Re: Imperial Renaissance

Maarco regretted this moment as soon as he had heard the news. With Matheron Thayer back out on the streets, they needed all the help they could get from any source, and that meant he had to stand on top of Hydrocon's new headquarters in Salis Daar and wait for the shuttle to fully disembark all of its passengers and cargo.  The normally rainy day had stopped, surprising, giving the sky a cloudy and depressing overcast as Maarco stood there, hands in his jacket.

He couldn't wear the black armor normally associated with an Imperial Intelligence stormtrooper due to the cover he was maintaing as a member of Elina von Aath's personal retinue of aides and business associates, so the peacoat with the concealed blaster would have to do for the most part, especially if he couldn't use any of the important gadgets that he had in his arsenal…especially when he dealt with someone like Varin Delt before.

The man finally descended from the ramp of the Lambda-class shuttle, wearing some sort of darl red shirt with black pants. His dark brown eyes were covered by his hand as he descended from the shuttle, his eyes looking around for a moment before they rested on Maarco's face. The smile across his hawkish features made Maarco groan as he waved him forward.

“Ahh, if it isn't the e—”

“Carnor. It's Carnor. Let's not play that game, Varin, now get your bags and get over here before I lose my cool.” Maarco replied, using his cover name as he motioned for him to follow. The other man chuckled as he pulled his baggage down with him, one hand holding a briefcase. Maarco saw that he didn't get a haircut last time he saw the man, nearly seven months prior, on Muunilinst. His hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, black hair slick with either water or some sort of pomade that Maarco could smell even from here.

“I take it you have a problem.”

“A big one, and I don't trust the native security detachments Double Eye has sent here for Hydrocon. So much that I have to actually ask for you.” The man replied back as they began to make their way down from the landing platform into Hydrocon's actual headquarters. The doors opened for them as he led him down into the building's corridors.

This place once belonged to some sort of insurance comglomerate, one that was bought out and dismantled by Hydrocon's legal team. Most of the men and women and creatures were re-hired as part of Hydrocon's legal and public relations team, but some were not.

It made for a lot more security risks, but, Elina had to do what Elina had to do, Maarco supposed, as he walked with the man down into the small corporate apartments they kept in the base of the building, near its parking garage.

“So, how widespread is the resistance?”

“Unknown. Suspected to be signficant. There's also about a whole division worth of Bakuran army vehicles and personnel that's out in the woods somewhere, hiding.” Maarco answered the man's question. “Why do you care? You're going to be sitting in a room, making sure our firewalls are secured.”

“And play a few war games, I imagine. Make these resistance memebers shit their collective pants.” Varin replied after a moment, a cruel little smile crossing his lips. “Any firewall intrusions?”

“Minor. Can you fix it?”

“You don't fix a firewall, 'Carnor'. You plug the hole and seal it.” The man replied after a small moment, the two of them taking a corner. In front of them was two doors, one with 'DELT' taped on the wooden frame of the entrance, and the other having 'SERVER ROOM' with a small tag slipped into a recepticle on the wall.

“Ahh, right next to my workstation. All I am missing is good feelings and a bottle of alcohol.” Varin joked as he cracked his knuckles, opening the door to his room before he looked back to Maacro. “Make sure you tell Miss von Aath that I will be attempting to make sure her datapads have locator beca—”

“I'm not dumb, Delt. All of her datapads have been secured with System Link 4 Locator beacons.”

The man frowned for a moment before he disappeared into his room. Maacro took that moment to leave the Imperial Intelligence holonet security agent to his work and his privacy as he turned around and made his way out of the lower levels of Hydrocon's headquarters.

Maacro had to slip into a more demure and submissive stance the moment he entered the confines of the elevator that would take him up from the secured personnel floor. He hung his shoulders a little down, he leveled his eyes down at the ground, holding a datapad securely in his left hand; he looked the part of a business aide with no back-bone.

The doors slid up and open to the seventh floor, where all business meeting rooms were held for all high level industry decisions. Looking down at the datapad, he could see Elina's current location; a small room enclosed off from the rest of the floor. Maarco felt the cool recycled air of the conditioning vents smack into his face, a welcomed reprieve from the rather odd smell that Varin could attract.

“Morning, Carnor. Going to calm down the Boss?” One of the vice-presidents, Dern from Funding if Maacro remembered correctly, asked the man as he boarded the elevator. Maacro replied with only a smile and a shrug as he left the elevator, letting Dern take that for what he will as he made his way down to where Elina was, hoping to the space gods that she wasn't in a bad mood…


Elina von Aath swore as she hung her face in her fingers. She didn't even know what time of day it was inside the windowless briefing room that was set up in the Bakuran headquarters of Hydrocon Steel and Manufacturing, but she felt like it was the dark of midnight, and she was feeling it in her eyes. Worst yet was the fact that the news she was being delivered did nothing at all to soothe her boiling rage, and the daughter of von Aath did not like to be not in control of her emotions.

Matheron Thayer was alive. Matheron Thayer had escaped..

“Please tell me that's not being reported on the news right now.” Elina hissed as she slid the datapad away from her, her eyes glancing back up to the man who delivered the news to her.

“No, of course not. Famous terrorist escaped custody would never get back the censors. But I don't want to risk the fact that the resistance cells aren't aware of his escape. Who knows what's going on right now in the middle of the city.” Maarco replied as he leaned against the table, hands folded over his chest, his eyes looking back at Elina's.

Maacro was a tough man, and he wasn't afraid in the slightest to admit that. He survived the hellstorm that was the Battle of Coruscant and made it out of there with only a few scars; he's tangled with New Republic Special Ops and a dozen other threats that never gave him pause. But the machinations of politics and niceties that come with Elina von Aath always had him a little on edge; the unpredictability of her mood when she was a little angry made him considerably more cautious when it came to what he said and how he said.

Well, most of the time.

“And since Dodonna's camp is being very tight-lipped about any security knowledge, all I can say about the resistance is that I think they don't like you.” Maacro replied after a moment of watching Elina rest her head into his palms, watching how she was trying to calm herself by breathing. Maacro understood why she was taking this a little hard; Thayer had the knowledge and the drive to be an effective gureilla fighter, from what Maacro knew, and that made any and all business operations in the Bakuran region of space that much harder to accomplish for Elina.

“Of course they don't like me. I'm stealing their workers and paying them.” She said, rubbing her eyes.

Maacro caught that,  and more importantly he recognized that too. “You need to get more sleep, Elina. Can't you put a little more trust in your suboardinates?”

“If they were more like you, I would.” She said, her tone a little hostile at first before it softened, along with her face. She had a small little smile that creased across her cheeks, making her look a little more human and reserved, a little more of the Elina von Aath he had come to understand and appreciate.

“Thanks, but, that doesn't help your sleeping schedule. You just arrived on this planet, get used to the day and night cycle before you try and become the next steel tycoon here on Bakura.” Maacro joked, but in all honesty he needed her at one hundred percent nearly one hundred percent of the time. With Matheron out the stakes were incredibly high; what if the Resistance wanted to target businesses instead of military targets?

“Hush. You're sounding like my father.”

“I know.” Maarco joked, before he looked at his chrono. Business day just started. “I'm going to get you some coffee. And something to eat too.” He added, sliding back up and walking out of the room. The door closed behind him before Elina turned her datapad on.

Her fingers began to glide across the surface of it, scanning the available data on the Resistance that was given to her company from Dodonna's intelligence group. The datafile she rested her fingers on was a picture and rap sheet of Matheron himself, her eyes leveling as she breathed in.

“Where the hell are you…?”


The man walked across the street, his hand holding a small little container that contained his day-lunch. He wore a rain jacket that kept his body warm against the weather's turbulent rain and wind that marked Bakura's culture. The man sighed as he stopped at the street, a siren blaring at full volume from his left. The four way intersection all stopped for the repulsorlift armored personnel carrier, marked with Imperial colors, as it headed to whatever destination that he had to go to.

Being one of the newest ground floor steel maintainers for Hydrocon's new steel factory, the man was happy that he even had a job anymore. He used to work in a school, as a janitor before the Imperials attacked, but now he had an actual job, one that paid much better than cleaning bathrooms and puke on the floor. He stopped as he looked up at one of the big holoscreens that the Imperials installed, for news reports and the occasional ad.

It was playing Hydrocon's advertisement, the same one that convinced him to apply for the job even without any real steel construction experience.

“The steel that will rebuild Bakura, will be made here. Built by the same hands that live here, who know Bakura's soul and spirit.” A male voice spoke, the image of a near black background, with a man dressed in the steel working uniform that all employees on the ground floor had to wear when working in the steelworks themselves. He held up his hands, blackened with grime and rust.

“My hands will help rebuild our world.”

“Mine as well.” It cut to a woman who wore the same uniform.

“My hands too.” It was now a man in an office, his wrinkled fingers clean, his office clothing a sharp contrast.

“Our hands!” A collection of children said, pushing their hands out, smiling widely.

“All of our hands!” All of the voices said in unison, their hands pushing out, wide-fingered and open, before the image cut to the President of Hydrocon Steel, Elina von Aath, who smiled in her business attire.

“All of our hands will help rebuild. Hydrocon Steel will be there for you, for all of us.” She spoke, a soft smile across her face before the logo of the company flashed across the screen, a male voice quickly saying “Apply now for jobs in Hydrocon!”

The ad ended. The man looked back down at the street, sighing, and getting himself ready  for another day on the job…

Funding

“Yes?” Reluctantly Matheron picked up the comm then stepped up to the kitchen's large glass front and tried to detect his caller. Nil return. If she actually could see him, she had to be hidden behind one of the opposite mansion's polarized windows.

“Ryate,” the woman's voice came back reproachfully, “I have been trying to reach you for eleven days now!”

Cark. Who the frak was she? Finally the miracle sunglasses picked up and displayed in front of him what data was available about the caller:

Shandra Convarion, neighbour.
Wife to Jerot Convarion, corporate attorney.

Not much. In the cover of his shades, Matheron rolled his eyes. “What's so important?”

“Your trees!” Mrs. Convarion became exasperated. “Since it got windier again, their seeds are strewn all over my pool.”

“Aha.” Matheron retorted sarcastically. “You seem to think that is my problem.”

The caller paused, obviously taken aback.

“Listen, Mrs. Convarion. Get yourself a cover, a better cleaning plant or just erect a 10 feet wall around your grounds, I do not care either way.” With that, he hung up.


Orin let out a sigh. 'Why did you do that?' Coming in over the shades' sides, the slicer's voice sounded similarly upset.

Matheron continued his way upstairs, back to Rey's study. “Why did I do what?”

'Snub her like that. You've no idea who she is!'

“Exactly.” Matheron grumbled. “I have no idea who anyone is. The bit of data displayed is a joke. Based on that, I have about a mynock's chance in the Maw to react but remotely like the Ryate they knew.” Back in the ultra-modern study, he polarized the windows, plunked down in Rey's chair and switched on the man's holonet terminal. “On the good side, my clinical record says 'head injuries', no?” He smirked.  “What easily can cause a little change of character.”

'True.' Orin agreed. 'I just hope you don't fall out with the wrong people.'

“No worries,” Matheron mumbled. Swiftly he called up the dossier Orin had sent him, reviewed the  details concerning his company –Rey Enterprises, an inherited business dealing in design and manufacture of spaceship interior fittings– as well as some footage that showed his predecessor making a speech at a company anniversary, then looked through the man's calendar and inbox.

From everything he saw, Rey's usual messages were brief, efficient; yet in some cases explicit enough. Copying the style, he put together a few lines informing Rey's regular contacts of his hospital stay and that it would take another one or two days before he was back operational. Then commed his company's CEO, Dass Novan, put all decision-making power into the man's hands for the time being, and left a voicemail on the inbox of his housekeeper, giving her two days of paid leave—as a little reward for excellent services rendered throughout his unannounced absence.

Having severed the line, he took a deep breath. “All right. Anything else?”

'Yes.' A blue hairline cross flashed up in front of him and directed his attention to the holonet terminal on which Orin opened an ad for an ridiculously overpriced life insurance; as well as the site of a Bakuran holonet pharmacy, complete with a shopping cart filled to the brim with therapeutic appliances, aids, adjuvants and costly tonics.

Matheron knit his brow.  “What's the point of that? I don't need meds or a stupid assurance either.”

Orin chuckled. 'The Resistance needs Rey's money, however. So put your thumb on the pad and give us some funding.'


Matheron did. While he leant back and, feet on the polished desk, kept on studying Rey's dossier, 847.289 creds changed accounts, several times and, deposited in various places, reinforced the war chest of Belden's resistance.

When the sun sunk and the porch's white furniture cast long shadows across the pool he knew that, adding to his enterprise, Rey held a sizeable amount of shares of several corporations in the Bakuran heavy industries, owned a yacht, a starship and a beach villa; knew far too many people for his taste—and had fallen out with his family as well. Heh. You too, buddy?

Pensively, Matheron looked at the holoimages of the billionaire; most of which showed the latter suited at some business occasion, a few others though on a yacht, in posh leisurewear, with a stub and drink in hand amidst a group of lightly clad blondes.

'Not too bad a life, eh?' In view of the girls, Orin woke from his hibernation.

Matheron's thoughts were elsewhere. “You said you wanted me prepared within two days.” He switched back to Rey's virtual calendar and scrolled to the entry he had noticed at the end of the given time frame.

Hydrocon stockholders meeting. Datunda evening.

“That's my place of action?”

'Yes.'

“Who's the target?”

'The person Belden currently considers the most dangerous to our objectives.'

Re: Imperial Renaissance

Elina von Aath felt the chill of the air conditioning unit slap against her face like some errant act of the Force, her eyes closed as she put her head against her fingertips. She hated this part, the waiting until she talked directly to the board of investors here on Salis'daar, within the halls of Hydroncon's headquarters within the confines of the Green Zone.

She wore her business suit, as usual, but what caught Maarco's eyes was that she was fighting sleep and repressed memories again. If she didn't have a meeting, Maacro swore on the soul of his parents that she would be drinking, and drinking hard; even though they were not related by blood, that was definitely something Willem and Elina shared.

"Hey." Maarco started, closing the door behind him as he took a few steps into the room. He closed his business jacket with one button, but it did not exactly hide the outline of his low-caliber blaster pistol in his holster. It did, however, hide the much heavier-caliber blaster pistol that he kept for extreme situations.
She looked up at him and smiled, a simple and tired smile as she leaned back.

It was a smile Maarco recognized from her easily as he gestured for her to get up.

"I'll get up in a minute. I still have more than enough time."

"Not too much time." Maacro replied as he smiled back in return, awkwardly turning his body so he could look back at the door. The door was closed completely, but the cameras were still probably working.

Good time as any to work the system.

"Team One, progress report."

"Team One, all clear in the main building. Guests are in the main room and all's quiet." Tanneric replied after a small moment, his voice clear and concise. Maarco took this with a nod, and with a quick 'Affirmative', he switched off the communication link and looked back at Elina.

"Building's secure." He said, trying to re-assure her gently as he walked towards the table she was sitting at. The woman breathed in before she stood up. She didn't attempt to wear anything outstanding or glamourous, but just a simple business suit that marked her as the President of the Bakura branch.

"Okay. Let's go, then." She said, breathing in. This was probably the most difficult part about being the leader of a business in a warzone; you had to be calm, you had to be sure, and you had to deliver results, and Elina knew that sometimes, business could be more cutthroat than any war ever fought, even the wars that the Jedi and Sith fought against each other.

It was a short elevator ride up to the main meeting room, and then a short little walk, but when Elina and Maacro arrived in the room, she was smiling, and she looked as if she had a positively great day, especially since the room was full of investors and stock holders who needed to see confidence.

The large room was lit by amber light, a soft and gentle glow from the illuminators at the sides of the room. A small little bar was put off in the corner, maintained by a local worker who was a bartender before the occupation. There was a large circular table in the middle of the room, with a hole in the middle accessable by one side of the table open; this is where Elina would stand in the middle of the table, to address and talk to the majority of the stockholders.

The first thing she did was mingle, and she went about through the stock holders, having some time still before the meeting was actually supposed to begin. That left Maarco in charge of general security, to pretend as if he was just a normal aide.

He sighed. Disguise and guile were traits Maarco liked to pretend he had in spades, but he knew better than to think he could do it all the time. A seperate security officer in the room, Barnphas, handled diplomatic functions a lot better than he did, and he noticed the man playing the part of the aide a lot better than Maarco knew he could.

Excellent., he thought, now knowing he didn't have to make so much of an impression, deciding to instead walk to the nearest corner of the room, fold his arms up, and watch the room.

"The things I put up for her."


The low-level manager felt the constricts of time as he boarded the skimmer bus, having just left work after a particularly long shift. The rain splat numerous times against the windglass of the vehicle as he punched a ticket into the servo machine next to the driver, sighing as he sat down in the nearest open seat, next to a woman.

She smiled gently at him, and he did as well to her, but then he looked down at his feet and then breathed in, just wanting to go home and relax. Working at Hydrocon was high-paying, but carried with a high demand of work as well, and it burned the man out considerably at the end of the day.

So, it was no surprise he drifted off to sleep on the bus, content with knowing that he worked hard…for about several minutes, before the bus jarred to a stop, catching the man awake from his slumber as he shook his head.

"Why did we stop?" The words left his mouth as he turned his head, back to the woman.

"We were flashed over by an Imperial vehicle." She said, turning her head over her shoulder to look at the APC itself, with Imperial troops filling out of the carrier.

Before he knew it, two soldiers were at the main doors, with one entering first. He wore the standard white of the Stormtroopers, but he noticed clearly the red band around the soldier's arm.

Remember High Port. Those new stormtroopers, the 'nicer' ones.

"Attention bus riders, this is the Impeiral Authority on Bakura; we are attempting to locate a member of the Resistance, who may or may not be on this bus. I am asking that I see all of your identification cards, all of them." The soldier spoke and ordered, to which the man groaned as he reached into his pocket. It was a slow and easy manuever; he had done this a few times today already, and earlier this week he learned the hard way that the slower he did it, the more the soldiers didn't worry or draw their weapons.

"Excellent, thank you." The soldier said when he read the first ID card, a slovenly man on the aisle next to him. Soon, it came to him and the woman.

"Thank you." The soldier spoke, the ID card reader showing it was a genuine, untampered card. He then held his hand out for the man to give his ID card to the stormtrooper.

With a quick swip, it blinked green, a soft little signal heard.

"Hydrocon? Good job." The stormtrooper said, giving back the ID card and moving on. The man sighed, leaning back into the chair.

"Hydrocon, huh?" The woman asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm a low-level floor manager. I maintain the steel workers in Plant 1." He said, looking at the woman and opening his eyes.

"Ahh. I work for the cantina downtown, Katariah's. I handle all of the ord—"

She was cut off as the stormtroopers began to pull a man, who was kicking and yelling, out of the bus.

"I'm not one of them! My ID card wasn't working at all today! Please, don—"

"Shut up, Kiej, we know it's you!"

"Go to hell, stormtroopers! I hope Bakura burns you! Long live the Resis—"

He was pulled out of the bus, the doors closing behind him as he was dragged onto the APC. The stormtrooper with the red band turned around, still on the bus.

"Thank you all for your cooperation tonight." He said, before he disembarked.

The man sitting next to the woman sighed as he grabbed his briefcase and held it in his lap, now worried beyond his typical relief for what the rest of the night, and the week, could store.

"I'm Katariah." She said, smiling, putting her hand out to be shook.

The man, looking back at her, forced a small smile to crease across his face as he took her hand.

"Val." He said, at least happy enough that he met someone new, someone who didn't die from the Imperial attack.

And with that, the man's night was already looking on the up-and-up.

Stockholders' Meeting

Matheron sat among the investors. In his guise as the Bakuran nabob Ryate Rey, a major shareholder for the Bakuran branch of Hydrocon, entering the stockholders' meeting had been hassle-free. No wonder! He looked like Rey, had a valid ID and carried no weapons either. If everything went as planned, he would not need any. Only a good view of his target.

Elina von Aath. Finally his target subject, the president of the Bakura branch of Hydrocon, stepped forth from mingling with the crowd. Matheron watched her closely. A lean, dark haired woman in business suit. Sightly, though not drop-dead beautiful. Her nose just a bit on the dominant side; slightly hooked—of the type you ascribed a good sense of business to. Her eyes likewise dark. Intent and vigilant at the same time as she engaged in a little small talk with investors left and right, then self-assuredly took her place in the middle of the round table and silenced the board by a confident smile.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! Dear Shareholders!”

The unexpected deep and warm timbre of her voice exuded sureness. Authority. Despite himself, Matheron found he hung on her every word.

“We are meeting at a prodigious time. Under hazardous circumstances. Facing the perils of change as well as the shining, extraordinary chances that come with it. Before this background, ladies and gentlemen, every one of you, every one who dared invest into Hydrocon, the forerunner for peace, stability and recovery upon this beautiful, crisis-ridden planet, is a planetarist and champion for Bakura!”

Through the rows, through taken murmurs, Matheron noticed investors' eyes glued to her lips. She was good. Very good. Turned the difficult situation in her favor and made it sound like they were all heroes. Fitting Hydrocon's propaganda on their steel that was going to rebuild Bakura. Or supply further conquering expeditions. By which warlords like Dodonna or Elina's own father, Moff von Aath, would force their reign of violence on yet more formerly free people.

The thought had Matheron's eyes narrow. Not if I can help it…


When Elina von Aath ended her speech, Matheron was the first to applaud. Standing, he nodded his approval to the president and initiated ovations. Only as the credits abated looked over at the Hydrocon security officer on site, Barnphas, who nodded and allowed in the carefully screened personnel the appearance of who Matheron –or rather said an eccentric Mr. Rey– had announced and coordinated with Hydrocon security beforehand.

Under oohs and aahs the two carefully-selected hostesses, clad in uniforms of Bakura's sap green and yellow, rolled in decorated service carts laden with canapés, chilled green champagne and the satiny yellow of first-rate Namana nectar.

While investors turned their heads to watch the shapely girls in their form-fitting uniforms prepare the traditional green-on-yellow appetizers, Matheron stepped up and, mimicking the swagger of his cover identity, made a sweeping gesture including both, hostesses and cocktails. “A little business courtesy of Rey Enterprises to mark the occasion.” He grinned, waited till the girls had served everyone, then raised his flute to the chairwoman. “Here's to President von Aath.. and soaring profits!”

Re: Imperial Renaissance

Elina hated speeches like that. The most important speeches, the ones that mattered when you tried to convince the board of investors to go ahead with a sinking ship just to save face, were the ones where she excelled at, where her discipline reined in by her adoptive father could be put to good use. It didn't mean that she was smart through the speech, actually it was quite the opposite; she had the right amount of energy, some conversational tones and verbage in the middle of the speech, and best of all she kept it short and easy. And when she got a little nervous, a small sip of water was all it took to keep her energy right on track.

She never regretted taking that speech elective back on Coruscant before she left. Doctor M'zurreln taught her a lot, and it stuck.

"Good speech, mam." One of the investors said as she left the podium, the wave of applause ripping through the group as Elina smiled. She guessed it hit all of the right notes to be effective and attention-getting, and now she had a small problem with some of the investors clamoring for attention near the podium. But, like the diplomat she could be, she shook her hand with all of them and thanked them by name, or asked if they were newer members of the investor group, even if Maarco and her had gone over each and every one of the newer group members by name, rank of stock, business savvy and other things.

"How was it?" She asked her 'aide' as she approached him, some of the investors getting invested in the small and paltry bar nearby before Elina's eyes were distracted by the appearance of the serving girls from Rey Industries that appeared into the room, pushing with them a cart full of confections and food that was making her a little hungry before she looked back. "It was more than fine. You did a good job." The aide said into her ear, making it appear like he was giving her important information, but Maarco took a look at Elina who raised her eye when the girls entered the room, apparently not recognizing them.

"Ryate Rey. Head of Rey Industries." He replied, his eyes trailing up to one of them who approached with a glass of alcohol. Elina took it, smiling and thanking the server, while Maarco refused it.

"Your show, your drink, 'mam." The man replied with a smile and a wink to Elina, before he took his place on the other side, pulling a datapad out of his dress coat to appear the part of an aide, but respectfully waiting to type away on it.

When Mister Rey made his speech, Maarco was in the corner of the room by himself, a hand on his inner ear com bead.

"Delt, anything new?"

"Anything new, what?"

There was a limit to how frustrated Maarco could be, but almost always it involved Delt. Even on Termina, when the war was bottling down to land tactics led by rich nobles, he wasn't that frustrated.

Delt broke him.

"…I'll go down to that damn server room and—"

"Relax, Antonius, it's a joke. Nothing new on scanners. If I see anything, I swear to the Ice Goddess down there with you that I'll be nice and proper and serious and let you know, okay? Okay."

Maarco cut the line in time to see Elina raising her glass to him with everyone else. A good toast, Maarco thought, before she saw her finish her drink, and with his hawk eyes he saw her approach the man, intent on making conversation with the stockholder who appeared to be very anxious to meet her.

Maarco sighed. He had a bad feeling about this. Then again, he always had a damn bad feeling.

Shareholders Meeting

Seeing the president finish her drink and cross the room towards him had Matheron smirk inside. This of course was ideal. If she came over to him, here before everyone's eyes, no-one could later say it was Rey who made the first contact…

He raised his glass to her and gave a respectful nod. “Madam President.”

“Mr. Rey.” Elina met his salute with a smile. “I must say your business courtesy looks quite exquisite.” She gave a glance over the inviting nibbles arranged on the both service carts. “You're.. in what line of business exactly?”

“Interior furnishings, Ma'm. Specialized on spaceships as well as custom-built solutions.” He waved one of the girls, who at once offered another drink as well as some canapés.  “You should see it. A little modification at times can do wonders. Improve usability… create recreative havens… make for real change.” He looked her in the eyes. “Like your work here on Bakura.”

“Thank you.” Elina kissed the cup to hide a tired smile. It might by flattery but after the strenuous last weeks and some people on this planet reportedly thinking very different on her task, it was nice to hear. If her mind just would not jump back to the insurgents.. the risk of attacks..

Suddenly her breath caught. Under the glow of the amber light, did this Mr. Rey not look a good deal like that terrorist, Thayer?

Impossible! She scolded herself. He'd never have gotten through Maarco's checks. So calm down! Now! You're gradually going barmy. She took a deep breath and another small sip, savoring the Namana liquor's sweet peace burning down her throat.

Matheron watched it contentedly. “I am pleased you appreciate our planetary specialty.  The taste of Namana isn't for everyone… and this drink not for the fainthearted.” He took a swig in turn and grinned. “It's served only at very special occasions… and as for those refusing it,” he gave a pointedly furtive glance about then lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I for my part would not trust them as far as I can spit.”

Elina couldn't but chuckle. “Well then, Mr. Rey,” she ostentatiously took another sip, “I'm glad you make it so easy for me to win your trust.”

Vice versa. Matheron thought. Though the same could not be said for Elina's aide, who had crossed the room just as well and kept watching them like a hawk. With a nod of his head, Matheron instructed one of the serving girls to go entertain the man. Then leaned in to Elina and whispered. “I bet that after all small talk you have to conduct in your function and everyone besieging you, you're not averse to a little break.” He gave a winsome smile. “That's why I arranged one.”

Before Elina could react, he gave a wink and turned towards the crowd.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” he raised his voice, making it seem the announcement came more or less on behalf of the president. “It's time for a little performance. Rendered by students of the Tiarest university of business and technology in honor of our new government… and everyone whose investments will hopefully make it possible for Hydrocon to bring the planet-wide boom we all wait for!”

Around, investors murmured in approval and raised their glasses, then looked about expectantly.

“Oh.. right,” Matheron added as if thinking of it only now. “The show takes a little more space…”


The gallery of Hydrocon tower was circular, surrounding the meeting room, and allowed a superb view over wide parts of Salis D'aar's nightly skyline. In a distance, blurred with the fine mist that was typical of Bakura whenever the corridors were not wet with heavier rains, a bluish-white glow suggested the wedge of Bakur Memorial Building. While below the pale yellow streetlamps lined the plaza and corridors like surreal fairy lights fading into the dark of Old Hemei Gardens.

Bit by bit more investors sauntered out, positioned themselves along the gallery's vast windows and gazed in amazement at the illuminated gunmetal-colored logo of Hydrocon –a huge H with a lower case c in between its legs– made up of students in silvery jumpsuits that hung seemingly suspended in mid-air about 30 meters in front of the corporate tower's glass facade.

Only on a second glance you noticed each of the artists was equipped with jump boots, a repulsorlift powered microweight glider and had a musical instrument on him. On which they now began playing the anthem of Bakura; while the starting array regrouped into the three-dimensional sphere of a planet that, by a change of light in the planar wings of the artists' gliders, shone radiantly blue and green .. like an orbital view of Bakura.

“May I present,” Matheron whispered next to the president, “Tiarest University's flying band.”

For a moment Elina, like most of the investors around, listened with rapt attention. Gradually more of the shareholders stepped out onto a nearby landing platform while others, shying from the chilly mist, still opted to tip a window. Just to catch more of the hymn that resounded yet more immersive by the way the musicians moved and reorganized; drums and winds ringing out from steadily new angles… making the tune evolve and sound ever more alive.

Slowly, the blue and green representation of Bakura became more elongated. Blue blended to reds; the green warmed to yellow and you could literally smell the scent of ripening Namana as the oversized fruit took shape… to slowly turn silvery anew, morphing into the scaled-down model of Bakura's renowned Namana class cruiser…

Left and right, shareholders watched in awe. The skill of TUBT's flying band was famed; now Matheron understood why. Their performance was even more impressive knowing they had developed and rehearsed it within only 48 hours. Due to this short time frame, the non-university purpose as well as the addressees of the show, the dean of studies had been unwilling to take on the task when he had first called her. A substantial donation to the university's funds however had changed her mind and made things possible. This, Matheron thought, was what made for the difference between a guy and a rich guy: They both were just guys, but a corporate empire under your belt gave you so much more firepower. That's what he'd felt, and envied, in the presence of Daiman Sirana. Now, for the first time in his life, the Rey identity vested him with the same powers.

“That's amazing.” Elina whispered while the band rearranged into the wedge-shaped outline of an Imperial Star Destroyer and started playing the Imperial march. “How in the skies do they manage to steer those gliders, the lightning, coordinate and play their instruments at the same time?”

“That,” Matheron replied, “is one of the marvels of Bakura.” Furtively, his eyes searched the hazy night sky. Took in the police speeder passing by, the squad of troopers patrolling the edge of the plaza below and the drizzle, fine enough to reflect the lights and enshroud each of the illuminated artists in a colored halo—giving their show something ethereal.

“I bet,” he continued lowly, “that with your exigent task and all duties your office brings along you haven't yet had the chance to see many of them.”

Elina's eyes glued to the band, the effects of the strong Namana liqour doing one thing more to soothe and render the show yet more captivating, Elina replied without thinking. “True,” she murmured. “I wish this planet had not been consigned to me as a war zone.”

Matheron gave a glimpse past her, to where her aide stood and scanned the area in the scowling fashion of a bodyguard who was less than pleased with the decisions of his protégée.

“Don't worry,” he whispered, casually turning his back to the man as he sent a prefab message that was the agreed on signal to the Resistance slicers. Then activated a small, very low power laser integrated in his wristlink and adjusted it to Elina's profile. “I am sure the conflicts won't last.”

The Attack!

The acting aide watched with a frown as Rey and Elina began to talk to each other. Something about this whole situation made his knees ache and it put him on the edge. The older operative, a man still quick in his reflexes and temperment, found himself lazing as he kept his eyes on the surroundings. Barnphas was more than able to keep the crowd worked, but his complete focus was constantly on Elina, and whatever threats may become of her.

But still, even he couldn't cast away the feeling of dread as he looked at Elina. Something felt odd about this entire meeting, about her being there by the window looking down into the forey of dancers and musicians, while Rey spoke. Maarco couldn't help the rising tension in his body show as he breathed in. This felt wrong, and now he couldn't shake off the feeling. Seeing all of the distraction, even from Barnphas, made him on edged as he approached the window too, finally.

Maarco immediately swore when his eyes picked up small silver specks that began to rapidly approach the window they were in. He gasped when he realized they weren't birds; they were moving too fast. They definitely weren't weather patterns; they had shape and form. The first word that came to him when he saw the matching soft red glow made him go immediately into reaction mode, something that was drilled into me his entire military career.

“Elina!” He screamed out, his eyes locked on her as he leapt from behind her, his arms out-stretched. In that instant, she turned around, an eyebrow raised before her face took a look of shock. But Maarco was running in full adreneline mode: he wasn't seeing her face twist into surprise like a normal person was, but so slowly as he enveloped her fully, pushing her down onto the ground. Around them, the glass exploded outward as the drones swept into the room. He felt the rush of a blade nearly missing his back, and instead impaling Mister Rey directly into his thigh.

Screams erupted into the room as the drones began to attack their way into the room. Hunter-killers, Maarco thought as he brached his body against her's, his muscular strength keeping her down as he drew the pistol from his coat, the one he counted on; his collaspable WESTAR-M57a. The grip was familiar, the sights were just as so, and together he was holding an extension of himself as he fired one shot from his pistol into the air.

A drone carrying some sort of scalpel device exploded in the air, the blaster bolt hitting it straight and true. Its body flew to the ground, but that left the rest of the drones uncounted for. Barnphas pushed some of the investors away, but he was standing too tall. He wasn't an experienced soldier.

A drone latched onto his neck, before he screamed. It un-latched itself, leaving blood to torrent down the sercurity agent's neck.

“Delt! Code Black!”


Varin Delt, man of the hour, looked at the incoming stream of data. Like any and all contracted-out slicers, he dressed like his job title forced him to; a shirt and pants. Otherwise, they didn't tell him he had to wear a business-dress suit, so he would a long, easy-fabric shirt with bright colors and flower and leave motifs across it. He wasn't in a turtle-neck mood, and it was rather hot down in the server room where he made his 'dungeon' accessable. The man had his legs lounged up, his eyes searching through the numbers and root commands, breathing out.

“And again, nothing on this whole world excites me.” He said, tapping his hands against the table where he worked, his fingers dipping through the holographic keyboard that he operated from. His eyes were alert, but his mind was not, and who could blame him? On a world like this, where the Resistance probably didn't have much in terms of slicing terminals or even military-grade hardware, most of the reactive firewalls would do Delt's job for him.

Intelligence obviously had their pants all buggered up about this, but what surprised him, as he searched through her file, was that Elina constantly kept up with her father in the Imperial Navy. The Magenta-level codes weren't as difficult as he thought and his porno slates could wait for a bit as he worked on information gathering. May not be what Maarco wants, Varin Delt thought to himself, but it's what I want, and in the end, isn't that most important?

The man looked at the private calls, seeing they were being traced along secure routes to Tatooine, through STRAT-COM channels. He had no idea Strategy Command actually allowed her to send the messages, right until she noticed the identification number was similar. 156948-A. Why was that so familiar?

Oh, haha! Maacro, you sly dog! Delt couldn't help but smile as he back-tracked the number and saw it was an Imperial Intelligence confirmation tag. That made him laugh, even more so when he saw it was registered to “Carnor”. But his laughter went into a sigh as he began to double down this information with false tags, effectively burying it under higher Vermillion-level channel information.

If he could hack it, maybe so could the enemy. But Delt didn't pretend to think he wasn't the best at his job; he is the best man for the job. His confidence was so powerful that he almost didn't notice the intrusions on the lower fire wall breaking through.

Almost.

His legs kicked off and his hands blazed across the holographic keyboard. Of course they would do it tonight. Why do it when security wasn't distracted with the idea of a break-in during an investor's conference?  Oh, you dirty little rats, Delt thought as he attempted to trace.

/code++675error

Smart, clever, he thought as he attempted to plug the hole and stop the connection from doing anything more rash, something he could easily do while containing this threat. Why make it that easy for him with code 675 errors? He smiled.

He thought this would be an easy mission, something to keep him distracted until Intelligence put him somewhere he could deal a lot of damage, but this was just as fun; it was constantly adapting to him, but it wasn't doing it easily. If he could have broken a sweat, Delt would have, but he was too into the moment to notice the bead of sweat dribbling down his neck.

One additive for another. One code error against another. It was a beautiful dance, and Delt gave the hacker credit; he was good. Really good. Or she, even.

But Delt was better.

“Code Black!”

Fuck. WHY! Delt watched the interior of the room and saw it ablaze with blood and death, Hunter-Killer drones flying around the room with close-combat melee weapons. The Resistance was getting bold, but now he was obligated to help Maarco and Elina, but…

The signal! It could work! He was beginning to suspect that the drones and this attack could be connected more than just by timing, but perhaps by the same direct signal. Checking it quickly, he laughed. Yes, it was! He didn't need to trace the root access port directly, but he could attempt to stop its transmission by rootin—

Fuck! What's this?! He was now triply distracted by slight additive files that were marked the same as already in place files. What was this hacker doing?

Ignore it for now. Concentrate, concentrate! He found the signal code access he was looking for, and after sending a rather rude message through his collection of files he kept for just such an occasion, the file was sent, and with it the access root was shut down. He shut out the hacker before it could do any serious…wait.

He looked back to the room with the drones, curious to see if that worked…


Maarco shot two more with quick, single-fire shots that broke the drones into several pieces onto the floor. Elina was huddled behind the frame of the agent, and Mister Rey wasn't making much movement, but the drone left a wound that he was no doubt trying to nurse. He ignored him and concentrated on the drones. Security Agent Delphim shot one before his throat was similarly torn open, and four of the investors were dead on the ground, more wounded. Security Agents Swin and Ano were still alive, shielding a group of investors with their cut up bodies.

But, like a miracle, the other drones turned blue from their red glow, and made a bee-line out of the room.

“Was that you?!” Maarco yelled into the wrist communicator.

“I deactivated their link to wherever they came from; I think it's a failsafe. Regardless, they were doing damage in our interior systems. I'm playing put-out-the-fires-for-the-Ice-Queen, so I'll be busy for awhile.”

The line cut, and Maarco sighed as he stood up. He activated his commuicator and set it to a different channel, one for building emergencies.

“Attention, we need medical support to the Board and Viewing Room immediately! Ambulances will be required.” He said into it, and with a flick he de-activated the link, looking down at his 'employer'. His eyes looked alert, present, and ever worried now for another attack. His prior-military training was showing greatly, but Elina looked…scared. Surprised, but scared.

“You alright, 'mam?” He asked, holding a hand out for her to grab.

She shook her head. “I'm fine, Maarco, thanks to you. Let's get these people medical attention immediately.” She spoke, her voice on edge as well before she scanned the room. She rushed over to a nearby panel, opening it deftly with one hand. A blue screen greeted her, and using her special code reserved for the branch President, she opened the panels that contained medical supplies. She handed them out to the wounded Security Agents and Maarco, and began to get on her commuicator, demanding medical attention as she dropped to a knee next to Mister Rey.

“It's a leg wound.” She said, looking to the man. “Stay down, I'm getting help for you.” She spoke, her hands moving to the wound as she talked. “No, it's not bleeding profusely…”


While the rest of the security detail cleaned up, Delt was doing some cleaning himself.

He found the first problem when one of the programs attempted to delete itself, one of Hydrocon's personal receipts for most of the equipment purchased last year on Malastare. Stopping it before it could wipe itself, he found the file in question that started it, marked systnum64, the system file for the sixty four quintilbit programs he had to run to clean up small fragmentation problems. One folder had an malicious little .exe program that made Delt see the problem clearly.

Little bastards trying to worm me, will you?

The problem was the worm programs were beautiful, works of art even to Delt's trained eyes. They looked like simple non-defunct and emptied .exe files, but under the junk code he found the root of the problem. Self-deleting virus code. Oh, boy are you smart, hacker, he thought to himself as he cracked his wrists.

“Maarco, are you there?”

“Medical team just arrived. I'm moving Elina to the secured bunker now that the medics are moving the investors. I can spare a few.”

“While the drones attacked, we were suffering a two-front push. One by the drones, other by this hacker.”

“Hacker?”

“He dumped some files into my system. Long story short, I had him…or her…or it, I don't know, running, but these files are incredibly malicious, and it looks like they activate at seemingly random intervals.”

“Something tells me you can't simply find these files and delete them.” Maarco's voice was stronger than the one that just came on, and definitely not female. Had to be Elina, Delt thought.

“Unless you want me to spend the better part of a month fully distracted by having people or myself manually inspect each pathway, then we're just going to have to wait. I got a good chunk of the worst ones that could have crippled us, but I don't know if we have any more hidden problems out there.”

“Then we wait. Good job today, Delt.”

“I try my best for the moolah, President.” He replied before he de-activated the link, staring at the screen.

“Well, let's get to work.”

Give or pay

Matheron returned to Rey's house late and in no good mood.

Almost as quick as the medics, inspectors of the reconditioned and now overwhelmingly pro-Imperial Salis D'aar police department had arrived at Hydrocon's show room, cordoned off the crime scene, collected in shot down drones and recorded eyewitnesses' accounts. He too had been interviewed. But luckily, due to him being injured or rich or both, only perfunctory.

Nonetheless the unforeseen turn tonight's mission had taken had him tense. The Resistance's aim had been to incapacitate Hydrocon. His own task to kill the president; or well, direct her into an accessible sector of fire and laser-tag her for the incoming drones to find their target. Everything had started so well. Hydrocon would be guideless, his mission completed by now—if not for the president's blasted 'aide'!

Once again Matheron inwardly cursed the man whose incredible reflexes had thwarted the assault, so the drone had gored his thigh instead of killing Elina von Aath. Who afterward, ironically, had even rendered him first aid. Nursed by your target subject. A disconcerting experience.

Just like riding home on a heavily armored transport, escorted by Imperial troopers and paramedics for his and his fellow surviving investors' protection…


“Will you be alright, Mr. Rey?” The orderly who insisted to walk him from the A-A5 heavy speeder truck to the very doorstep of Rey's mansion looked down at his bandaged leg obviously concerned. “Injuries like that are not to trifle with. Is anybody home who can check on you, just in case?”

The moment was like a ghost from the past—when Matheron returned to his family's new flat on Coruscant, mostly recovered still hardly able to walk after the Imperial terrorist attack on their transport. Only now, he thought laconically, I'm the terrorist.

Teeth set against the pain still radiating from his gored thigh he gave the orderly a nod. “Thanks,” he said, unlocking the front door by putting his thumb on the fingerprint scanner. “I will comm someone.”


Orin replied at once. “Finally!” The slicer greeted him right upon having secured the line. “I already thought you'd got busted!”

“Not yet.” Flouting the pain Matheron limped about Rey's study.

“Our rigger reports he lost drones and the rest got deactivated. What happened? Did you succeed?”

“No. Some blasted 'aide' of hers shoved her out of the way and protected her with his body. It was that guy who shot down three of the drones too.” Matheron frowned. “Stick me in a dress and call me Sally if that's just a regular pen-pusher.”

“Perhaps a bodyguard?”

“Maybe.” Something was odd though. Once again Matheron went through the mental holovid of the attack that had branded itself in his mind in slow motion. The moment the drones approached, in his warning cry, the guy had addressed the president by first name. While afterward, once the imminent danger was through, he reverted to formal and acted almost like the head of security. And a damn versed one. Wait… one time he'd even overheard Von Aath address him. “His name's Maarco. Don't know if that's the first or surname. Anyway, see what you can find out about him. I got a bad feeling he'll be doing the same for me.”

“You think he's on to you?”

Matheron shrugged. “He disliked the hubbub I created, that's for sure. The main trouble however is that after tonight's attack security over there will be paranoid.” He shook his head and sighed. Even if being amongst the injured thankfully made him look a bit less suspect. “I don't see them allow anyone or anything near Von Aath anytime soon.”

“That's not good. As long as Von Aath is the head of that corporation, Hydrocon will keep biasing our people for the New Order.”

“Don't worry.” Matheron assured deadpan. “I will come up with something.”


Or perhaps he had presumed too far. Once again Matheron took a deep breath and rubbed his late evening shadow. So far at any rate, any tactic, any approach he went through geared towards the death of Elina Von Aath ended up in the deadlock of some sort of vetting. If he assessed that Maarco –Mr. Hawkeye as Matheron inwardly referred to him– correctly, not even a suicide bomber right now would be able to get close enough to harm her.

Ah well. He leant back in Rey's creme-white sitting room suite and stared at the room's high ceiling. It was not like he hated Elina Von Aath or was keen on seeing her dead either. It was just one step towards ending the Imperial occupation. A promise he'd made after that bunch of Bakuran refugees had spared his life. A life debt as Wookiees would call it. Aggravated by that he was to blame for so many Bakurans having lost their freedom or life. A life for a life. From that point of view he would have to kill many Imperials.

Could you actually work off one blood guilt by accumulating another? Also, a good deal of the investors killed tonight had been Bakurans; some of them likely were married and had kids too. He closed his eyes. Just to find his mind immediately jump back to the site of attack. Surrounded by hunter-killers, death, screams… and Elina dressing his wound. Only now, instead of bandaging his thigh, her hands strayed off course…

Drokk it! It seemed the stress of the past days, the knotty planning, preparation and all play-acting it took to keep up his cover, finally got to him. He knew the effects. On one hand he was worn-out, on the other the pent-up tension and adrenaline rush of tonight's attack were a rousing drug in his blood.

In the past, whenever he felt that way –back from a CorSec raid, battlefield or the special hell that had been some of his OPC missions– he'd trustingly turned to Catharin. His wife knew what to do. Knew how to handle him in that condition, got down to it and eventually led him back home. His pulse stirred but imagining her. Droyk! Now this was worse. He could not think in this state.

As if to prove, his mind jumped to that girl, Starsha, who had left so many messages on Rey's inbox. Why not comm her? No! That would require apologies, explanations, lies. He did not want to play-act. Not justify himself, be attentive or even gentle. Tonight, he had nothing to give. That's why he would pay.

Re: Imperial Renaissance

“Can you believe this?” Detective Quintin Raltus asked as he leaned down at one of the bodies that was going to be brought into the morgue. The cold air nipped at his face as he stood up, sighing. The older officer took a look at his partner after hearing nothing short but silence, his grey hair pickling at the lack of reaction on the “boy's” face.
   
Dunley wasn't from Bakura, but from Imperial Center, and thank all that is Bakuran that he didn't act or look like it. He remembered the word 'Navy' tossed around a few times but he hadn't elaborated since the recent influx of troopers that wore the red bandanas arrived with Dunley. He was the Imperial liasion between his office in the recently re-established Bakuran PD, and while Raltus could ask for better men, what he got wasn't that bad. Just wished he didn't look so much younger than he did; standing next to the Imperial made him feel old.
   
But it was his bloody lack of reaction that got to the older man as he rose an eyebrow.
   
“Should have been on Imperial Center when they let the rapists loose ten years ago.” He said, instantly destroying any sort of good mood that Raltus could have mustered in the chaos outside of the Hydrocon building. Sirens did not scream but they soundlessly blinked as they surrounded the building, the night sky illuminating the oscilliating colors that flashed out against the blackness of the sky. Some of the investors that weren't injured were already being escorted to their vehicles, but Raltus had seen no less than five bodybags wheeled past him.
   
“Any leads?”
   
Raltus looked up at the newest arrival, a police lieutenant with the nametag of 'HAVRIN', but Raltus didn't recognize him at all.
   
“Resistance.” Dunley replied, motioning with his hand to the building as another bodybag was carted near them to the ambulance. “Only group that could afford a drone attack.”
   
The lieutenant swore. “Great. Now my paperwork just got higher.” He walked past the two of them after speaking, leaving them alone as Dunley continued to stare at the dead body that they were examining. It was one investor from the party, the name on the dataslate that Dunley had and that Raltus didn't care to read; he'd have to write up a report anyways since he was the first responder, so he'd have it remembered by then. But the way the lieutenant spoke about what happened, that this latest tragedy was just paperwork, made Raltus hiss slightly as he looked at the man's back.

“Bastard doesn't really care that a lot of people died tonight.”

“It's because they were rich. If the Resistance killed sympathetic school teachers, you would have a mob behind you screaming for blood.” The Imperial replied coolly as he let one of the hands he was examining slowly drop against the stretcher. “All of the wounds we've seen were caused by close combat drone attacks.”
   
“All of them? There's not even a single blaster scar?”

“No. Tearing or rended wounds, no sealed scar marks.” The Imperial replied, removing the sterile gloves he wore before throwing them into the nearby trash can on the sidewalk. They've placed their temporary crisis command center near the street; Hydrocon was in lockdown and Raltus didn't exactly blame them.
   
Made his job a little harder though, and he could complain about that as he saw fit.
   
“Great. There's tons of worker drones like that. They could have a lot more.”
   
“Maybe. I'll put feelers out tonight and see which areas in the city have a shortage. Then we'll simply do inventory past that.” Dunley said, to which Raltus hid his concern; that was like trying to find a needle in a ship's cargo compartment. Salis'Daar was not the place to find that.
   
“Can you do me a favor and get an official statement from Director von Aath?”
   
“Why? I heard he's not even in system.”
   
“No, no; Moff von Aath's daughter is the chief executive officer of Hydrocon's Bakura branch here.”
   
Raltus “ahh'd” and then followed that with a nod. “Yeah, sure. Make sure the press stay out of the area.”
   
“Mmhmm.” Dunley's remark was quiet as he pulled the bag over the body again, shaking his head.
   
“Damn terrorists.” He whispered.

   —

   Dear Mister Rey;

I apologize for the lack of security last night. I feel if our security team was more stringent and worked harder, there would had been much less death, and hopefully you would have not suffered the injury you had. It pains me to say this but a lot of Bakuran feel strongly against any and all Imperial institutions, and I just happen to be the one giving jobs away.
   
If you need anything from myself, let me know. But I was hoping that you would be available for lunch tomorrow. Seeing as how you left your vehicle here, maybe I could convince you to come by here and pick it up after a small meal?
   
Maybe we can get somewhere. Some investors were scared off, some strengthened, and some not sure at all about anything. I'd love your help.
   
Please confirm at your earliest convenience. But know I am very much looking forward to it.

With regards,
Elina von Aath


With that done, Elina closed the electronic pad after sending its contents along the interspace highway. She was so tired from the night that she couldn't even try and make her own cup of recaf; that fell on Maarco's shoulders today, and she noticed just how willing he was to tend to her little needs after a night like this. It was one of those small moments deep within the panic room, within the center of the new building, that Elina was thankful that her father was paranoid enough to send Maarco to her aid.
   
“Have we gained any new information on what happened besides the actual attack? I know Delt was running numbers.” She asked out loud once she finished her sip, looking up at her security advisor. If Antonius Maarco was tired, he hid it very well, and when the man turned around she found herself trying to see if he was suffering any of the effects of lack of sleep. She gave up after a few seconds when he started to speak; not only was anything he said at this juncture most likely important, it was also fruitless to try. The man looked alert and awake as ever.
   
“Negative. The only thing we can be sure of is that it wasn't a false-flag from Intelligence or one of Admiral Aath's enemies. I know it had to be from the Resistance, but…”
   
“Without any direct evidence, we assume it could be anything, I know. I don't think Vector Industries did this.” She stuck her tongue out. On Malastare, Vector was one of their top rivals and competitors; she was fairly certain that the Malastare branch was still dealing with the company, but she was of the opinion that there was no reason they  found out about Bakura.
   
“I agree; I think it was the Resistance.” He spoke again as he sat down across from her, his hand playing and tendering to his own cup of re-caf, looking over its creamy brown surface with a scowl before he tore his eyes back up to the woman across from him.
   
“Delt's been looking into those viruses planted into our system, but he stressed that he couldn't do much until they tried to re-surface. He knows they exist, though, and if we can narrow down where these bugs are, there goes one problem out of the way. What worries me is that if Delt wasn't on duty, we might not have noticed the intrusion for what it was.”
   
The look on Maarco's face when he spoke made Elina think for a moment, taking a long sip of her re-caf, hiding the pained look when she realized it was much hotter than she originally guessed, before she spoke. “Say your thoughts out in the open, Maarco. I appreciate any and all advice you can give me.” She said, the neutral and tired look on her face slowly being replaced by a nice and easy smile that threatened never to leave.
   
Maarco took that as an order and spoke. “This wasn't some guy in a basement with access to old Bakuran military drones. This was a well-coordinated attack from men and women determined to kill you. If we don't rule out corporate espionage, which I can't do just yet but the pieces don't fit, then that means that the Resistance sees you as a threat, and a very high one at that. No one wastes a potential hack window and expensive drones just because he doesn't like you.”
   
Elina swore. “Great. I thought they'd like me coming here.”
   
Maarco chuckled. “To the Resistance, you're the oppressor made manifest. New company with Imperial sympathies that throws jobs out to these civilians who haven't yet made up their mind? You can bet your life savings that, besides Admiral Dodonna, you're the biggest threat out here.” Maarco said, taking a drink of his re-caf. It was even hotter than Elina's and she didn't even notice a flinch.
   
“Don't worry, though; that's why I'm here.” He added, giving her that charming little smirk.
   
Damnit. She hated that; it always sucked her in. Before she could respond with a similar flirt, there was a small blinking light in the communicator built into the table. A ping sound accompanied it, alerting to Elina that it was a vox-communication from within the building itself. She leaned down and pressed a small button, and the words 'SERVER BASE 21'. That was the computer room, Elina thought, as the flickering image of Delt appeared in one of the seats nearby, complete in all of his blue glory.
   
“Good evening, mam. Maarco.” He said dismissingly of the man across from her, and Elina resisted the urge to correct him. Delt was someone who always was a little too sarcastic for his own good, but tonight, he earned his keep.
   
“Do you have anything to report?”
   
“Yes. I've deconstructed the mainframe's security system and rebuilt it. They won't get in the same way as before. But that's not the problem. I don't know what's going to happen when these hidden files.” He said honestly, and the look of tiredness was in his eyes, much more so than her's. Looks like he really did spend some time doing this.
   
“What exactly are they?”
   
“Worms, to use a simple term. But they're much more than that; I've never seen this used this her way before. I'm actually impressed; either they got a damn good slicer or it's a cabal of sorts. I'm not sure yet, but they were using dummy IP signals to get to our mainframe. I think the next time they try to do this kind of attack, I can trace the true location from where they're broadcasting from.”
   
She was ecstatic.“You could find out where they're located?! The Imperial Garrison would love to hear this!” She beamed. Even if she was dead tired from almost being assassinated, that was wonderful news.
   
“Maybe, I said. I can't promise anything right now but I can definitely try. Especially with the salary you're paying me.” He smirked in his holographic projection, the shit-eating grin almost too much even for her, and she could see Maarco keeping his tongue.
   
“We'll talk money later, especially if you find their location. Keep me appraised.” She reported, before she ended the call, the shimmering blue field of the man disappearing. Elina leaned back into the comfortable leather of her seat with ease, her hands folding over her stomach as she looked at Maarco.
   
“Good news on that front at least.” The woman replied with a smirk. Maarco gifted it with a similar smirk.
   
“So far.” He added as a warning as he stood up. “I'm going to do my rounds. Don't let anyone in until we've verified who is who.” He said as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, hold-out blaster pistol, barely fitting into his palm. He slid it across the table with a smile, but before he could leave, he stopped, putting a finger to his ear and waiting, his eyes moving left to right quickly before he nodded up and down. “Alright, I'll ask…No press, but the police officer in charge wants to do a quick, official statement from you.” Maarco's words were quick as he turned his head over to the woman in charge of Hydrocon's important Bakuran project.
   
“Absolutely. You can bring him here.”
   
Maarco gave her a look.
   
“Oh, I am not staying in this room for a long period of time, Maarco; even if my life was endanger, I'm not going to wither away in a stale room.”
   
Maarco's eyes kept a lock-on with Elina's before he shifted them away, nodding in his agreeance before he disappeared behind the door.
   
That left Elina alone for some minutes as she turned around in her chair, leaning back as she stared at a blank wall for some long moments, sighing as she took in a big gulp of her coffee. A gulp she immediately regretted once she realized how hot the coffee was, but she persevered through it and then finally felt her throat stop burning. She'd need to fix that, or at least train herself to take smaller sips and not do so when the coffee is scalding hot.
   
“Malastare. Night. Capitol.” She said, thinking for a moment about what she wanted to see before the wall disintergrated by pixel squares, before the wall gave way to a cybernetic window, showing a real and life-like video of what she used to see from her office at night on Malastare. Buildings sat tall against the faintly highlighted sky, stars swirling constantly in the nightscape along with the aerial highways in the distance.
   
It reminded Elina of her home away from home, with her father and mother.
   
“Miss von Aath?”
   
She turned around in her chair to see the figure before her that she guessed had to be the detective that Maarco was talking about. He was taller than her, with muzzle on his face, and his hair was bright grey, clashing with his brown overcoat that he wore that displayed his badge; Bakuran PD.
   
“Yes. You're the first responder, aren't you?”
   
“Detective Quintin Raltus, yes 'mam. I won't be long, I just need a description of the night's events while they're fresh in your mind, and then I'll leave you alone.”
   
She nodded, gesturing to the seat closest adjacent to her at the cylinder-like table with a hand and a smile. Detective Raltus nodded and sat down, pulling out a dataslate and began to set some programs to work.
   
“Let's start from the beginning…”

   —

Dunley was the first person to greet Raltus when he came back, holding a dataslate in his hand and promptly handing it to the approaching detective.
   
“What's this?” He asked, still thinking about the interview that taken slightly longer than he thought; he had assumed it would have been a quick twenty minute report, but she had given him enough details in thirty minutes that he knew his report would be padded with them.
   
“Your Captain wants you to pack up. Hydrocon called in Imperial security after a recommendation.”
   
Raltus swore. “Damnit! Dunley, we can handle this.”
   
“I know and I agree, but I wasn't the one who called it in. Your Captain did.” Dunley replied, watching the detective grip the slate with whitening knuckles.
   
“Damnit! Frakwit!” He swore again, practically slamming the dataslate on the nearby engine hood of his vehicle.
   
“It's fine. You have your report; you're still in the loop.” Dunley said, walking forward and looking the detective in the eyes. Compared to Raltus, Dunley had blond hair, starkly blonde, and he had height to match it. He may not act like an Imperial, but he sure looked like one, the detective thought as he calmed a bit.
   
“No, that's right. I do have that report.” He said, looking at the dataslate in his pocket.
   
“Good. Now come on, the night's almost over.” Dunley replied, picking up his examination bag from the ground and walking to the passanger's side of the vehicle. Raltus sighed as he pulled the keys out from his own jacket, moving to the driver's side.
   
“How much do you want to bet Hydrocon's going to make a similar incident, and then it's just going to escalate from there?”
   
For the first time, Raltus saw Dunley smile and chuckle.
   
“I wouldn't even bet a single credit against that.”

Hope, Duty & MMHRPGs

Matheron woke from a nightmare. In fact, he had sent away the embarrassingly young escort he had booked late the other night after ten awkward minutes. Her presence had done nothing to help him unwind.

In his dream however, she was still there. Clad in the same saucy white nurse's dress, fishnets and high heels, kneeling in front of him and continuing what she had been about to before he had rashly called off the show and shown her the door. Admittedly, not an entirely bad dream so far. Only when a little sound at the door had him look up and into the face of Catharin. His divorced wife. The woman whose affection had made him pick up a sparkle in even the greasiest back alleys Corellia's treasure ship row, while the loneliness he felt since his secrets had driven a wedge between them, still, could turn a bright ocean sewage.

When he had asked her reason for her filing for separation she had faced him with that disconsolate look. 'I can't bear being with you any longer.' Followed by a barely audible whisper that clung and breathed ever new life to all maddening memories of closeness. '<i>I still hope that you wake up.</i>'

That was his glimmer of hope too and in the odyssey his life had become, a beacon.

How might she be doing by now? What happened to her and his boy? After he had defected and had to be classified a traitor of the New Republic, had they been allowed to keep their posts? Catharin hers in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs; Gavin the one in Rogue Sqadron? He dearly hoped so. They had both worked so hard for their respective spots. Especially Gavin who, despite his frail health, had battled through all the hardships of Anaxes Citadel. Matheron had been so proud; and yet absent during the graduation ceremonies—seeing as his boy, freshly brainwashed and burning with fervor for anything New Republic, could and would not be convinced to follow his father.

Now Matheron was grateful for that. The two men who <i>had</i> gone with him, both good Corellian soldiers he had talked into joining him in this bloody ineffable mistake, were dead now. His boy only hated him—as Matheron knew well enough after the embarrassing personalized male enhancement spam Gavin had sent via sector broadcast only a few weeks prior.

Still, Matheron missed him. Missed them both, and his parents too. More than once he had been close to typing their names in one of those holonet search engines to just see if it would come up with anything – any holo-stills or news. However, up to now –not to reward the Resistance by compromising the cover identity Belden had arduously provided– he had shunned using Rey's broadband holonet connection for any inquiries that would not fit the Bakuran billionaire's profile.

There had to be ways to gather information about his family without jeopardizing the Resistance. Orin for example, his Resistance liasion, was a skilled slicer. Belden herself was like a ghost in the holonet. <i>One good turn deserves another</i>. Spirited he got up, exchanged the bacta patch on his leg wound and gave the foreigner in the mirror all but a smile. He would ask a favor once his current task was completed. The smile died.

His task, even if thwarted the other night, was killing Elina Von Aath.

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Inconveniently this morning Rey's housekeeper, Miss Weyfel, was back into the bargain. A little buxom blonde. Full of concern about her employer's unannounced absence, this time of unrest and oh.. he was still injured!? Matheron smoothed it over, smiled and requested for noon the Bakuran variety of spiceloaf, a dish the preparation of which would reliably keep her out of the way doing groceries and busy in the kitchen for the next few hours. <i>Good</i>. Her bustling around the house was hassling.

And he had still not the first idea of how to eliminate Elina Von Aath.

To make things worse, currently the President of Hydrocon Steel was popular not only amongst her own men but enough of the reemployed Bakuran workers too. Everything those men knew or cared for was that Hydrocon –thence, in effect, Von Aath– added new jobs. Allowed them to feed their families and earn a living. While the Resistance's attacks in contrast harmed economy –caused investors to withdraw funds, companies to backtrack from Bakura– thus, for all the ordinary man cared, killed off jobs.

That's why, even if the Resistance managed to put away Elina Von Aath, little would be won. Imperial media would have no trouble depicting the likeable woman as a martyr. Important as Bakura's resources were, the foreign parent company might just send someone else to continue the business. While in the eyes and minds of the working Bakuran, the act would confirm what media proclaimed anyhow: Don't sympathize with the Resistance! They're nothing but terrorists.

Absently, Matheron switched on the holonet terminal then crossed his arms and frowned. Already now, the black villainy of yesterday's attack was on all news networks.

Even if no camwielders had been allowed into Hydrocon tower, a few people obviously had been recording the appearance of TUBT's flying band and managed to snap videos of those victims who had been carried out. Thence over and over you stumbled upon clips of the incoming drones, glass bursting, screams; then weltering business folk being carried out on stretchers. Frowning, Matheron bird-dogged every take. <i>Leastwise</i>, he caught himself thinking, <i>those injured are all men in posh suits</i>. That's an element that set them apart from the ordinary worker. A detail that would curb the common man's sympathy; at least a whit.

He was about to turn off the terminal when a Hydrocon advertisement popped up as if to spite him.

<i>“All of our hands!”</i> A bunch of Bakurans of all walks of life pushed out their hands and said in unison before the scene cut to the smiling features of Elina von Aath. “All of our hands will help rebuild. Hydrocon Steel will be there for you, for all of us.” Her soft smile was replaced by Hydrocon's H&c. <i>“Even after the cowardly attacks,”</i> a male voice assured, adding to the original. <i>“Keep the faith! Keep applying for jobs in Hydrocon!”</i>

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<i>Drokk it! </i>Matheron slammed down a hand on Rey's desk and cursed. <i>That's all we needed!</i>

This was the exactly the kind of outreach work the Resistance had missed out on. In fact, they should have taken this ad, right upon release, and altered it to bring home to everybody the dark side of that corporation. Only whilst the attack was in the planning it did not seem sensible to give the people at Hydrocon a warning. Whereas now, after yesterday's failed attack, anything the Resistance could reveal would look just like a cheap attempt on defamation.

Annoyed he gazed out at the rainstorm that battered the trees on the extensive grounds and blew some more leaf litter direction the Convarions' pool. <i>Chunder</i>. It seemed no matter which road they took from here, sympathies would be tilting against the Resistance. Unless they came up with some actions that even the common Bakuran worker could understand and root for. Actions that hit the right targets, served justice and would embolden people to get more rebellious in turn…

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Absorbed in thought he checked Rey's inbox and paused in view of a return address that leapt out at him and hit like a power surge. <b>Hydrocon. Elina VonAath</b>. Ruffled, he opened the message – that turned out to be an invitation for lunch.

For a moment Matheron stared at the screen, then stretched himself, folded his hands behind his head and reclined in Rey's executive chair. So his target subject apologized and wanted to meet him? Spontaneously he opened a comm connection to his Resistance liason slicer, Orin, and informed him of the unexpected turn of events…

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Orin clicked his tongue. “Not bad. Looks you played your role well.”

“Or made myself suspicious enough for them to invite and nick me,” Matheron pointed out. <i>Would not be the very first time</i>. His eyes narrowed thinking back of the Imperial spy, Traven, who –pretending to help rescue their fellows from Salis D'aar penitentiary– likewise had lured him to walk right into detention. “Anyway, if they actually smelled a rat, staying away doesn't avert the suspicion either.”

“Right. Besides, your mission is not yet accomplished.”

“I am aware of that,” Matheron replied, indignant about the reminder. “However,” he hesitated, weighing his urge to get to know about his family against good sense and obligation, “it might not be advisable to risk a second attempt so briefly after. And frankly… I doubt Von Aath's death will gain us anything remotely worth the sympathies the Resistance will lose with a lot of workers.”

“No worries, that sentiment will pass.” To Matheron's surprise, the slicer smirked.

“What makes you think so?”

“For example that Belden is giving away jobs as well—most of which are much more appealing to the respective recruitee into the bargain.”

“Really? What kind of jobs we're talking about?”

“Development, slicing, transportation.” Orin shrugged. “Ever wondered where those drones or snazzy shades came from? And that's just the very first step. A lot more advanced toys are in the making. And then it takes testing and operation too. From the bit I glean Belden recruits people pretty much all over the place so, slowly but surely, we'll have assistants in next to any area.”

“You say <i>Belden</i> recruits?” Matheron looked sceptical. “<i>How</i>?”

“You ever heard of a thing called Massively Multi Player Holonet Role-playing game?”

“On the sidelines.”

“Well, in short, Belden observes people in game. Analyses their choice of character, class, affiliation, actions as well as tactical skill and, on basis of that data, approaches selected individuals. At first rather unobstrusive in the form of a non player character within the game. Only if the chosen player reacts favorably and passes her personal screening too he will be given instructions for further steps – that, depending on the security level of the respective recruit's tasks, may lastly lead into a screening just like the one you went through.”

Gazing at the holonet screen, Matheron tried to picture. “Sounds adventurous. And then, if the recruit meets all the requirements and does his job—you pay them for it? On a regular basis?”

“Yep. Like real permanent workers, and we provide health care too.”

“And …where do you get the money?”

“That is the best part. We take from undesirables –slice into money-laundering businesses for example, strip the accounts of drug dealers, Imperial lobbyists, all too greedy managers or take down holonet gambling or porno sites and extort nice sums from the owners – to then use those creds to pay our own newly recruited experts and assistants.”

Matheron was flabbergasted. Redistribution just the way he had wished for since having become a first hand witness of all social imbalances and injustices even around a New Republic ruled Coruscant. This really sounded like something good, and if the numbers of those thusly employed might be far too low to bring about a big change, it was the first in a long time that something about the developments on Bakura inspired him with confidence. “That's ingenious.”

“That's Belden.” The slicer grinned. “She cares for her people—and has unlimited computing capacity.”

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That moment Matheron's wristcom rang and startled him from the conversation. It was Dass Novan, the CEO of his company, Rey Enterprises – and for some reason the man's voice coming from the small high end device sounded tense and incerdibly ill at ease.

Matheron, still having precious little idea of the inner workings of the firm that was part of his cover identity, braced for the worst. “What is it, Dass?”

“Mr. Rey, I am afraid there has been some kind of intrusion on our computer systems.” On the small screen Novan looked concerned. “Our network engineer could not yet determine what exactly it is that came in but… in the meantime it effectively caused a line stoppage.”

Matheron gave a sidelong glance at Orin, only then had the presence of mind to curse. “Shavit, Dass! Why you waste time calling me about this poodoo? Give the darned admin hell to fix it; or hire a man who can!”

“Of course, Mr. Rey. I just thought you wanted to know.”

Having severed the line, Matheron gave the Resistance slicer a questioning look. “What's happening there? Was that one of your wizkids slicing into kind of an Resistance owned business?”

“Officially, Mr. Rey, you're a despicable collaborator.” The slicer smirked. “A few hostilities from our side should make evident to VonAath you're both sitting in pretty much the same shuttle. Which should make you credible and attractive enough…”

“For <i>what</i>?”

There was a slight pause in which Orin seemed to focus on another monitor. “Along with inviting you for lunch, VonAath asked that, if you needed anything from her, you should let her know, no? Now, seeing as only minutes after receiving her mail your firm's systems went down with an unknown intrusion, it seems what her committed and influential Bakuran supporter currently needs the most urgently is support by an extraordinarily skilled subject matter expert on mainframes… “

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Delt was tired and tense at the same time when he returned to his workplace in Hydrocon's Server Base. After a nightshift of deconstructing and rebuilding the mainframe's entire security system, yet unsure what to make of the worm-alike files that had been inserted during the hack and proved widely untraceable, he was anxious to check on the actual status of the system. Putting down the caf and bagel on his desk he sat, rubbed his bleary eyes and called up the log of the watchdog routine he had programmed and left in charge for a little ziz.

So far, everything seemed to be running fine. Eventually he settled a bit, took a first bite of his Onglian bacon, washed it down with a swig of his caf, that was mixed with a high energy supplement vitamin mix, and pulled near his personal laptop for just a little recreational login to his favorite MMHRPG, Lords of the Lakes on the sideline. It was a captivating game, great atmosphere, excellent graphics and gripping storylines that allowed you interact with all sorts of multi-layered, credible and, in parts, really hot mission givers. He had spent hours in that world, already the days prior, before the attack and the simultaneous hack had drastically trimmed his usual online time.

Now however, with everything calm and his watchdog program running, it was high time to have Delt's avatar MagicalIvoryPrincess meet Lord Ticonderius Valkoth, his current mission-giver and set out for the next quest. Strangely, instead of addressing him by his character name and offering the expected mission however, today the stern, old lord leant back in his throne-alike chair and gave him a long look over.

“Hello Varin.” Eventually the grey-bearded noble addressed him by the real given name Delt never usually gave anywhere on the holonet and followed up with a smirk. “I would like to congratulate you. Dealing with what we sent in last night, all alone, was no mean feat.” He gave an appreciative nod. “Shame hardly anybody will ever know who it was who saved their asses, or be able to understand or fully appreciate what you do for them.”

Wary yet curious at the same time Delt put down his caf.

“Who or what are you?”

“Eppie Belden.”

“Haha, oh right, and I'm the king of Coruscant!” <i>Belden is dead, and naming yourself after some notorious Resistance leading slicer won't keep me from throwing you out of my system!</i> Whatever he tried though, the current scene and quest-giver kept returning.

“Oh come on now, Varin.” Smirking, Lord Valkoth folded his arms. “You haven't even heard what mission I have for you.”

“Okay. Fine. Speak, then, vile sorceress of the net.”

For a moment the crusty old lord seemed to glower. “Alright, Varin, I know that in the position you are now, you earn a nice little sum. But is this enough?” There was a dramatic pause in which Lord Valkoth let his glance sweep across his family's achievements indicated along the undressed stone of the vast meeting hall. “Would you not like a bit more? Prove yourself in real quests, make a difference – and actually become more than a tiny footnote in history?”

Astonished, MagicalIvoryPrincess shook her head. “Honey,” Delt said, “I don't think you have the credits they're paying me. So you better be offering some kind of fame that can top Skywalker.”

Re: Imperial Renaissance

The morning alarm sounded off with a blast that shook Quintin awake from his dreamless sleep, making the human slowly arise from his bed. He was used to his routine. Half a second pondering if he should even get up at all, followed by a second of self berating before his body caught up with his brain and threw one foot in front of the other, swinging over the bed and walking away from it. His alarm was on the other side of the room, one of his many habits that helped him get out of the bed and stay out of the bed. He shuffled into the shower, disrobing and setting the heat to temper from hot to cold.

After this routine, dressed in his socks, underwear, and white shirt, he made his way to his kitchen. The beeps of the finishing caffa machine made him smile; he was that closer to fully waking up. Have to get some bread, hungering for toast." He thought to himself as he flipped through his food sticker book, one of the few things he kept from the Imperial Housing Officer that came by his small apartment every now and then. Seeing that he didn't have the appropiate stamp for it, he sighed, pushing it near the sink and leaning back.

"Well, I can have something on the way." He shrugged, taking the black caffa that was done brewing and pouring it into a travel mug. He sipped at it and activated his holo-viewer, looking through the alerts and mails he received in the night. Murder, some looting…nothing out of the ordinary.

Compared to the Green Zone, where Detective Quintin Raltus rarely worked, the Yellow Zone was a desolated warzone, and he wouldn't go near the Red Zone unless his life depended on it, and so far he hadn't need to test fate in getting close to there. They were starting, starting to clean up the rubble that was left in the middle of the streets, but that was about it. Murders weren't uncommon, and looting was always a problem. Raltus, save for this VIP hit, rarely dealt with Resistance cases, and he certainly never had to deal with Green Zone problems. He reflected on that once he left the holo-viewer and got his uniform and gear on.

Leaving his apartment in the Green Zone, he made sure he kept his pistol on his belt. He didn't made a view on having it visible, but he had it there, and his badge was clearly visible. White dress shirt, slacks, his police belt with pistol and his vest he wore over it. 'We're in the Green Zone!' was sometimes spoken to him on his attire, but he constantly reminded people this was still potentially a warzone. Last night's drone attack only solidified his fears that there were some long years ahead of them.

Getting into his vehicle was easy enough, and so was starting the engine and beginning his route towards the Yellow Zone. The hard part of the day was actually making it to work.

His alarm buzzed inside the vehicle.

"Raltus." He replied immediately once his fingers flipped the toggle up to answer the alarm.

"This is Yellow Control. Respond to crime scene on Second and Dalaar."

He swore. "Control, confirm location, over."

"You heard me, Raltus. Second and Dalaar. You're already in the Green Zone and you're the clos—"

"Roger, confirm orders. Raltus out." He replied, deactivating the comlink and quickly making the nearest left turn to get to the crime scene. Of course getting to work was always the hardest part of the day. Had to be a murder. Never fails.

But, as he drove into the deeper part of the Green Zone to get to the crime scene, he paused at an intersection near the rebuilt industrial zone that Moff Aath and Dodonna's forces had managed to convert to construction companies. One of them, a truck marked 'Malton Reconstruction', stuck out to him as he stopped his vehicle.

"…Those drones, they had no markings but they could be from any of these companies." He thought to himself. Intelligence was probably looking at cameras, not at manifests. That stuck in his mind as he drove past, debating on stopping here before he settled on making plans to come back after his shift today.

---

Delt bit his lip as he leaned back, the programs closed and the network connections terminated for the game, leaving it on only for his defragmentation and hunter-killing worms work their way through the files protected in the computer systems. Delt, for a lack of a better word, was cautious.

The idea that he could actually help the Resistance was very interesting, even more so that this entire plan was designed by an AI. The biggest problem, though, that Varin saw to all of it was that he wasn't particularly loyal to the Empire. He could care less about what the Empire did or wanted to do, as long as he got paid. If the Resistance wanted to give him a lot more than just money, he would be all for that.

But he was loyal to Maarco. That belligerent tall man saved his life more than once, and even if Varin acted like the pompous tech worker, he still liked the man. Obtuse and a little direct and forceful, but still someone who he had to give respect to for what he did for Delt.

He smiled, because, in the same vein, he's also saved Maacro a few times. A lot, actually; there was no telling how many times he had saved him and the rest of that Ghoul Squad or whatever he deemed to call it. So many times he broke a secure firewall for them, so many times he set up data protect packets and sent wrong information around, so many times he's opened and closed doors for them in the middle of operations. Definitely wasn't as simple as saving him, but they definitely owed Delt more than they paid him.

Because of all of that, this was an incredible quandry. He had never been in this situation before, never decided what to do and where to do it, but a few minutes later, as the data collection and defragmentation programs continued to run their course through the system main files, the man smiled.

Why pick a side? He'd certainly look the hero if he found some Resistance ploys and plots, saving the Ice Queen's life as well as Maarco's, perhaps, and that meant more money for him. But he'd certainly be a hero too if he found out where some Imperial infranstructure was in the grand scheme of things, perhaps even disabling some important Imperial data network…oh, this could be the greatest game of all.

Oh, Delt, he thought to himself, you magnificent bastard!

---

"Time of death?"

"Two hours ago.  Looks like self-inflicted gunshot wound. Can't say for certain until we get him over to the Morgue."

Raltus sighed as loudly as he could. He didn't even want to be here; he hated the Yellow Zone. Before the Occupation, he worked primarily in the 'Green Zone' area, dealing with petty crimes, but since the Occupation began, he was more focused on violent crimes in the Yellow and Green Zone. He had gotten used to having to travel around with his safety switched to off for his sidearm; just the potential ganger or Resistance member trying to board his vehicle and kill him in the confusion of the War.

But now here he was, in the middle of the Yellow Zone, on the intersection, inside a few numerous apartments that were clomped together, a design choice appealing only to those who assemble pre-fabricated structures. Another sign of the booming construction business on Salis'Daar from the Imperials. A man roughly forty two years of age on the ground in front of him laid silently, a pistol in one hand and a gaping wound in his forehead.

"Who reported it?"

"Anonymous tip."

Raltus bit the inside of his lip when he heard that. Anonymous tips usually meant they weren't exactly anonymous to the victim. Right there after hearing the words leave the crime scene investigator's mouth, he had to rule out suicide.

"Angle of the gunshot?"

"I know." The man said as he leaned back. He hated this guy; he never learned the man's name since the re-shift of prescints but something about his demeanor and that stupid salt and pepper goatee made him untrustworthy. And Raltus was usually wrong about impressions, but this struck, and he didn't like that. "I already ruled out someone taking the gun to his head, firing, and then putting the gun in his hand. Too much heat damage from the blaster firing from point blank. No fingerprints on the hand either, so he had to have had shot himself and only himself in the forehead."

Smug bastard. "Well, then close this up, get him prepped for the body bags. I'm going back to prescint then." Raltus spoke with a bit of a step in his voice, determined to get out of here. Half of it was the fear of being shot here in the Yellow Zone, but the other half was that nagging feeling about the construction companies.

Fuck it, he thought to himself. He'll keep this case open, and since it took a little bit to get back to Green Zone Control, he could afford to look around for a bit, see if these companies were missing some drones…