casual nod towards the crumbled building behind him. "You guys used ta' live here?" He asked, adding a bit of thickness to his current accent.

The man and woman nodded. "For 5 years…" The man finally replied, obviously a bit pained by the loss of his home.

Janus shook his head in sympathy. "Wow, I'm sorry ta' hear that.." He began as he extended the credit chip towards them. "Hey I'm sorry to get straight to business here but I'm looking for a kid who stays at this address…" He continued, producing a small crumpled piece of paper from his inner jacket pocket. "…a uhh… Bahnyur Cairdik?" He said, intentionally mispronouncing the name a tad.

The couple exchanged a nervous glance before responding. This was a cue for Janus to skim over their surface thoughts. Nothing of use. He figured they might be Bayner's foster family waiting near the their ruined 'home' to report to Intel, but no such luck.

"Bayner?" The man finally replied, correcting Janus' pronunciation in the process. "Hmm… haven't seen that kid around in…" He paused to glance at his wife for help in remembering as it had apparently been a while. "…what, maybe 5 months or so?"

"Yea?" Janus said, pulling out his phone and glancing at it casually, about to act as if he was being pulled away by someone on the comm line. "He lives here though right?"

"Well… not anymore. His parents died during the bombing attack but they told us a couple months back that he usually stays with his girlfriend at the Odo residence uptown anyways…" The man began.

"Wait.. Odo?" Janus interrupted as the name struck him as familiar. "You mean.. Senator Odo?"

"That's the one. Bayner and the senator's daughter are apparently inseparable." The man replied.

"Huh… you don't say…" Janus pondered for a moment.

"Yep.." The man replied, only now becoming somewhat curious about the line of questioning. "Why would you be looking for him anyways?"

"Hmm?" Janus replied, buying a second or so while he thought up a believable response. "..Oh well, he was listed as one of the survivors of the Arden riots and we just wanted to ask him a few questions. Try 'ta complete the picture ya' know?"

"Oh… are you with the Empire?" The woman asked.

"Nahhhh nah, SDPD(Salis Daar Police Department.)." He said, flashing a badge vice style and probably having a bit more fun with that motion than he should. "We're mostly just trying to account for missing people. Well anyways, thanks for your time folks, give us a call if you find anything else." Janus produced a business card with the SDPD logo and a contact line to one of his droid officers.

---

On his way back to the squad car, he had to make his way back through the checkpoint into the central ring, the line for which was much longer than the one heading out. Something he could easily bypass with his SDPD credentials but before he could make his way to the front of the line he was approached by a young girl with a flower basket full of fliers.

"I know you're in a hurry sir but wouldn't you like to try a free massage at our new parlor?" The rather attractive girl said with a smile and a suggestive wink.

She barely managed to get her entire pitch out before Janus raised an open palm to halt her as he tried to continue on. "I'm sorry… I really should be…", was all he was able to get out before she placed an arm on his shoulder.

"Please sir? Just take a coupon? My boss will fire me if I can't attract new customers…" The girl replied, giving his shoulder an indiscriminate rub.

He wasn't particularly interested, but at the same time he didn't want the girl to potentially get fired over something so trivial. "Alright alright…" He said, taking the coupon that was extended towards him and tucking it away into his jacket pocket without giving it a glance. "Thanks…" He said, as he continued on.

---

"Done already?" One of the police droids asked as Janus re-entered the squad car's back seat.

"The address was hit during one of the bombing raids so there wasn't much to find but we still have a few more leads to check out."

"We're not heading out there right now are we?" The other droid replied in a tone that suggested it didn't particularly feel like doing that.

Janus sneered a bit before responding. "You two are.." He said, tossing a small disc shaped scanner to the front seat where it landed in the driver's lap. "Take a couple more of you and head down to this location. See if you can find any debris from a scandoc launcher. I think I'm gonna call it a night."

It had been a long day after all. That free massage wasn't sounding too bad now, but as he pulled the flier out of his pocket to find an address, he would find a rather interesting piece of reading material.

---

On the Air….


"No no no! We don't call them an 'Occupation force' we call them a 'Security force!'" Jasra barked at Anws Jotter as he read his lines behind the desk of the restored 'Good Morning Salis Daar!' set.

"Oh come on! What's the difference??" Jotter retorted.

Jasra sighed before beginning her explanation in an overly condescending tone "…An occupation force carries a negative connotation…. A security force suggests protection… Was that sufficiently simplified for you or do you require illustrations like you do on the holoprompter?"

Jotter threw his arms up in frustration and began to push back at Jasra verbally. "You act as if the people are gonna bend over for the Empire if things are just worded 'nicely'" He said making quotation fingers.

"Alright alright…" Randyl said, trying to diffuse the situation by entering the conversation and simultaneously placing an arm around Jasra's shoulders. "Let's just get this first show done with and you guys can worry about tweaking it later."

Jasra huffed slightly before muttering her next phrase under her breath. "We won't be able to replicate the ratings for the first broadcast after the invasion. Getting things right the second time will not be as effective." She said, placing emphasis on the last two words as she directed a sneer towards Jotter with arms folded across her chest.

Jotter took a deep inhale as if he was about to let her have it, but Randyl held up a palm, urging a calm.

Randyl tugged Jasra in a bit closer with the arm still wrapped around her shoulders and took a moment to whisper in her ear. "Look I know this guy's a pain but he's the most popular news personality on Bakura. We need him to make this work. So how about if you can keep from killing him, I'll take you out for drinks tonight, hm?" He said with a smirk and a playful tone.

Jasra turned her head towards him upon hearing the last part of his proposal but apparently not enough to actually look at him. Returning her glance to Jotter she took a deep breath before responding. "…Fine…" She finally whispered in what may have been her shortest phrase ever.

"Alright then.." Randyl said, straightening out and returning his voice to it's normal volume level as he began to make for the stage exit. "I'm gonna head over to congress and see if I can't make a few friends… are you two gonna play nice?"

"Yess.." Jotter and Kaar both replied dryly in unison as if replying to a 3rd grade teacher.

Randyl gave Jasra a final smirk and a quick wink before popping out the door.

"So can we… please… like discuss this politely? Because I really think I've got a few ideas that will give this campaign a more genuine Bakuran feel to it that would really be crucial for what…" He was cut off by a cartoonish tune that as Jasra's pocket-comm went off.

"Mmm.." Jasra replied with a sarcastic tilt of the head that dripped with mock sympathy as she retrieved the comm, turned her back to Jotter and took the call. "Jasra speaking." She replied as Jotter returned to furiously editing his script.

"Have you seen these?" Janus' voice replied on the other end.

Jasra's brow scrunched a bit as she removed the comm from her ear and took a glance at the screen. The display showed some sort of flier printed on ratty paper with the words 'Free massage' printed in large letters at the top followed by several paragraphs of smaller text. "Why in the world would I care about this? Are you trying to make me jealous? It is not my business what type of prostitutes you choose to associate yourse.."

"Read the smaller text please?" Janus' irritated voice replied on the other end.

Jasra gave another sigh as she squinted and began to breeze through the smaller text. "Hmmm, fine let's see here……dadadadadada..Bakura….dadadadadadada..Invasion…dadada..injustice…dadadadadadadada………….police…droids….. Hmm… I see…. Where did you get this?"

"A young girl was handing them out on the street, claiming they were 'free massage' coupons."

"How young would you say?"

"16 or 17 I'd guess." Janus replied.

"…and you still took the flier? Hmm.. not surprising. In any case, this could indeed be a problem. If not for us, then for Willem."

"Uh huh.." Janus said, ignoring the initial and uncalled for snip at him. "..well I would run that by Willem before finalizing your talking points. Just riding around town I already saw a few citizens attacking the police droids and that could get out of hand quickly. I'm not sure how long these leaflets have been in circulation, but I'd try to get him on the show if you can. He's pretty good at dealing with these types of situations."

"Noted." Jasra said before clicking Janus off and immediately redialing Willem. "C'mon…. c'mon c'mon c'mon." She muttered to herself as the device dialed.

Re: Imperial Renaissance

“We running? Okay. This is Tek Trebloc and, good morning, Bakura! We’re here at the Salis’Daar Police Department with the new trainees and the Imperial instructors. Right now, we have Willem von Aath sitting with us, and he’ll answer some questions we’ve had about the state of Bakura. Willem, thank you for joining us.”
   
Willem was standing with his arms folded across his chest, wearing a short-sleeve khaki uniform, like the rest of the instructors, and a black nameplate on his right breast was really the only thing that identified him as the newest ally of Dodonna. He wore a black ballcap that the rest of the instructors wore, with ‘PTADF’, the acronym for the Police Training and Defense Force, emblazed on the front part of the cap. His last name was shorted on the side, in white ink, like the rest of the instructors. His rank symbol was missing, replaced with a police force badge.
   
“No problem.” He spoke over the yells of the sergeants giving orders and the fire of blasters in the old Bakuran Military drill square, now the parent facility of the Salis’Daar Police Department. The sun was in the air, for once, and the wet Bakuran weather was strangely taking a break.
   
“Recent evidence points towards droids being used for security. The people of Bakura do not trust nor incline to use them or even associate themselves with them after what happened long ago. Why are you using them with the police?”
   
“That’s more of a question for General Ankar Hadric, but I can answer that question for you. Unfortunately, the Bakuran PDF was disbanded and the soldiers sent home, so we couldn’t re-activate much of the PDF or police officers. The Advanced Combat Droids we’re employing will be phased out in the next six months by these fine Bakurans here, or military contractors who’ve been through several intense security checks.”
   
“Why the heavy scrutiny?”
   
“Well, do you want a potential madman running security checkpoints? “
   
Tek chuckled, nodding negatively.
   
“What about business? The Bakuran Stock Market has dropped…”
   
“And it has also risen in the past few days with the announcement of the SiranAxum conglomerate moving business to Bakura to bolster its productivity. Jobs with higher income at low-level positions are coming soon, which means the credits can easily distribute themselves among the lower income population. We understand how flawed the income was for those citizens, which now make up about fifty percent of the economy.”
   
“Let’s talk about the growing resistance in Salis’Daar. There are reports that more bombings are going off. Those are lies, correct?”
   
“No.” Willem said, looking over his shoulder to the police trainers, who stunned a cadet with a military-grade taser, the kid shaking and yelling, as per training to get the kids the feel to use that weapon.
   
“Excuse me?” Tek asked, taken aback by the admission of the resistance effectiveness.
   
“The bombings have been hitting targets both in a military fashion, and in a civilian mindset. But, the effectiveness of the bombs are deadly. So far, twelve soldiers have fallen to the bombings, but over…what’s the number…” Willem stopped talking as he looked at the ground for a moment.
   
“I think fifty civilian casualties? They’ve been effective at killing civilians more so than troopers under mine and Dodonna’s command.”
   
“How is the transfer of power going?”
   
“There is none. Dodonna has his plans, and I have mine. We each have a different job to do on this planet.”
   
“So the power is evenly split?”
   
“Not only that, but our relationship is very healthy and friendly…Oh, look over there. They’re preparing for IED training.” Willem spoke up, pointing towards a group of trainees who were gathering around another instructor and a pile of rubble, marked with florescent green markers. Willem smiled as he folded his arms again, unaware that the camera was still rolling, or that it was live.
   
“That’s Trainee Baker and Instructor-Major Namck. Baker himself is one of the best recruits I got.”
   
“I’m sorry, Admiral Aath, but we don’t have a lot of time to run. It’s hard to run this live, and…”
   
“Oh, you’re running live? I’m sorry!” Willem smiled.
   
“No problem, Admiral. And, might I add, even though you have an old appearance, most of the men we’ve interviewed earlier today say you’re much like them; in terms of physical activity especially apparently, where you showed them hand-to-hand combat techniques that took out some brave spirited trainees here.” Tek said with a smile, Willem smiling in return and nodding in unison.
   
“Heh, yeah, they told you about that?”
   
On his belt, a radio whistled.
   
“Admiral, requesting your assistance on the IED exercise.”
   
“On my way, Major. I’m sorry, Mister Trebloc, but they need me to help there.”
   
“No problem, Admiral Aath. Thank you for the interview.” Tek turned his body to face the holocam, and smiled. “This is Tek, back to you, Awns!”

   

Jotter immediately spoke up when the camera came back to him.
   
“And we have a copy of those interviews with the future members of the SDPD right here! We’ll show them for you.”
   


   
Tek was sitting in front of a group of Bakuran trainees, a stylus in his hand as he wrote down notes while they spoke. The one speaking first, a Bakuran man with a little stubble on his face and his nametag reading ‘BAKER’, was talking in a low tone, but boisterous. A smile was on his lips as he re-stated Tek’s earlier question.
   
“What made me join the new SDPD…I wanted to serve the military, but I wasn’t that old and my father wanted me to farm crops with him until the next season, and it rolled on and then I noticed all of the problems the new government would have to contend with. I mean, I’ve read the books about occupations, and I think I can help out with clearing out IEDs, arresting burglars, you know…being a police officer.”
   
“So you think that you can make a difference out there in the field?” Tek asked, his hand quickly writing down his response, giving him time to look back up and acknowledge the Bakuran PD trainee.
   
“Oh, definitely. I’m here for my family’s safety.”
   
“Admirable. And what about you, Kilgore?”
   
“I’m in the same boat as Baker here. I served in the Bakuran Military before I retired for a year to help my family get through hard times. I wanted to serve to save people on the streets. If I can save one life, I’ve done a good job.”
   
Tek nodded, then breathed in for a moment.
   
“What about Admirals Aath and Dodonna?”
   
Kilgore continued to speak.
   
“I don’t know much about Dodonna, but Aath’s been here and he’s a great commander. He’s done a lot for us here at the facility, and…all of them, you think? All of the soldiers we’ve met from Muunilinst speak highly of him.”
   
“Well, let’s talk about him for a second. Why do you like him?”
   
The man paused for a second, before he spoke up.
   
“I like him because he got physical with us on the training mats. He’s hands-on. And plus, he treats me with the same respect as he does with the training Captain. I never saw that in the Bakuran Army.”
   
“And you, Baker?”
   
“I like him because he knows what he’s doing. That’s a plus for me.”
   
Tek nodded, putting down his datapad and smiling.
   
“Well, do you guys have anything else to say for the Bakurans at home?”
   
Baker shook his head no, but Kilgore nodded yes. The cameraman zoomed his lens onto the Bakuran Trainee.
   
“It’s only going to get better for us from here. At least with us on the streets.”
   
Tek smiled, and turned towards the camera.
   
“I’m Tek Trebloc, signing off.”

   

Willem sat down in the briefing room, tired.
   
He leaned back in his seat, still wearing the khaki uniform, his eyes closing, and the packed momentum of the interview earlier leaving his body quickly. He breathed in, and before he could take a quick break from the work, his line buzzed.
   
“Sir, I got two calls for you, one a message and one on the other line.”
   
“Give me the message first.”
   
“Miss Kaar wanted to inform you that you couldn’t have done better with the broadcast.”
   
Willem let his head rest against his fingers, understanding that it was good for the Imperials.
   
“And the other line is your daughter, sir.”
   
“Oh! Put her through!”
   
The holocam fizzed, before a woman’s face appeared onto it, crystal clear in clarity to show every facet of her face as she looked around
   
Her eyes were of the lightest shade of green, a piercing quality that the blue three dimensional hologram displays couldn’t convey across the stars of the Galaxy. She noticed her father, which let her adapt onto her face a gentle and soft smile that seemed to be easily pressed onto her, like smiling was a natural occurrence for her. Her teeth were straight, her nose bridge slightly crooked, and she was smiling. The woman Willem was viewing was viewing was beautiful to him, because it was his own kin.
   
“Elina! It’s great to hear from you!”
   
“Heh, me too, Dad!”
   
“You know, we can move your plant’s operations here to…”
   
“Come on, Dad, you’re breaking two rules there.” She spoke, a small laugh leaving her lips. Willem smiled, forgetting a couple of rules he and his daughter Elina had surmised in the protection of both their interests. Willem wouldn’t tell her where he was if he was under cover again, or if it would compromise her business, as well as his.
   
“I know. But I am serious.”
   
“I know, trust me. Our corporation is a healthy partner with the SiranAxum Corporation. We got order forms for…Eriadu…but my boss is thinking about moving the headquarters there to more easily facilitate the movement of the factory products.”
   
“So you’re coming here?”
   
“Yup!” She said with that trademarked smile that made Willem glow. She was too much like her mother, he thought, as he smiled back.
   
“Great! I guess that means you can spend more time with me and Castin than you usually…”
   
“Castin’s there?”
   
“Yes, he is.”
   
“He didn’t yell at you for assigning him to your fleet?” She asked, leaning back, a knowing smirk on her face as she talked about her brother, Willem’s son. Castin Aath was a TIE Pilot and member of the Night Stalker Deep Strike Squadron, which was now permanently stationed with the Nightbringer.
   
“No, not yet. He’s avoiding me, I think,” He rubbed his head, helping himself to another smile. “He’s an Aath. He wants to escape the walls of his name and become something better. In ten years, I bet I’ll be hearing about the great Castin Aath and how he defeated forces ten times his own.”
   
“Heh, well, what do you expect, Dad? He takes too much after you.” She giggled, letting a sigh escape her lips after her laughter died down.
   
“I love you, Elina.”
   
“I love you too, Dad. I have to get back to work, but I just wanted to talk.”
   
“I’m glad you did. It’s rough here.”
   
“I’m sure it’ll be fixed in no time, Dad. I know you.” And then the face shimmered into nothingness, the line ended on her end. Willem leaned back and smiled, now that his job had a meaning to it.
   
Make it safe for her. Last thing you need is for her to get hurt.

Re: Imperial Renaissance

Lieutenant Paron Emyn's personal gear was still back at the controller's barracks; she hadn't wanted to haul a full duffel all over the Star Destroyer while exploring for Commander Bal'ak's quarters. But her earlier cordiality toward the dockmaster proved to have been a good investment. Upon her return, he proved willing to let her clean up and change into uniform in the pilot's locker room.

"I do not want to keep Commander Bal'ak waiting," she explained as she collected her duffel and headed for the showers. When she reemerged a few minutes later, scrubbed clean and freshly dress-uniformed, the controller that was Paron Emyn was gone completely and the TIE pilot was ascendant.

A turbolift took her to the Paladin's barrack level where Bal'ak had his quarters– he still had not moved into Dunn's yet.

"Lieutenant Paron Emyn to see Commander Bal'ak," she said to the stormtrooper at the entrance of the level. "I am expected."

The trooper consulted his datapad. "You will find his quarters on the end of the corridor, Lieutenant. Just follow the signs for Twenty-Five A through F."

After a chime of the bell, the doors slid open, revealing the new leader of the Black Paladins. Laakim Bal'ak himself was a lean man, a little on the tall side for a TIE pilot, with dark hair and a complexion deep tanned to compliment his goatee. He came forward to greet her at the door.

"Lieutenant Paron Emyn," he said.

He sounded genuinely pleased by her arrival, and Paron had to remind herself that the Commander was younger than he looked. His true age didn't show in his appearance or in his general bearing, but she had delved into the history behind his meteoric rise to the rank of Commander– now Acting Captain. Mixed in with the triumphs– his gaining of being XO with the departure of their last one, and now the leader of the Paladins after the tragedy of Captain Dunn– she had seen other, more disquieting things.

His reaction of what happened to Dunn, for example. Bal'ak clearly didn't bother to make an effort to at least stay a few minutes to search for his superior officer, despite the risk it took. An Imperial officer would never leave a man behind unless it was completely hopeless. She knew the Paladins were passionately loyal to Dunn and would take the risk to find their captain and confirm if he was alive or dead. It was almost if Bal'ak planned it– though making that accusation would certainly end her starting career as a pilot.

All this passed through her mind as she weighed the proper response to Bal'ak's greeting. The tone of the evening was social, rather than official– their meeting was in private quarters rather than in public space, and food and drink were on offer– but not too social, since Bal'ak wore his olive drab uniform rather than a pilot's suit.

Paron settled for making eye contact and giving him a nod in reply. "Captain Laakim Bal'ak."

"Have you eaten?" he asked.

"Breakfast this morning only, sir," she said. "Before making our way to our mission on Bakura."

Laakim gestured toward the table she had glimpsed earlier. It stood in a window nook overlooking the sphere of Bakura. "Join me, then."

"Happily, Captain."

The meal that waited for them turned out to be much like the room it was served in: everything of the best quality, but all of it plain to the point of simplicity.

"I suppose you are wondering why I have summoned you here?" Bal'ak asked. He filled his plate with sliced roast meat and boiled greens as he spoke. "Are you nervous?"

<I>In more ways than one</I>, she thought. "Yes."

"Don't be. I called you here to brief you on your performance of our last mission. But please, serve yourself."

Paron began filling her own plate. After not having had a chance to eat since leaving the <I>Ravisher</I> that morning, even plain meat and greens were going to taste good.

"So what is the review of my performance?" she asked. "Did I impress enough to make it in the ranks?"

He nodded. "From starting out as a controller to flying a TIE Bomber in such a short time impressed even me. You must have spent quite a deal of time inside the simulators. You must have had help in training?"

"Perhaps," she said, "I desired to see for myself what the feeling of being a TIE pilot was made of."

"And did you?"

She gave him a quick, predatory grin, feeling for a moment more determined to be a TIE pilot than anything else. "Oh, yes."

"I trust you found it satisfactory?"

"Had what I experienced not pleased me, I would have returned back to my post as a controller."

Bal'ak looked satisfied by the answer, and Paron Emyn allowed herself another, more inward smile. She placed her empty plate on the table.

"Very well, Lieutanant." He placed his on the table. "I've spoken to Admiral Dodonna and the TIE Bomber captain about your performance and have noted a recommendation in your file. As of this hour, you are promoted into the TIE ranks and will remain as a bomber pilot as your experience and training continues. Eventually, if your performance improves, you will be promoted to a TIE squadron and fly an actual starfighter. And if you still improve after that, joining the Paladins may be an option in your future."

He extended a hand. "Congratulations, Lieutanant. You have taken a step into a new world."

"Thank you, Captain." She took his hand and shook it, then immediately saluted. "I will not let our ranks down."

"You will report to the same bomber squadron tomorrow. Your captain will now begin advanced training." He allowed himself a smile. "Just keep the Paladins as a goal in your mind and we will meet again."

"I will. I just wish Captain Dunn was here so I could tell him."

Bal'ak stiffened. "I'm sure he would be proud." His tone suddenly became serious. "You are dismissed."

"Yes, sir." She allowed herself out of his quarters.

Re: Imperial Renaissance

Kix Davin paused on the high ridge, just below the crest line. He took care to stand in the shelter of a large boulder so as not to show up against the late afternoon sky. Eventually night will come, and the winding trail below was already half in shadow. The storm commando glared through his electrobinoculars one last time.

Here on the high ground the wind was keen, cutting through his black bodysuit, making him wish the rains would cease earlier. Standard-issue storm commando armor did well enough for the warm weather in the lowlands, but the cold posed a danger all year round on the higher slopes and could kill a commando as dead as any insurgent. Drek and Nash didn't understand the changeable Bakuran weather; he would have to keep an eye on both of them.

He scrambled back down the slope and into the shelter of the trees. The trail that began to lead back to Salis D'aar wasn't far. It was a dirt track, not meant for the use of vehicles. Kix was still in a somber mood when he joined Drek, Nash, and what remained of his unit as they broke camp.

"Find anything out there?" Nash asked.

He shook his head. "No sight of any of Thayer's men. But no sign of our missing pilot, either. Dunn should at least left a trail of bread crumbs to make our job easier."

"I wonder if he made it back. Unless the speeder bike ran out of fuel," Drek wondered.

"If it did, he could be several miles in any direction," Kix said. "Unfortunately, which direction?"

"Well, the maps state this trail is the fastest route back to the capital," Drek said. "Further north there's another pass, but that adds another two or three days to the trip even if the pass is clear. There is also another trail to the south, but it's even further out of Dunn's way than the north one. No, this is where Dunn had to come through. Right here in this dirt track."

Nash appeared more eager than sensible. "Here? You sure? After all, it has been a while since we heard from Roth and Marks– and they came through here."

"It makes sense," Kix said. "Here is where we continue our search. From this point on, we will stick to this trail. Knowing Dunn, he will constantly be in hiding from capture, especially in these woods. A single man or woman is a lot harder to see in the woods than a machine."

Drek heaved his gear over his shoulder. "And we have a lot less chance of being spotted by insurgents."

Davin shouldered his own pack and pulled his E-11 blaster rifle out. "We don't have to worry about being spotted. We're the ones to spot them, and we tell the people who <I>can</I> stop Thayer's men where to go find them. Remember, we're on a rescue mission."

"As long as they don't shoot first," Nash said. He was still rummaging through the supplies in his pack. "Six thermal detonators. Power packs. Food rations. Water. Right then." He arranged the items as he named them, then placed it over his shoulder. "What direction then?"

"That way," Kix said. He pointed to the trail of loose rocks and conifers that covered the lower slopes. "We can see down the pass in both directions. And that's the way Thayer's goons are going to approach, if they're looking for the same prize."

"You think they know of Dunn by now?" Drek asked. "If they knew any better, they would be searching the wreckage first. We didn't find any signs of anyone else spotting it but us."

"He has a point, Kix," Nash said.

"Well, maybe they did already," Kix conceded. "Just the same, it is now a race. Thing is, they will be bringing vehicles and if so, they'll have to come along here. But us, we're walking. So we can go wherever we want."

"Then I want to go out for a drink," Nash said.

"We'll have drinks together afterward," Kix promised. "All of us, and I'm buying the first round. But right now we have a job to do. <I>If</I> Thayer's men are really searching for Dunn, they are going to have people ranging out ahead of their column and off the marked roads, doing the same kind of thing that we're doing. As soon as we run into one of those units, we'll know that the main body is coming up not far behind."

Nash said, "If that's the case, we'll need to quiet them before they realize they already have company." He grinned. "I wouldn't mind meeting one of them now– on a purely social basis that is."

"You'd like to meet <I>anybody</I> on a purely social basis," Drek replied.

"It doesn't matter," said Kix firmly. "We have one thing on our side that Thayer and his insurgents don't."

"And that is?" asked Drek.

"Our ImpStars above," Kix said. "Knowing Dodonna and his concern for Traven Dunn, he is probably having the <I>Ravisher</I> scoping this area and sending their scanned images to our datapads from space. Which reminds me–"

"What is it, boss?"

He glared to Nash. "Get on the secure channel again and try to raise Marks and Roth. They are way overdue and I am starting to worry. If you finally get a hold of them, let them know of our location and find out theirs."

"And if nothing?"

"Then I suppose we are going to search for three instead of one, eh?"

Re: Imperial Renaissance

<i>Are you here to meet the resistance?</i>

The sentence was still in Traven’s ears as he waited for Melnia’s return. As the doctor had asked him that question, a lot of considerations went through Traven’s mind almost with the speed of light. One side of him thought that it was important to contact his ship, telling them that he was alive. But how could he do that without being suspicious? Contacting an Imperial Star Destroyer while being in a makeshift hospital of the resistance wouldn’t be a smart move at all. As nice and helpful Doctor Melnia Nellan had been as she treated his wound, Traven was sure she wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him into his healthy leg if she found out that he was an Imperial officer. Also on the other side it was the perfect chance to infiltrate the Bakuran resistance. A perfect chance to end the situation on this planet faster and hopefully with less civilian casualties. Traven knew by experience that some militaries in the fleet wouldn’t wince at the thought of causing collateral damage.

So the only answer Traven could give had been: “Yes, I’m sent by the NRI to find out how the situation lies.”  He was surprised about himself how easily some lies came over his lips. That he was a NRI agent on a recon mission after they had gotten a transmission from an escaping freighter. That it was important for him to speak with the resistance. Vital for Bakura. Melnia believed him. She didn’t ask any question, just went to get in touch with her contact.

The time seemed to crawl while Traven waited. But suddenly he became terribly aware of the cold metal of his dog tags underneath his shirt. If the resistance would frisk him and found his IDs, Traven would be in a real fix. Quickly he took them off. He had them still in his hand, pondering where to hide them, as he heard steps coming closer. There was no time for thinking, so Traven used the next best hiding place. With his foot he pushed his dog tags in a small gap under the cabinet, he was sitting next to. Hopefully no Bakuran would be so finical to clean that spot.

Melnia looked pale as she entered the room again. Traven frowned. “Are you all right?” The doctor sighed. “I spoke to my contact. And there is a…” She was searching for the right word. “a requirement.” Traven nodded slowly. “I understand. What kind of requirement?” Melnia sat down next to him. “Traven, I can quote only. They said: <i>Before that chap sees any of us, we want to see him kill at the very least one Imperial.</i>”

The doctor fell silent, while Traven just stared at her for a long moment. “That is ridiculous.” He said finally, shaking his head. Melnia nodded and shrugged at the same time. “I don’t like it either. But that’s what they want.” Traven got up from his seat. “You know that I am on a recon mission. I am more of a scout than an assassin.” Melnia looked miserable. “I know. I wish there would be another way.” Traven started to pace, ignoring the returning pain in his leg as he tried to think of an idea. “There is another way.” He said decisively. “The situation is that if I kill an Imperial, it will not help at all. With that act the resistance would go down to the level of the Empire. It would be fighting fire with fire, just causing an escalation. I shoot one Imp, they shoot two Bakurans.  The only one winning, will be arms manufacturer.”

Traven stopped pacing, going down on one knee, so that he was eye to eye with the still sitting Melnia. She had been friendly to him. Traven had seen what she was doing for the suffering civilians, the true victims of the ongoing war between Empire and so-called New Republic. He hated himself for his next move, as he took her hands into his.  As he lied to her without batting an eye.

“Melnia, I need you to trust me. I know what to do in such situations. Your resistance doesn’t. They are just civilians. Courageous, but still just simple people, who aren’t as trained as I am. You can bring me to their place without the murder they want as evidence for my loyalty. If I would be an Imp, do you really think that the IG-Droids would have fired at me? If I would be one, a full platoon of stormtroopers would attack this building already because of the conspiracy going on here.” Traven smirked a little to emphasise the laughableness of him being an Imperial. “Bring me to their place and I will explain my point to them.”

She believed him.

***  

Traven knew that the rebel hideouts in holomovies were clichés, so he expected neither a flashy high tech place nor a cold dark cave. But this was almost pathetic. They were in an apartment building in the working class area of the city. Melnia used a keycard to open the door to the flat, but that seemed to be the only modern technology around. The flat was furnished in an old-fashioned way. By the whole style Traven almost expect an old lady welcoming them.  But the dust covering the furniture made clear that the residents didn’t use this place for living anymore.  

In the living room between stacks of flyers two men were waiting. Their eyes were on Traven as Melnia introduced them.

“Elleck, Obry, this is Traven. He’s here to help us.”

Re: Imperial Renaissance

Kix Davin stood up from the rest area with his belly full of the comfort that came from hot tea and field rations, and paused a moment to sniff the cooling air before putting his helmet back on. Here in the edge of the outskirts of Salis D'aar, scents of fuel and torn earth predominated, but behind it all he could smell rain coming– not today, and probaby not tomorrow, but before three days were out for sure. And if looking for one stranded pilot in bad weather was anywhere near as bad as simply camping and fighting in it could sometimes be, then his team and Thayer's men alike were in for an uncomfortable time.

He spotted his fellow troopers Drek and Nash following behind after packing their rations up. "Drek. Nash– come over here."

"What is it, boss?" Nash asked.

Kix gestured toward the looming hills and forests, their lower slopes given a rosy tint by the descending late afternoon sun. "We're going to approach that taller hill and attempt one last contact for Marks and Roth," he said. "If we can't raise them, then we're going to triangulate their active tracking chips hidden under their skin. Hopefully, they are still working. The higher elevation should give us more range. The trees are interfering too much."

"I don't like this at all," Drek said. "Something tells me they met foul play."

"Point is, we don't know. We have to go through the motions until we are sure. For now, let's get going. We're wasting time." Kix motioned them forward toward the hills ahead. Beyond them was the city.

***
Thirty minutes they attempted to contact their two missing comrades. A sharp gust of wind blew up the loose dirt around Nash and Drek as they gave up on the comlink signals and started to concentrate on the tracking chips, attempting to triangulate its signal. Feeling disgruntled, Kix opened up the holomap and began to chart a course into the city to keep him busy.

Finally a shout came from behind, and he turned to view Drek nodding at his screen. "I think I found something, Commander!" he exclaimed. "Very faint, but it is an Imperial signal. It's just beyond that ridge where those large boulders are." He pointed in the direction.

"Good work, Drek. Mark the location on the holomap. Nash, get our gear."

Nash was already on top of it. He approached his commander carrying a heavy blaster rifle under one arm and dragging behind him a small case of grenades and thermal detonators.

"Got room in your pack for a few of these?" he asked. "I don't think I can carry much more."

"We'll make room among the other troops," Kix said. "We might find something that needs blowing up, and be glad that we brought it. Now we have to get going."

His helmet pointed toward the ridge in question. "Get packed," he said. "We're moving."

***
By late afternoon, the storm commando team had penetrated the ridges of the next hill and had come to a temporary halt at the shade of a massive boulder. So far the day had remained clear and warm, although the sky overhead was dotted with puffs and wisps of clouds that hinted at a coming frontal passage.

"The signal still transmitting?" Kix asked. "Anything at all?"

"Yes, we're almost on top of it," Nash answered, peering at the screen.

"Commander? I think you better see this." Drek nodded toward another boulder ahead. "I think I found something." He thought he saw something buried under the boulder, but couldn't be sure. Kix and Nash quickly caught up to him.

Nash broke the silence. "The ground is disturbed around the boulder. There's something beneath it."

"Get the rest of our troops and help move it out of the way. Then start digging," Kix ordered.

Thirty minutes later, Nash looked at his commander and shook his head. "He's one of us, Sir. Some karking gravel maggot took him out, stripped his armor, and dumped him here in civie clothes. To add insult, his face has been blown off so we don't know who it is."

"It's Marks, Nash. See the tattoo on his neck? I was with him when he got it."

Nash nodded sagely. "Poor son-of-a-ruskakk. He probably didn't see it coming. Makes me wonder what happened to Roth, then?"

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Kix spoke again. "It's getting dark. Tag and bag Marks and have one of our men take his body back to the rendezvous point. We're going to find Roth. Don't lose that other signal."

Drek inquired. "And what about Captain Dunn? Shouldn't we be searching for him?"

Kix grimaced. "He can wait. He just cost me one of my men."

Re: Imperial Renaissance

The moment her feet hit the ground Petra took off running towards the Mos Eisley space station.  The chaos thanks to her frakking around with the controls made the streets full of panicking stormtroopers and uniforms, and she managed to duck into an alley to pull a large pair of glasses on that magnified through the clothing.

She scanned the crowd for any likely targets out for Kesa's murderer and breathed with relief before patting the pouch at her side with the large lump.  <i>Hope Dodonna likes you as a present,</i> she thought with a smirk as she glided through the crowds.

Petra narrowed her eyes when she approached the docking yard, however, and stopped when she saw the crowds of what looked like riffraff.  "Rebels.  Great."

Sighing she pulled out her blaster and turned it to stun before  she sank into the shadows.

From her position she sighted two vessels hovering and groaning to leave the atmosphere and she narrowed her eyes before deciding on a ride.  <i>Now for a…</i>

"Hey, you're not supposed to be back here!"

Petra turned and gave a lazy smile to the blonde female officer who was frowning at her.  "And you picked the wrong person to stop, dear."

<center>************************</center>

Hours later, the intended lieutenant of the shuttle <i>Havish</i> was found with her neck snapped and her uniform gone.  The woman who had appeared in her stead also disappeared from the ship, with nobody having a clue.

<center>************************</center>

"PETRA!" The spy managed to look up before Marsh barrelled into her, surprising an <i>omph</i> out of her nonchalance and knocking the bag out of her hand as he wrapped his arms around her like a Nabooan octopus.  

"Good to see you, too, Marsh," she managed to choke out before unlocking his arms carefully.  "You okay?"

"Oh, sure!" He bounced on the balls of his feet and gave her a grin.  "You won't believe the new <i>shavit</i> that's been going around since you left!  Dunn's suddenly missing and Bal'ak's in charge of the Paladins…"

At the mention of Bal'ak Petra felt something flutter in her chest and fought a flush at her cheeks.  "Where's Dodonna?" she interrupted her friend before he could start telling her every type of food he had been served during her absence.

"Dodonna's in his quarters."  Giving her a puzzled look Marsh started to ask but she hurried away before her friend could catch what was really wrong.

Petra walked through the halls at a pace faster than her usual gait, starting to dwell into her thoughts until she collided with a solid chest.  Looking up to breathe out an apology, the words died on her lips when she realized who exactly she had run into.

"Bal'ak…"

Re: Imperial Renaissance

The running lights from Admiral Aath's Imperial warship casted patterns on the polished surface of the <I>Ravisher's</i> conference table. Admiral Dodonna sat alone at the far end, seperated from Captain Uer, Admiral Willem von Aath, and an encrypted holo-image of Lieutanant Tol transmitting from the desert world of Tatooine.

Dodonna stared at his own drawn and distorted reflection in the liquid sheen of the table. He kept his cold blue eyes fixedly ahead as he drummed his fingers, feeling the supple black leather of his gloves. He tried to suppress the dull ache creeping in his head from the constant trips from Bakura to his flagship. He pondered on the situations that were brewing at this moment: the resistance on Salis D'aar, Traven Dunn's survival, Kix's progress in his search, and now this.. failure.

Lieutenant Tol's face didn't hide anything. What was the Admiral thinking about? In his mind he pictured him drawing back his open hand to strike him across the face for their miserable failure. Failure! Tol had to make up for it somehow, now that Commander Kesa was executed.

Willem von Aath drew his eyebrows together in an expression of concern. His olive-drab cap rested against his short graying hair. He turned away from Dodonna's stare, then looked toward the holoimage of Lieutenant Tol and the captain of Dodonna's Star Destroyer. No one spoke. They waited for Tol, and he tried to summon the courage to speak.

"Admiral. Gentlemen," the blue image finally said. The words felt like rusty nails catching in Tol's throat; but his voice was clear, keeping the present company at attention. He eyed each one in turn, then continued. "Again, I can only express my apologies for our failure here on Tatooine. As you can see in the report I submitted we made every effort to quash the resistance and we were successful. It was just unfortunate that our prisoners had aide and made their escape."

Dodonna focused his gaze on Tol, then swiveled his chair so he could gaze out at the fleet over Bakura. The surface of the planet illuminated the underbellies of each Star Destroyer and warship that orbited over it. "Lieutenant Tol, do you know why I had sent a Hand to execute Commander Kesa? It was not for his failure at letting the Rebels escape."

"Sir, I had assumed that was the reason." Tol swallowed. "Our original command from you was to protect and govern Tatooine at all costs. That is why you put Kesa in charge for his experience. You considered him as a resource for the ultimate victory of the Empire."

Dodonna clentched his teeth and hesitated again. He gripped the edge of the polished table with his glove, gripped it hard until the cramped muscles in his fingers steadied him again.

"NO, Lieutenant! That is not the reason! I sent him there to test his integrity and he failed. Miserably. My Hand reported all the underhanded activities he was doing with the underworld syndicates that ran the scum and villiany of Tatooine. Smuggling spice, slaves, and other vile actions that soil the uniform and the Empire. Too add, he even had the gall to partake of the taxes paid to our remnant. He needed to become an example."

Lieutenant Tol stiffened as if he felt compelled to defend his superior officer. His skin flushed darker, and Dodonna noticed a disgraceful hint of stubble on his jaw. If these had been normal disciplinary conditions during the height of the Galactic Empire, he would have reprimanded him seriously.

"Admiral," he said, "I agree that I had my suspicions about him, but we also struck crushing blows against the resistance the Rebel spies were attempting to organize. If it wasn't for the ingenuity of Commander–"

Dodonna's hand swung up to silence him with the finality of a vibroblade. Tol clamped his thin lips shut and stood at attention at his post.

"I am fully aware of the battle statistics, Lieutenant. Commander Kesa personally sent them to me. I have studied the transmissions over and over." His voice rose and because molten with anger. "The point now is irrelevent. Corruption and greed have now taken over Tatooine because of Kesa, and order now needs to be restored. With the Rebellion now surely aware of our presence there, they will be sending forces to take it back."

Then his voice dropped to such a sudden quiet coldness that he saw Lieutenant Tol's eyes widen in shock. "And so I intend to use my resources on Tatooine for one final defense against the Rebellion. <I>Commander</I> Tol, you will be in temporary command of our forces until Admiral Willem von Aath arrives to take over as governor. He will be arriving with his fleet in tow."

The newly promoted commander was stunned. "Yes. Yes, Admiral. Thank you."

His gloved fingers worked the controls at the end of the table. From a holoprojector in the center of the black slab rose the holo-image he had worked up that afternoon in his private quarters.

"Admiral von Aath, this is the entire naval force over Tatooine at the moment," Dodonna gestured, and three fully rendered images of his Star Galleons appeared traveling in steady orbit around the desert planet. "I need you to assess your fleet and choose which ships will be going with you to provide defense and assistance. As you can see, we only have three Star Galleons to defend Tatooine. If the Rebellion even arrive with one or two Mon Calamari cruisers, our ships wouldn't be able to withstand their firepower."

As he spoke, the computer holo-image switched from the orbit to the surface of the planet. The Imperial garrison stationed inside Jabba's Palace appeared along with the nearby starport of Mos Eisley.

"Commander Tol will be in charge of ground forces until Admiral von Aath arrives. Commander, I need you to assemble your garrison in preparation for an invasion. That means summoning all ground vehicles the Star Galleons may carry, including AT-ST's and AT-AT's." Dodonna watched the stony face on Captain Uer, the stunned look of disbelief on Commander Tol, and the stern support of Willem von Aath.

"Yes, Admiral, I will double our efforts as of now," Tol said. "It will be a conflict that will live forever in the annals of Imperial history. We shall give the Rebels a fight they will never forget! I will contact the captains of each Star Galleon and assess what ground forces they can spare."

Von Aath looked grimly admiring at the holo-images. "It sounds like a good plan, Admiral."

"I would like to advise Admiral Von Aath to leave a few of his ships here," Captain Uer finally chimed in. He steepled his fingers and leaned across the polished table. "Our fleet of three Star Destroyers and a few of the Bakuran warships won't be enough in case of an attack."

"It is up to Von Aath," Dodonna said. "I think we have enough resources to resist any attack. It is only a matter of time when Thayer's resistance will die out. No one knows about Bakura and we intend to remain it that way. Already, the Rebellion believes we probably have a foothold on Tatooine. We can't let them think our garrison there is tied to us here."

Dodonna folded his arms across his chest. "You have your orders, gentlemen. We will accomplish our objective before the Rebels start sending their forces– they will for sure to come sniffing around. We will defend Tatooine to the death with every resource available."

Admiral Von Aath rose to his feet. The muscles in his body felt like tightly bundled wires. His entire body had been a clentched fist since his arrival here at Bakura, and he knew the only way to release the crushing tension would be to strike a devastating blow against the Rebellion when they arrive– if they even dared to arrive– at Tatooine.

"With your permission, I shall leave and begin the transfer of personnel and equipment to the ships I will assign to go with me," he said. "We must race to Tatooine at once before our enemies do."

"Admiral Dodonna, with your permission as well, I would like to begin assembling my ground forces here," Commander Tol voiced afterward. The blue holo-image flickered one last time.

Dodonna glanced once more at the running lights of Von Aath's flagship that loomed outside of the <I>Ravisher</I>'s massive portholes, then back to his officers. "You are both dismissed. Onward to our glorious victory!"

A matter of trust

In the dark of the warehouse Matheron held his breath. Even in the soothing greens of night vision the view up an E-11’s muzzle was not cheering—and his own blaster carbine pressed into the strange stormtrooper’s gut was a doubtful life insurance. His opponent was heavier than he; stronger and evidently faster—his own visor no match to the firepower of an E-11. The only conceivable way out of this deadlock, he grudgingly had to acknowledge, would be with Mr. White’s consent.

But had he found the right words? Some way or other every man wished to leave his footprint in history, no? Yearned to cause, or be remembered for, something. Only bad, it suddenly flashed through his mind, if the young mercenary he had shot moments earlier happened to have been a mate of this guy. In that case, Matheron thought with a streak of gallows humour, he was likely to lose his head. And Mr. White, he promised himself, could say goodbye to his choobies!

Eventually, the his opponent replied. ‘Who are you?’ He asked, never moving the muzzle. ‘And what exactly you’re up to?’


Outside the dilapidated warehouse, Seon nervously peered up to the line of windows. For a moment, you had heard cussing, seen the flashes of blaster beams spark through the nightly warehouse—now the depot lay silent. Nothing but the distant wailing of ambulances’ sirens, a croaky dog barking, and casual plops of leftover rain dripping down from the stockroom’s overhanging roof. What had happened? Was Thayer alright? Jittery, Seon looked to the goods entrance. What if no? What if, in a minute, some other guy stepped out of there?

Click your heels! The youth immediately admonished himself. Yesterday, when the shell fire rained down on them, Thayer had not hesitated: For everything Seon had realized after his own maker-damned panic, the elder had pinned him down to shield him with his own body. Same in the early morning, when more bombing was heard and in their hideout in the expanse of rubble the cold had crept to his bones. And in the afternoon, when after the endless ascent he’d dozed off, who’d kept wake so that they could ward off the search party? Time to return some favours. Instinctively, the youth clasped his blaster tighter and stole up the ramp to the goods entrance.


‘I support the Bakuran Resistance.’ Matheron replied, feeling his ribs strain under his opponent’s mass. ‘We want a free Bakura, and I’ll do whatever it takes.’
 
‘You want to drive away the Imperials?’ Even flattened by the helmet’s com system the other’s voice sounded scornful. ‘That’s ambitious. How many are you?’

‘Enough to be a pain in the Imperials’ wagyx.’

‘But no fighters?’

‘Partly.’ Matheron thought of General Kontrak’s loyalist army, then of his own small bunch of partisans. ‘They’re learning.’

‘You’re no Bakuran yourself, are you?’ Mr. White paused. ‘Why do you fight for them?’

I am to blame for this misery. Matheron hesitated. Judging from the other’s accent, his opposite number was no Bakuran, either. Anyhow, would it be prudent to admit to this foreigner that, till very recently, he had worked for the New Order? ‘Let’s say I owe them. Anyway, I’m not keen on some patrol catching us here with our pants down. How about you get off of me and we discuss more in a safer position?’

‘Oh I didn’t mind this one,’ his opponent chuckled. He seemed to agree though and Matheron felt the weight lift from his ribcage, when a blasterbolt severed the dark. Mr. White cursed, in a reflex action rolled off of him and returned the fire. Red streaks flashed. Somewhere near the goods entrance you heard a thud, a noise as of a crate smashing and its contents slithering across the floor, followed by a low moan.

Seon? Matheron’s blood ran cold. The youth was their look-out in that direction—if it were any Imperials trying to penetrate the building, they would have heard blasterfire, or any noises, before that. It has to be Seon, Matheron concluded; just when his neighbour gave off another burst. ‘Cease fire!' he yelled. 'Stop, bloody Maw!’ Frantic, rolled over and kicked the rifle off the marksman’s white-armoured hands. ‘That’s one of us!’


Seon groaned. Lying between two crates, in a heap of bacon-flavoured ration bars, he was bruised though not further harmed, and determinedly clung to his blaster. Jogging up, Matheron lent him a hand. ‘Damn boy,’ he muttered, helping him up. ‘You shouldn’t have come in.’

Gazing up at the elder in the emergency light’s red sheen, the youth stuck out his chin, ‘But you were in trouble.’
 
‘We’ve only been talking.’

‘Nice talk,’ Seon muttered. ‘From what I saw the guy held you at gunpoint! Anyhow, I’ve seen what comes of trying to talk with Imp troopers.’

Instinctively Matheron glanced back to where his nemesis in white had fetched back his rifle and slowly got up. With the injury in the latter’s thigh the procedure was troublesome, and looked painful.

‘Listen, Seon,’ he put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘This will take some clearing up, but I got the feeling that guy could become an ally. Anyway, you’ll keep a close eye on him and stay on your guard.’ Matheron gave him a pat on the back. ‘Now go, call in the others and bring the van’s medkit.’


Ten minutes and a lot of explaining later, they pitched camp in the warehouse’s office. The room was small, littered with ash and reeking of cold fug, but the windows were intact and covered by shutters. Zisah having brought the right fuse back on, there even was light—yet Cirrian was not sure she liked what she saw when, following later from her observation post in the van, she came upon Thayer treating a shaven headed showpiece of a stormtrooper. Instinctively, she took as step backwards.

‘That’s Telemachus,’ Matheron forestalled, noticing her look of aversion. ‘Of Naboo. Former spec-force of the New Republic, now hunter of Imps off his own bat. He signs responsible for the attack on the squad of troopers we witnessed on our way here.’

Cirrian looked the young shaven headed up and down. By the stranger’s white armour, though, as well as his muscular built and a hardened, all but arrogant streak about his clean shaven face, he kept looking decidedly like a stormtrooper. Especially next to Thayer, who himself was still wearing the black Imperial armour she so hated. While Zisah, as if nothing special was happening, was completely engrossed inspecting the collection of blasters and knives he’d found on the body of the supposed mercenary. A foreigner as well, she couldn’t help notice—who in the recon shots Thayer had taken had seemed involved in all too friendly conversation with that trooper, who was now returning her gaze with a predatory grin.

She didn’t like him. She didn’t like the situation at all. Yet the only one looking actually alert was Seon, who even while nibbling at a ration bar, kept his blaster in his lap and his eyes closely on the alleged hunter of Imps. Giving the youth a meaningful glance, Cirrian walked over to the adjoining kitchenette.

‘Math?’ She asked, gesturing the latter to follow her. ‘A word.’

Re: Imperial Renaissance

2147:Incoming call
2147:Caller identified; Brady, Harlin Rank: Captain
2147: Answer      Block?

Mentally clicking answer, Kabal made his ship produce a holographic representation of himself in front of the communicator.  

“Yes Captain?”

“General, Sir, it is almost 2200 hours.  You had asked me to see if you would be attending the evening report.”

“Yes thank you Captain, I will be returning to the ground shortly, and would like to be briefed upon my arrival.” Kabal answered.

“Yes Sir!” the Captain enthusiastically replied.

“Kabal out” the holographic Kabal said before the image of himself faded as well.

On the Bridge, Kabal’s physical body reclined in his command chair.  The only signs of life was from the periodic dimming of his cybernetic eye, almost as if the eye was snoring.  His maintenance systems had completed the repair cycle, and silently Kabal’s consciousness returned from the Ship’s computer to his own body.  

2153tatus report: Currently recharging, batteries are at 95 percent capacity, 46 hours of battery life remains.
Repair cycle completed at 2130, all repairs were successful, no errors reported.
Cybernetic systems online
Weapons systems-online
Organic Systems- Functioning within acceptable parameters
All systems nominal

A blue glow began to emanate from within Kabal’s limbs, and the cybernetic General rose.  As he walked through The Hunter the ship started to descend.  By the time Kabal arrived at the main exit, the ship was in position to allow him to step off directly onto on of Salis D’aar’s docks.  He had ordered a remote HQ be set up so it would be close after he’d recovered from his injuries.  Captain Brady met him as he stepped off the ship, the holographic projection system kicking in, hiding his robotic parts from view, and making it look like he was wearing a imperial uniform.  

“General Sir!” the Captain saluted stiffly.

“At ease Captain, report.”  The General stated as he walked off the ship and dismissed it with a wave of his hand.  

“Yes Sir.  The bomb sights were successfully evacuated and searched, however only minimal remains of the devices were found if any…”

“Not unexpected…any prisoners?” Kabal asked.

The Captain hit a few buttons on his datapad, “Other then the 2 you captured Sir no prisoners have been taken into custody, although we are still questioning several witnesses.”

“Shame…go on Captain”

“…the two prisoners were successfully processed and are en route to Salis D’aar penitentiary.  The resulting fires were quelled, and we are beginning to inspect what structural damage was done to estimate the rebuilding costs.”  Kabal seemed to be taking in the scenery so the Captain continued “The wreckage of the hovertrain is still smoldering a bit, but is no longer dangerous, still we took evacuated the area within a mile just to be safe.”

“Ultimately pointless since all the dangerous material would have been in the core I ejected, but I can see the trust value in such action.” Kabal said looking over the holographic display of the city in the center of the makeshift HQ.  “Are the troops deployed in the new formation?” Kabal questioned.  He’d set orders from The Hunter ordering a new patrol formation around the city.  Instead of 12 man groups, they would be split into three groups of 4.  They would all stay within a block of each other for quick access to backup support, but the overall effect should be tighter containment.  In addition, due to the reduced numbers, and an increased need of security, until more troops are sent, he added a third overlapping shift to the rotation.  

“They are Sir” the Captain started hesitantly.  “… but I’ve recorded several formal complaints from the Squad Leaders.”

“I thought there might be” Kabal stated calmly.  “People don’t like change, soldiers most of all.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Let me guess Captain, they complain about lesser numbers to respond to threats, more threat to troopers lives, less days off.”

“Yes Sir; that was the general theme.”

Kabal sighed, he’d expected the complaints, but it still made him slightly disappointed in his troops.  They were facing a homegrown resistance.  The Imperial handbook is known throughout the galaxy, and playing by it is tantamount to quitting before the fight even began.  They knew nothing of the enemy, but the enemy knew all about them.  You’d think they’d see the logic.  “Continue Captain”

“Oh, Yes sir.”  “Lieutenant Davin and his troops are on the move, after tracking Captain Dunn’s movements to a farmhouse outside the city.  They surmise that he’s alive and has gotten ahold of a speeder.  They will check in with more information as it becomes available.  Other then that, everything seems to be in order Sir.”

“I see Captain, and what about this area.” Kabal said pointing to a blackened area on the Holo-display.

“Yes Sir, I was um…just getting to that.  Ever since the bombings, communications in that area have been down.  We dispatched a squad to run extra patrol around the penitentiary, which is still secure according to the Warden who has a private communicator.”

“When was the Squad dispatched, and have they checked in yet?”

The Captain scrolled through his Datapad hastily, “Um, they were dispatched as soon as we were aware of the communications disruption, and they have yet to check in, though the materials in the buildings in that sector interfere with our wireless communications.        

Kabal had seen many instances of war, and fought on many sides in many different conflicts.  He’d learned how to read situations, and predict a favorable outcome.  It was one of the reasons that Dodonna picked him to be General.  Pointing to the comm officer added “Try to raise this patrol.”  

“Sir.”  The Captain asked.

Kabal held up a hand to silence his subordinate.  He did not feel the need to explain to the Captain just how must he did not like this situation.  Kabal watched as the officer tried once…twice…then, on the third try, she turned around and just shook her head before adding “No contact Sir.”

“Captain, I need two teams of troopers to head to their last known coordinates.”

“Very good sir, I can have two units there in half an hour.” The Captain said looking over the schedule of troopers.

“Why so long?” Kabal snapped.

“I’m sorry Sir, but we are terribly undermanned right now with all the emergencies we’re tending to.  Normally we’d have a team there in minutes, but no team is available for 20.  A patrol in the South end will be pulled as soon as its replacement arrives.” The Captain said shrinking slightly.

“A search and rescue takes precedence, pull them off now.” Kabal ordered.

“I’m sorry Sir, with all due respect, but my orders come from the Admiral.  Salis D’aar’s security is paramount above all else.”

“I see…fine then, I’ll go myself.”

“But Sir!”

“Don’t “but sir” me Captain.  I am not going to sit idly by and wait, while the rescue of the men under my command is held up due to scheduling conflicts.  

“Sir, I understand your position, but still I must protest.  That was an entire platoon of soldiers.  You are only one man, however…enhanced…you are, no one man can handle whatever took those men out.”

Captain Brady followed the General as he walked to the end of the dock, and the matte black ship began to descend again.  “You see Captain, that is where your weakness is.”

“Sir?!”  The Captain said now shouting over The Hunter’s engines.

“You fail to realize that the right man can handle any situation.”

With that, the General left the very confused Captain standing on the docks and watching The Hunter rise into the sky.

“Hunter, enter Stealth mode, and give me estimated time to arrival at the following coordinates.

2205:Response from Hunter: Stealth mode initiated, cloak engaged.
2205:Response from Hunter: Approximately 1 minute and 23 seconds

“Very good, adjust course to scan along the patrols route for any signs of them.  According to there locator beacons, they are just south of here, Kabal said indicating coordinates on a map in his HUD which was then sent to the ships NAV.

2206: Altering course, Scanning…
2207: Scanning…
2208: Scanning…
2209: Scanning… found.  Scans reveal traces of stormtrooper armor and imperial grade weaponry.  Scans also reveal multiple life signs in the area.  

“Pinpoint?”

2210: Error, too much interference to pinpoint life signs.

“Ok, the old fashioned way it is then.  Hunter, land one mile north of that position.”

2211: Response from Hunter: Affirmative, altering course, beginning descent.

The ship descended through the clouds, and hovered above the rooftop of a large building.  Kabal jumped down, and his ship flew off to hover cloaked high above.  As he approached the town from the nearby forest, Kabal was constantly scanning the area as he decended to street level.  Once he reached the street, he saw a blockade and emergency vehicles lighting up the street with there lights.  

He approached, but was stopped by a Salis D’aar firemen.  

“Sorry Sir, you have to turn back now, nothing to see here.”

“I am General Kabal of the Imperial Army” Kabal said flashing him his a datapad with his ID.  “What’s happened here?”

The Bakuran native stared at the Imperial badge, then with a shrug he said “Buncha of your troopers got ambushed or something.  I hope you have a strong stomach.”

“Why’s that?” Kabal asked.

“There ain‘t much left.” The firemen said under his breath as he walked away.  

Moving past the line emergency vehicles and onto the main road he was greeted by the grisly remains of his troopers.  Kabal had been a bounty hunter and an assassin for many years before his service with the new Imperial regime, so the sight of partially disintegrated bodies evoked very little reaction from him, still a slight illogical feeling of disappointment that he had failed these men lapped at his consciousness.  

2213: Scanning…Baradium detected
2213: Compose message…
   To: Captain Brady
   Subject: Investigation
Body: Found the remains of the troopers.  It was caused by a    thermal detonator.  I am continuing the investigation.  Send reinforcements as soon as they are available.

General Kabal

2214: Message Sent

Kabal had used the silent form of communication, mainly due to to not wanting to hear Brady’s voice again, but also because Kabal wanted to keep as low a profile as possible.  The emergency vehicles finished the clean up, and moved away.  As their sirens faded, Kabal heard a rattling sound coming from an open window in the nearest apartment building.  Activating the gun in his right arm, the general proceeded to enter the building.  He climbed up the stairs his gun in front of him at all times, scanning every room for life signs drawing ever closer to the rattling sound.

Entering the bathroom where the sound was coming front he found a man chained to a tub involuntarily convulsing.  Kabal fired two quick eye blasts, and freed the man.  He dragged him out of the tub, and put him down on the floor.  The man’s vitals were failing, and there was nothing the General could do as the young man in his arms stopped shaking.  In his HUD he saw the heartbeart flatline.  Gritting his teeth, he put the man on the floor.  Since the man’s eyes were wide open, a retinal scan was fairly easy.  

Tk151:
Name: Carl Toulouse
Current Assignment: Patrol west end of Salis Dar city
Immediate superior: TK127.

Kabal left the boy there, and checked the rest of the building, with no success.  When he reached the roof, he messaged back to base.

“Captain Brady, come in Captain, this is General Kabal.”

As the cybernetic General waited for the response from basecamp, he heard laser fire from a building down the street.

“Yes General, I’m here.  Two squads of troopers have been ordered to your location, and will be there in 10 minutes.

“Very good Captain, I shall wait for them.”

Communication terminated

Inside that building right over there…

Re: Imperial Renaissance

Willem von Aath, for a moment, felt as if the complexity of the mission would kill him before it even had begun to take shape. He leaned up against the wall of the nearest bulkhead, his arms crossed as he thought primarily to himself, his head bowed and his eyes closed. In his mind, he could imagine the fleet disposition, and the personnel needed to defend this system. The might of three Star Destroyers alone could change the course of a battle for an entire system, let alone the other ships in his command. He was waiting for Captain Uer to leave the briefing room in order for him to relay what he planned to do.
   
Is this a trap?
   
The thought came from absolutely nowhere, but now it was within the realm of Willy’s thoughts, captivating his attention as he began to think that this wasn’t a simple relief mission, but a mission to get him out of the way. Immediately the military part of his mind began to repulse that idea; so far the good Admiral has shown no indication that he doesn’t place the Imperial Core Values in place of his own, but the Imperial Intelligence side of his mind began to rapidly think about it. Could it be possible that remnants of Isard’s faction be working here, or was he just imagining it?
   
He slapped the side of his head.
   
“I’m too concerned. If there were remnants, Janus or Maarco would have notified me.” He said to himself, taking a look at the datapad in his pocket that he had been working on for the past fifteen minutes. The list of Willy’s fleet and ground forces were marked down as averages; he couldn’t reach General Hadric to complete the entire list, but it was enough to give Dodonna peace of mind, hopefully.
   
He couldn’t trust anyone other than his own brood.
   
After a few more moments of waiting, he saw Captain Uer leave the briefing room and close the door behind him, leaving Dodonna inside the room, giving him a change to talk to the good Captain. And, to Willem’s luck, only to him. He leaned up and took only one step towards Uer; the Captain picked up on it immediately and diverted his path, walking straight towards the Admiral.
   
“Admiral Aath.”
   
“Captain Uer. I have a list of the ships that will be remaining right here in this datapad.”
   
“Can you give me a quick disposition of the ships that will remain here, Admiral?”
   
“Two Star Destroyers; the Liberty and the Defender. One Victory Star Destroyer, the Warhammer, and the Tartan Patrol Cruiser Muunilinst. The Interdictor-Class Destroyer Justice’s Hand will remain here as well ,but I recommend that you keep it…” He caught himself, breathing in and looking around for a moment before speaking again.
   
“Sorry, I meant Admiral Dodonna and you keep the Interdictor out of harm’s reach. The crew itself is very inexperienced. This taskforce is commanded by one Captain Josef Reinfield; he’s the commanding officer of the Defender.”
   
“Standard troop deployment with the Star Destroyers?”
   
“Yes.”
   
“Very good then, Admiral. Thank you for being so quick and forthcoming.”
   
“My pleasure, Captain Uer.”
   
He watched the Captain walk away, his eyes trailing him before he leaned up and began to walk in a different direction. His objective, unlike Uer, was the Hanger Bay. There, his ship was waiting to take him back to the Nightbringer.
   
He wanted to leave this planet so badly.

   
CONNECTED
HOLONET SERVER 2454-B CONNECTED ESTABLISHED
establish root command VALEDICT
VALEDICT COMMAND ESTABLISHED
COMMAND?
connect >| fh ISB SEC COR
CONNECTING
…
…
…
CONNECTED
Hello?
Aath, it’s Shadow. I have a secure channel. I've gotten your earlier message.
And?
I’m currently heading towards Tatooine. Elements of your fleet are remaining in Bakura for security purposes, correct?
Yes.
Do you perceive any new threats?
No new theats.
From the NR?
There always going to be a threat. I meant Intel.
Are you sure?
Yes.
Good…I'll see you on Tatooine.
I'll be waiting.
[USER shadow LEFT THE ROOM]
connect to MALASTARE HUB-45
CONNECTING…
…
…
CONNECTED
port 34
CONNECTED
station 33
CONNECTED
…
…
"Hello, you've reached the office of Elina von Aath. She's currently in a meeting, can I help you?"
"This is Admiral Willem von Aath, 12th Fleet. I was wondering if you could take a message."
"Yes, what's the message?"
"Her father's heading to a desert resort, won't be able to meet on Eriadu as planned for her birthday."
"Understood, sir. Have a nice day."
"You too."

disconnect

A matter of trust

Inside the warehouse

The kitchenette’s door closing behind, Cirrian stood with her arms akimbo. ‘What’s this supposed to mean?’ She demanded to know, glaring daggers at Matheron. ‘Wasn’t it you who only just now warned us not to trust even that agent of the New Republic?’

Matheron frowned. ‘I did warn you not to easily trust anyone. Especially not a stranger who professes to be a friend.’

‘Gnardly,’ Cirrian hissed. ‘My dad told me as much! But what about that guy?’ She crossly gestured towards the door and the armoured stranger behind. ‘You wanna maintain you know him? What do you actually know apart from what he himself told you?’

‘I know,’ Matheron retorted, indicating his Storm Commando’s armour, ‘that in this thing I’m hardly distinguishable from an Imp. On entering the depot, I identified as one, too. Yet Mr. White over there,’ he nodded towards the office where Telemachus sat in the company of Seon and Zisah, ‘did make a credible effort to kill me.’ He took a deep breath then continued gentler, ‘Actions, Cirrian, do speak louder than words—and for now, his do make him trustworthy enough for me.’

The camwielder crossed her arms. ‘Still,’ she objected, ‘there’s something shifty: On the recon-shots you showed us, your new found protégé seemed to get along pretty well with that mercenary-kid Zisah is frisking—and you claim this depot is a cover address for dealings of Daiman Sirana. So who tells you they’re not both on Sirana’s payroll?’

‘I admit,’ Matheron conceded, ‘that detail had me concerned as well. Telemachus claims that, fleeing the Imps, he just sneaked in here and was surprised to find that the merc guarding this depot was an acquaintance. But not to worry he says: He’d not called the guy if his speeder broke down.’  

Cirrian snorted, ‘And you believe?’ Her look became fixed on the wound the fragment had ripped in his upper arm. ‘What if he just waits for a chance to shoot you!’

Knowing Mr. White already had had plenty of opportunity to pull the trigger if he’d so wanted, Matheron gave a slow grin, ‘You worry about me?’

‘No!’ She tore her eyes from the injury. ‘I worry about my homeworld!’

‘So do I, Cirrian.’ Matheron looked her in the eyes. ‘But exactly therefore: We could do with more fighters. With a lot more men for that matter. This one is trained and clearly bearing a grudge against anything Imperial. So .. I do not say you should trust him, but at least allow him a chance to fight in your favour.’

She held his gaze for a long while, only then gave a reluctant nod. ‘Alright,’ she whispered, turning back towards the office’s door. ‘On your head be it.’


The both of them stepping back into the office, everyone’s eyes bore questions. ‘Sorry,’ Matheron muttered, faking to zip up. ‘There’s things you oughta discuss in private.’ Cirrian shot him a glower. Zisah chuckled. The Corellian but grinned, returned to Telemachus and continued spreading bacta-gel on the wound his own blaster bolt had burnt in the young man’s thigh. Real lucky, he thought, that Roth crammed his vehicle with this stuff. From the quality and amount of medical equip they had found in the Sorosuub, it seemed the conscientious bodyguard of Daiman Sirana had prepared the van to pick up serious casualties. Now the remedial small packs came in handy.

Though, with Imp patrols swarming all round them, you could not know how much time they would have to recover. To say nothing of heal. Matheron thought cynically as the day’s numerous surges of adrenaline started to take their toll. And the momentary respite brought back another care: Even now –after deceiving their way back into Salis D’aar and getting out a message to the New Republic, respectively Major Val’kia Navin– he had heard nothing of the comrades who had been with them down in the reactor room of BakOr Core. Since their reconnaissance expedition had led Seon and him to step out of the Mine, into the shelling, and their radio contact to the other teams had been jammed, they had not managed to reach anyone. And Cirrian, too, had not mentioned them in one word. ‘Say,’ he asked, as she grudgingly lent a hand with his own injuries. ‘You’ve heard anything of Marrjo and Bowl?’

The camwielder took a deep breath. ‘Yes,’ she confirmed, after another wary glance at Telemachus, then summarized quietly what Bowl had reported to her in his last call: How the latter, along with Marrjo and a bunch of miners, had escaped from BakOr on the hijacked Ore-train; just before they had been attacked and chased by something that, despite looking human, had somehow managed to survive the explosion of the prime-mover’s fusion reactor. ‘Bowl and two of the miners could get away,’ she concluded, ‘however, it got Marrjo.’

Matheron looked up startled. ‘What’s that to say ‘it got him’?’ He asked, teeth gritted as she re-opened and cleaned the wound in his biceps. ‘Marrjo was killed, or rather captured?’

‘I don’t know,’ Cirrian owned up somewhat contrite. ‘I kept the call brief as you impressed on us—and initially thought he was dead.’

Matheron swallowed. After the Imperials considered them to be terrorists, being killed on the spot likely was better than what awaited Marrjo should the latter have fallen to Imperial capture. ‘If Marrjo’s still alive,’ he said quietly, ‘we need to do something.’


For a moment you heard only the dirge of sirens, distant barking and the continuous faint buzz of the office’s old glowpod. At once, Seon straightened, dropped his ration bar’s wrapping and checked his blaster’s power pack. Cirrian and Zisah exchanged a concerned glance. Why, everyone knew he was right: If Marrjo had fallen to Imperial captivity, they had to help! Only how to go about? Where to start, and so you wouldn’t end in the same misery?

Noticing their helpless looks, Telemachus rolled his eyes, ‘Captives usually are dropped at the nearest prison.’

‘That’d be Salis D’aar penitentiary.’ Sitting down on a neighbouring desk, Matheron rubbed his face. A prison break. Like any capital prison, Salis D’aar penitentiary would be solidly built and tightly guarded. To organize a breakout would be yet more difficult than wreaking havoc on the Mine’s fusion reactor. Yet, given they succeeded, they would free not only their comrade but a good deal of so called insurgents—Bakurans who had lost families or friends, had been mistreated, or locked in only because their convictions constituted a nuisance to the occupying power. A significant number of men who rightfully held a grudge against their Imperial invaders and already earlier on had displayed the guts to speak or even stand up against the New Order. In short: a good deal of Bakurans who had the heart and mind to carry forth the Resistance—with or without him. That’s good. He thought. Only how to go about?

Telemachus looked him over. ‘We both got Imperial armour,’ he said. ‘If we say we bring in wanted insurgents, it shouldn’t be hard to be allowed into the prison.’

Matheron sucked at his teeth, ‘Normally I’d agree. Yet I fear the best-before date of this trick has expired.’

‘Why?’

‘We professed to be a prison convoy already on our way here. The early evening, troopers at the checkpoints still responded favourably to a Commando claiming to bring in terrorists. By now, though, whoever led the search party Seon and I encountered this afternoon, must have noticed his squadron is short of one—and once the Imperials found the corpse of their missing Storm Commando, I reckon one ordered a manhunt including checks on whoever runs around in black armour.’ He gave a regretful look down his reflec-coated breast-plate. ‘And then,’ he looked back at Telemachus, ‘after your bomb attack on that squad right in front of the prison, I guess patrols won’t allow anyone without water-tight identification for a while.’

‘Oops,’ Telemachus looked amused. ‘Seems I didn’t choose the best place. But well, getting in to the prison shouldn’t be a problem.’

‘How true,’ Zisah chuckled. ‘You could always ask Bowl.’

‘Sometimes,’ Telemachus continued unmoved, ‘shortly after invading, the Imps start hiring back-up boys as their local auxiliaries and police corps. If you get in there, you get a valid ID and access to the prison as well.’

Cirrian scrutinized him for a long while. ‘My colleague, Elleck, has a contact within the police force,’ she spoke up eventually, ‘he actually did mention something along those lines.’

‘Common strategy,’ Telemachus remarked. ‘Anyway, the training will take a while and you’ll be entitled to act as police only after. So, supposed your mate’s actually interned, we’d better hurry.’ He looked at Matheron. ‘I’ll apply.’

Immediately, Seon straightened, ‘Me too!’

Matheron knit his brow. ‘No!’ he turned to the youth. ‘You happen to be wanted! And you,’ he critically eyed Telemachus, ‘aren’t the right person for this job, either.’

Seon grimaced; Telemachus but returned his gaze with a sneer. ‘That’s what you know!’ He replied. ‘I manage whole other things.’

‘That’s not the point.’ Matheron’s face grew hard. ‘Anyhow, you just confirmed what I  conjectured.’

The Nabooan glowered, ‘Which would be?’

‘You’re too conspicuous; got troubles to subordinate yourself, and your accent doesn’t sound at all Bakuran. All you’d get is yourself noticed—and that,’ he looked down Telemachus’ bandaged thigh, ‘would be a stupid waste of good bacta.’

Bit by bit, Telemachus’ black look subsided. ‘Just perhaps,’ he grinned, ‘you’re not completely mistaken.’

Re: Imperial Renaissance

<i>I really don't like that man.</i>  Paron fought the urge to rub her hand on her pants to clean off the feeling of oily, slick political nonsense that Commander Bal'ak reeked into his handshake.  She also managed to walk at a steady pace rather than run from his quarters.

She was rather proud of that last part.

Once she reached her quarters Paron let her fingers make the motions to removing the formalwear of her uniform, changing into off-duty clothes as she recalled the dinner she had just had.  Every move had been calculated for trust, each gesture and expression of the Commander's for ultimate effect, and she wanted to roll her eyes at him.  Didn't he know she grew up in one of the highest political environments of the Empire?

<i>Careful, Paron.  This is your chance to fly.</i>

But everything felt too easy, too smooth.  She frowned and sank onto her bunk, rolling onto her back.

Folding her hands over her stomach Paron examined the facts in her head, starting with Captain Dunn's ship disappearing on the planet to Bal'ak's offer to join the Paladins.  Every piece moved with logical precision with little misshap.

She didn't trust such clean, concise movements.  Reality never went this smoothly for her.

This skepticism cut her in the gut with guilt, but it was too true - a female military official from a government family who lost a brother in combat, and she had barely gotten onto the Ravisher in the first place except for Alron.  

Who happened to walk into her quarters without knocking and flopped onto her bunk near her legs.

"So how did it go?"

"Thank you for knocking," she muttered under her breath.

"Hmm?" Alron asked.

"It went fine," she amended and sat up, her weight on her elbows as she looked at him.  "Commander Bal'ak wants to give me a place with the Paladins."

"Oh, that's…" Alron stopped and raised an eyebrow.  "Wait, aren't you a little, uh, well, um…"

"Inexperienced?" she supplied, and his face flushed.

"That's not what I meant."

"It's true, however."

"No, you just haven't had official experience with a squadron."  Alron grinned a little.  "You can still kick my asteroid at simulations."

"That, and every other pilot on this ship," she teased, only to duck his hands as they went for her ribs.  "Alron!"

"You started it!"

Paron wriggled and kneed his back enough to loosen his grip and grasped his hands.  "I'm serious."

"About my flying skills or-"  At her glare he shut up and nodded.

"Bal'ak just offered me a place on the squardon… He's acting like he's in charge now."

"Technically he is," Alron pointed out.  "He's the ranking officer."

"But is he in authority to give me such a promotion?  And the circumstances behind Captain Dunn's disappearance…" Paron paused and rolled over for her feet to hang over the edge.  "Something just doesn't feel right about this entire mess."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"We're going to find out what's going on."

"Whose <i>we</i>?"

Re: Imperial Renaissance

As Telemachus conceded Math’s point the front door flew off its hinges and clanged loudly against the opposite wall before clattering to the floor, a massive dent in what use to be the front of it. All four grabbed their weapons and pointed them at the door through the office’s two pane window.

Kabal took two steps into the Depot, his holographic clothing displaying his full General regalia. “I am General Kabal of the Imperial Army. Surrender yourselves immediately or I will…”

The General never finished his threat as the five freedom fighters filled the air with lethal red beams. The shots struck Kabal and ricocheted off of his shield which he’d activated before walking in.

2215: Identifying targets…Shield strength at 75%
2215: 5 targets identified…Shield strength at 65%
2215: Scanning Facial Recognition Database…Shield strength at 55%
2215: 3 of 5 targets identified….Shield strength at 50%
2215: Primary target- Telemachus, currently wearing armor stolen from TK151…Shield strength at 45%
2215: Secondary targets…Matheron Thayer-Wanted for High treason and Former unidentified female from Power Loader incident yesterday…Shield strength at 40%
2216: WARNING! Shield strength failing exit combat area!
2216: There are two more unidentified targets….Shield Strength at 35%

Kabal activated the powerful magnet in his arm. The metal door which Kabal had punched through sprang from the floor and stuck to Kabal’s fist intercepting the blaster bolts.

“Who the Frak IS this guy!?” Telemachus called out during a reload.

“It’s him, it’s him!” Cirrian yelled as she ducked done to reload.

“What are you going on about?” Math said as he too switched out his clip.

“The thing from the train, that’s him!” She repeated, fear evident on her face.

“So, this is the mythical indestructible man” Math said thoughtfully as he slammed in a clip. “For our sakes, I hope you were exaggerating.”

Telemachus threw a Thermal through the office window, the rest of the team started to get up, but immediately ducked back down as the metal door Kabal had been shielding himself with came crashing into the office…

The General had detected the thermal as it had been thrown. Using the door to destabilize his opponents, Kabal leapt forward, caught the thermal, and with a twist, threw it through the window, and into the sky outside where it exploded.

“Anymore childish attempts at resistance, or will you now surrender?” The General said as he scanned the wrecked manager’s office, left arm outstretched and ready to fire. The old Kabal would have preferred to kill them all by aerating the small room, but he had his orders…Dodonna wanted prisoners.

Inside the office, the five insurgents were recovering. The force with which the metal door hit the wall had sent the window frame, and most of the wall down on top of the occupants. The door had wedged itself into the office’s structure though as

“Is everyone alright?” Math asked as he crawled out from underneath the window frame. His legs were sore, but not broken.

“Ahh!” Cirrian said as she pulled a piece of broken glass out of her shoulder.

I piece of rubble moved slightly in the corner nearest the only door, “I’m ok…” the slicer Zisah said.

“Is it me or did that thermal sound like it went off really far away.” Telemachus asked as he stood up in the back right corner.

“It wasn’t you” Seon answered as he winced and held his side. That thing got rid of it somehow.”

“We don’t have much time, I don’t know why that thing isn’t drilling holes in this place, but we have to move…now.” Telemachus said as he took a thermal off his belt.

Math had just helped Cirrian tie a makeshift bandage around the wound in her arm. “Any ideas?” he glanced around the room.

“Run like hell out the only exit, turn the corner and head to the loading bay as fast as possible. Toss all my thermals as a distraction. Some of us might make it.” Telemachus offered with a shrug.

“That plan is as cold as Hoth” Cirrian said.

“I agree, but it’s the only plan we have, let’s go, everyone up.” Math said as he helped Seon up.

Kabal moved slightly towards the south side of the building. He knew they had thermals, and even his fully powered shields couldn’t take that kind of damage. It was a waiting game now, and he was very good at the waiting game.

“1…2…3…go!” Math whispered as the five of them came running out. Cirrian was first out followed by Zisah, Math helping Zeon were to follow, and Telemachus would come last after he set a thermal in the office. The autoblaster in Kabal’s arm began firing the second he saw Cirrian exit the door. The blaster shot her twice in the calf and once in the back of her knee. She went sprawling forward.

2219: Previously identified female target disabled…
2219: Auto targeting…

Kabal ‘s systems immediately targeted the head of the slicer and fired.

2219: Unidentified target Terminated…
2219: Auto-Targeting

“Switch targeting to manual” Kabal said. The gun stopped momentarily as the computer obeyed its master’s command

2220: Targeting switched to Manual

Returning to his prey, Kabal saw Matheron Thayer and the other unidentified male assisting the injured female target. Kabal raised his weapon to shoot when Telemachus came rushing out, and tossed a handful of thermals in the air. Kabal quickly shifted his target priorities, and activated his magnet again. Even through his holographic disguise, his right arm seemed to glow bright blue. The thermals started flying towards the magnet, and then spinning quickly Kabal reversed polarities, and shot them all out of the building.

With Telemachus’ help, the insurgents were able to make it a few feet into the hallway as the thermals detonated.

Kabal was just re-targeting when the explosion occurred. The office where his prey had sought shelter exploded as the timed thermal detonated. Kabal was thrown back into the opposite wall by the force of the blast.

The insurgents saw the corner of the wall behind them disappear. Then the thermals which had sailed outside detonated. Unlike the first grenade, these exploded a little too close to the building. The building started to shake, and the above lights started to snap off and fall to the ground with loud crashes. Looking back, the group saw Kabal in his true form. The emotionless red eye staring back at them, the exposed cybernetic limbs, and all there eyes widened as the horror of what they were witnessing. To most cultures, Kabal appearance was disturbing, shocking, or frightening. But to Bakurans, it was tantamount to being a walking contradiction of their entire belief system.

“You guys go, I’ll hold him off” Telemachus said.

“No, we all go!” Math retorted.

“Don’t worry Math…I just found a quick way into the prison.” The mercenary said as he winked.

Math nodded and then wrapped an arm around each wounded comrade. Telemachus turned to face his enemy who surprisingly was still crouched against the wall.

“Best not look a gift Bantha in the mouth” he said as he approached Kabal.

2221: System Error…..
2221: Recalibrating….

The explosion has cause Kabal’s systems to lock up. His organic eye was still able to move, and he saw Telemachus approaching him. The recalibration would take a minute or two, but Kabal didn’t think he had that long. The building continued to shake as the ceiling started to collapse from the front. The durasteel beams straining to contain the inevitable destruction.

“Aw, what’s the matter, does the wittle droid need a reboot, here…let me HELP!” Telemachus said as he rammed the butt of his Gun into Kabal’s face. The General felt one of his organic teeth break. His locked limbs didn’t let his body fall like he should have, the only outward sign was his organic eye closing and the cheek starting to bruise.

Telemachus kicked the General twice in his exposed stomach. A light crashing to the ground seemed to remind the mercenary of the precarious situation that surrounded him, and he leveled his gun at the General’s head. “Guess you’re not as advanced as you thought you were.”

2223: Recalibration complete
2223: Cybernetic systems-online
2223: Weapons systems-online
2223: Organic Systems- Functioning within acceptable parameters
2223: All systems nominal
2223: Restoring previous settings
2223: Shield activated…35% strength

Telemachus pulled the trigger, and the shot ricocheted off of his head harmlessly. Reaching up, Kabal seized the blaster and crushed it in his hand.

The mercenary immediately punched Kabal in the robotic side of his head. The move was more instinctive then anything else. As his fist hit hard Durasteel, Telemachus jumped back shaking his hand. Kabal stood up to his full height and looked down at the mercenary, his red eye getting brighter.

2224: Organic injuries detected
2224: Lower bicuspid broken
2224: Internal injuries to organic systems labeled liver, and kidney. Non-lethal…administering pain suppressants.

Kabal spit out the pieces of his tooth.

“Time for me to show you just how advanced I am” Kabal threatened.

Telemachus started to run, but Kabal grabbed a hold of his armor from behind. Kabal brought his fist back to strike, when the whine of metal was heard. Kabal looked towards the front of the building from which he’d entered mere minutes ago to see the last remaining support beam snap, and the upper floor begin to collapse towards them. Slinging Teleamachus over his shoulder like a backpack, Kabal took off down the hall towards the docking bay. His inhuman speed allowed him to escape the rapidly collapsing building, and he arrived just as the other three insurgents were driving away in an old hovervan.

“How you gonna escape this one General!?” Telemachus mocked, but was soon silenced as Kabal launched himself 40 feet in the air with a single jump. At the appex his afterburners kicked in propelling him and Telemachus to the rooftop of the next building. Upon landing, Kabal unceremoniously tossed the mercenary onto the ground, clattering slightly. Kabal looked over his quarrey.

“Before I send you to prison for what is to be most likely the remainder of your life I must say that I have seen many sorry excuses for soldiers in my day, but you have to be one of the most disappointing of all.” Kabal said as his prisoner got up.

“Uh huh” Telemachus responded as he got up.

“You strike from the shadows, hit men when they are helpless, and to complete your pathetic profile, you cannot even torture someone adequately.” Kabal said utterly disgusted.  

“I’m not defending my methods to you half-robotic scrap pile” Telemachus said as he produced a vibroknife from his belt and adopted a fighting stance. “I’m betting those parts of yours aren’t vibro-knife proof.

“Correct” Kabal replied not moving.

Telemachus charged Kabal slashing with his knife. The General dodged each swiped with ease either by moving out of the way, or gently altering the path of his arm. After 2 minutes of this, in frustration, Telemachus shouted “FIGHT BACK YOU COWARD!”

The blow to his chin came so fast, Telelmachus didn’t even see it. He rose off the ground and landed flat on his back motionless.

2225: Scanning target
2225: Fracture to target’s Jawbone
2225: Multiple teeth broken

A display of Telemachus’ mouth showed up highlighred that most of the teeth on the left side of his fast were broken.

Incoming Transmission: “General Kabal, this is Commander Weston, we’ve arrived at the marked building but it’s been destroyed, are you there sir.

Kabal watched as the Troopers shuttle appeared through the cloud of debris.

“Kabal to Weston, transmitting coordinates now, and let the prison know that they’ll be receiving another guest.”

“Roger sir”

Re: Imperial Renaissance

Imperial Group Captain Traven Dunn awoke from a dreamless sleep. He hadn’t planned to fall asleep, but had felt light-headed after a shot Melnia had given him against the pain in his leg. “Sorry.” She said now with a sheepish smile, as Traven straighten up in the old-fashioned winged chair. “I gave you a light narcotic analgesic. I thought you needed some rest for you leg.”

<i>”Great. At least she did not kill me.”</i> Traven thought as he rolled his neck to get rid of the tension caused by his unusual sleeping position. He checked his wristchrono. It was still showing the ship’s time of the <i>Ravisher</i>.  “How long..?” Traven asked. Melnia looked at her own chrono. “You slept for four hours.” She saw his eyes widen in surprise. “You needed the rest.” She added resolutely.

Traven knew that she was right. The former burning pain in his leg had transformed into a dull one. But nevertheless he had lost four valuable hours. “Hey, is your sleeping beauty awake, Doc?” Somebody called from the door to the next room. Melnia nodded into the direction of the voice. Traven had to turn his head to see the source of the words. It was Elleck, standing in the door frame, one mug with a steaming beverage in each hand. The rebel walked through the room, offering one cup to the doctor, the other to Traven. “Thank you.” Traven took it from him. “I appreciate that.”

But after the first sip Traven reconsidered his words. It was the worst caf he ever had. Melnia and Traven changed a look, showing that she shared his thought. “Worst caf ever.” She whispered, quietly so that Elleck couldn’t hear it. Traven smirked. “Caf? I thought it was tea.” He replied with a deadpan expression, his Imperial Center accent a little too evident. But instead of being wary, Melnia chuckled about his joke.

<i>…with the announcement of the SiranAxum conglomerate moving business to Bakura to bolster its productivity…</i> The name of his cousin’s company made Traven prick up his ears as he heard the sound of the holodisplay echoing from the other room. He stood up a little too hasty, being rewarded with a sharp pain in his leg. Ignoring it, Traven limped to the adjoining room.

<i>…The bombings have been hitting targets both in a military fashion, and in a civilian mindset. But, the effectiveness of the bombs is deadly. So far, twelve soldiers have fallen to the bombings, but over…what’s the number… I think fifty civilian casualties? They’ve been effective at killing civilians more so than troopers under mine and Dodonna’s command…</i> the holographic version of Willem von Aath explained to the reporter. Traven remembered the former Moff from the Admiral’s dinner. The old man had given off an air of strength and integrity. A leader of the old school. <i>…Not only that, but our relationship is very healthy and friendly…Oh, look over there. They’re preparing for IED training…</i>

“Damn frakkin’ Imps!” Obry, who was watching the programme, cursed. Another combination of swearing followed, drowning out the sound of the Holo. Before Traven could tell him to be quiet, the interview was over. “I wanted to hear that.” Traven glared at Obry, who became meek under the look that had been intimidating tough pilots before. “I recorded it for Math.” Obry murmured. “So you can watch it again.”

“Good.” Traven was about to hit the replay button of the holo device as they heard some noise at the door. Elleck opened and three people stumbled inside. “Math! Seon!” He shouted almost as he saw the two men half carrying half dragging the wounded woman. “Cirrian! By the gods, what happened!?” Obry, Melnia and Traven appeared behind him.

“Who is that?” the taller of the men asked, drawing his blaster, aiming at Traven. The Imperial Captain had never been a gunslinger, but nevertheless he had the reflexes of a fighter jockey. Just a split second later his own gun was pointing at his opponent. Both men were staring at each other.

“Math! Traven! Are you both crazy?!” Melnia barked the words almost, anger flashing in her eyes. “This is not the time for your macho attitudes. Cirrian is wounded.” The doctor helped now to support the woman.

“Math. Seon. Help me to bring Cirrian to the couch. Obry: Hot water. Traven: Get the medpack from the bathroom. Elleck: Make some decent breakfast.” Melnia ordered quickly.

Both men lowered their weapons, forgetting their distrust at least for that moment. As Traven hurried to the bathroom, he thought that the doctor would make a good officer.