Re: Imperial Renaissance

"Really?" she questioned, "I'd like to hear more."

The band struck up a slow number. Petra took his hand. "And I'd like to find out how many left feet you have."

He smiled. "I'm told I can outdance a Twil'lek on glitterstim. They're pretty light on their feet."

"It's <I>your</I> feet I'm more concerned about." She replied.

"I rarely get to use them. Shall we see what happens?" he smirked.

They stepped onto the dance floor and he put his hand around her small waist, feeling the delicate curve of her back through the thin material of the dress. She stepped in close to him, and at the gentle urging of the music, they moved as one.

For Laakim, the evening was now finally starting to fly by with meeting Elina– or whoever her name really was. They danced until they were too tired to stand, found quiet corners to talk, then danced again. She was intensely curious about him, especially his most recent adventures. He told her of his journeys to different worlds, and spoke the same feelings about the glory days of the Empire before its collapse.

He was careful not to say anything that a spy– or even an interested bystander– might not pick up from other sources, or to provide any current information of strategic value. At least not until it was clear to do so. Yet he found that he enjoyed talking with her. She showed eager interest in his stories of travel and adventure. Though she didn't say so, he felt she'd lived a safe life– perhaps too safe for her taste.

He imagined her, pampered and coddled, never really tasting the spice that made life worth living– now off on her own for the first time. What lengths might such a person go to in order to experience danger and intrigue? Then again, it was just an impression he received. He could be wrong about her, for all he knew.

Though he told her freely about his own family and background, he seemed to learn very little about her personally, which bothered him. Not that he hadn't expected her to be evasive. The Paladins were about the only people in Laakim's day-to-day life who ever spoke the unadulterated truth, and then only because they sometimes couldn't help it. With commanders, politicians, and diplomats, what came out was shades of deception. He was entirely used to that.

It was the nature of her evasiveness that both intrigued and frustrated him. He wanted to know about her. Everything about her.

Suddenly, he found himself telling her about his real identity, that his real name was Laakim Bal'ak and that he was a pilot for one of the elite Imperial TIE squadrons– the Black Paladins. It wasn't a calculated effort to draw her out, it just happened. He reproached himself even as he started. His hidden identity and their mission were of strategic value– the sort of thing that could, at the very least, compromise everything they had worked for, if exposed.

Yet, it was liberating, intoxicating– perhaps not in spite of the danger, but because of it– and all the more so because he knew Traven would be outraged if he knew. But he wasn't nearby, wasn't calling the shots, and Laakim needed a confidante.

He got little in return. She was still close-mouthed about her family and personal history. Yet there was a connection. They shared something in common, even if it was unspoken. He knew in his heart that they were somehow very much alike.

Later, the tempo of the music picked up, and they danced until they fell, exhausted and laughing, into each other's arms. As he held her, he watched Kabal enter the party which made him regain his senses. He was suddenly aware of how many people were around, and he didn't want to share her with anyone.

She seemed to sense his concern. She grabbed his hand. "Come with me. I know someplace where we can be alone."

He had a flash of guilt, and his sense of duty tugged at him. "I really should remain here with the other members of my entourage."

She leaned close against his chest, and looked up into his eyes. "If you come along, I'll tell you my real name, finally. You've been a good boy this evening, after all."

She stepped back and tugged at his hand…

Re: Imperial Renaissance

It was always with a mixture of joy and fierce nostalgia that Daiman greeted Traven’s parents. His Aunt Lanah, in particular, so much like his own mother. Especially in her graceful, if more reserved mannerisms, greeting him in that same warmly welcoming way that made him appreciate once again how important family really was.  Taking him aside later to inquire about Traven’s well being from Daiman’s point of view, as well as a few gently probing questions regarding Jordan Lane.  As he had promised his cousin, Daiman maintained an air of utmost discretion in the face of his Aunt’s queries.

Although judging by the slightly bemused look she gave him in the face of his feigned ignorance, Lanah wasn’t buying the act at all.   But being the wise woman she was, Traven’s mother understood the need for discretion herself and just smiled knowingly at her nephew then across the great space of the entry hall at her only son who had just come the staircase, excusing herself a moment later to greet some of the guests who were arriving.  

It was Daiman’s turn to be amused as he handed Traven a tumbler of good Corellian Whiskey, advising him of his mother’s favored topic of conversation, and the younger man’s nonplussed reply.  Only to be utterly distracted, as Traven already was a moment later by the sight of Jordan Lane descending the grand stairway looking like a work of art.  He’d found the young woman lovely before, but in that gown she was beyond stunning.  

“Damn, Trave, she’s gorgeous…” He whispered. “You should make that her official uniform. But for now you better stop drooling, before somebody else notices it.”  Grinning a moment later as that cool mask of professional distance slipped back on Traven’s face, though with a bit more difficulty than usual.

“Miss Kellar.” He gave a slight bow, addressing Jordan by her cover name.  Noticing the way Traven’s eyes weren’t nearly as able to maintain that look of detachment to match the rest of his expression and body language when Jordan’s own eyes met them.  The man was utterly smitten, funny to see his Cousin this way for once. But still, there were others present who wouldn’t find the situation so amusing and that’s what made him cut in a moment later as the two pilots were trying hard to avoid looking at each other so intently.

“Shall we join the other guests?” Daiman offered the dark-haired woman his arm as Traven gave him a slight frown, which he replied to with a look that said ‘play along, remember?’ followed by a quick wink as Jordan almost shyly complied.  The three of them entering the grand ballroom side by side and mingling with the many guests already present.

At dinner, Daiman made good on the plan he’d told Traven of earlier to have Jordan seated between the two of them.  Unable to hide a smile at the way Lanah kept glancing in their direction throughout the time they were at the table, her dark eyes sparkling and a hint of something Daiman might have thought as near smugness as she watched her son’s interaction with his lovely executive officer.  

Of course she was even more diligent, if more discreet in her questioning of him as she danced with her nephew after the dinner was over.  Partnering with him after Traven had cut in on him and Jordan’s dance.  As before, Daiman maintained that he knew of nothing between them other than professional camaraderie and chalked their behavior up to just that.  Morale and such being so important between people in a stressful working environment like theirs.

“So, did you dance with your subordinates and look at them the way my son does Jordan when you were in the Emperor’s service then, Daiman?” she asked with a mischievous smile.  “I doubt your father would have approved.”

 He couldn’t help but laugh in surprise to hear his aunt joke this way.  “That sounds like something my mother would have said.”  Katine had always been the more gregarious and outspoken of the Rochand sisters with a sense of humor that tended to go against the proper, upper-class, decorous upbringing of her peers.  Her younger sister, Traven’s mother had usually been far more reserved.

 To see this side of her made Daiman smile at being reminded once again of his parents; Still missing them dearly after all these years.  He was about to comment further in reply to the slightly sad look Lanah was now giving him when he caught sight of his Uncle from across the room, speaking with an older, impeccably dressed man when he noticed Daiman look his way and give a slight nod of his head.  

“If you’ll excuse me Aunt Lanah, I need to have a word with Tyrell for a moment.” He told her apologetically.

“As long as you don’t keep him from getting at least one more dance in with me this evening, I’ll not begrudge you, Daiman.” His aunt replied before stepping away to speak to one of the nearby guests as Daiman wound his way through the ballroom to his uncle’s side.

After being formally introduced to the man to whom Tyrell had been speaking, Willem Von Aath, Daiman gave a quick glance around the room and lowered his voice. “While everyone seems to be preoccupied enjoying your wonderful hospitality, Uncle I thought now might be a good time to meet to discuss that business proposal.”  

“I agree.” Tyrell Dunn looked at his nephew and the other man with what Daiman read as a bit of reluctant hesitance before looking about the vast room himself.  “There’s an anteroom off the ballroom to the right, my study. Why don’t you round up your respective people, gentlemen and we can meet in there to continue our discussion.”

Daiman nodded in agreement before walking away to advise Traven, Jordan, and Kabal of the meeting plan, while he assumed Aath was doing with same with whomever accompanied him that evening.






Tyrell Dunn’s study was cozy yet spacious enough to accommodate them all comfortably.  Even Kabal as he sat in one of the large, stuffed nerfhide covered chairs near the window. He’d seen his uncle speaking with the General earlier that evening, the two seemingly familiar with each other and Daiman made a mental note to find out the story from Tyrell later as to how the two men knew each other. Just out of curiosity.

Best thing about the room though was the fact that the door could be locked against interrupting, unwanted visitors.  Too many important things needed to be discussed in this room tonight.

He looked around the room taking in each person present, men and women in fancy dress discussing the business and tactics of war. It might have amused him if he wasn’t already familiar with this type of scenario being commonplace no matter the side one were on. His most lucrative deals with both the New Republic and less legitimate entities had been closed during just such events.

Von Aath seemed the type of competent, old-line Imperial Naval officer cut from the same cloth as Dodonna; already a plus in his book.  His assistant coolly professional, with a vigilant grace that intrigued him in the way it reminded him of someone from the past. Watching her as she conversed briefly the Moff in a hushed tone before excusing herself from the room.

His uncle sat at the wide, neatly arranged desk perusing information on the datapad in front of him and Daiman could almost see that analytical mind that he and his father had always admired working away.  

He understood Tyrell’s reluctance too.  He’d been known as a supporter of Imperial rule.  Architect of one of the weapons that had assured order was kept, even as he had his own personal philosophical differences and doubts over war.  Something they had discussed more than once over the years.

The fact that he had built a life here on Corellia, rebuilt his reputation was another issue.  His loyalty to his old friend Max Dodonna and to the old ways were all going to come into play in the presentation he planned to make in appealing for Tyrell’s support both financially and in materiel.

Tryrell looked up from the terminal, glancing at his son with a neutral expression before he turned his attention to his nephew leaning against the wall nearby.  “Daiman I would be happy to help an old friend, and honored to assist the cause, but.” He hesitated, looking over at Traven and at Jordan Lane seated across the desk a few feet away.  “You know how important reputation is when it comes to business; if it were found out I would be ruined. I can’t put Lanah through that.”

“Uncle, if there is anything I have learned well over the years it’s how to play the game.” Sirana straightened from his casually leaning position.  “Let’s say Dunn Industries receives an order from the Skohdan Racing Company on Lorta.  Doesn’t even necessarily have to be for completed craft…parts to build them will do.  Unfortunately, pirates have been rather active in the along the Perlemian Trade Route in that region and imagine how lucky it would be for them to come across a convoy of such highly useful and profitable goods. As for the credits I have various…creative ways of hiding your involvement there as well.”  He went on, ignoring the looks both Tyrell and Jordan were giving him.

“Skodhan Racing just happens to be a company owned by associates of mine who shall remain nameless, but SiranAxum is the actual controlling parent corporation, unknown to those who need to have that information. They are insured against just such things so you will be compensated for the ‘losses’ at full value.”

“And these pirates will just turn over the raided goods to us afterward, Cousin?” Traven asked the question his father had to be thinking.  Giving him a smug grin Daiman answered, “Who said they were real pirates.”

“Force, you have far more of the rogue in you than your father could have possibly imagined.” Tyrell spoke up again, his tone disapproving, nearly disappointed.  

Unphased, Daiman responded. “It gets the job done and it’s kept the company he and his forefathers worked far to hard to build from falling apart, so I’m sure he’d forgive that.”

He looked around the room at the others again before continuing. “And it has and will also continue to help fund that cause we all want to see, the return of rightful order to this galaxy that can only be accomplished under Imperial rule.  Right now there is a war heated being fought on Bakura the outcome of which will determine the course of the battle to come.” He paused, noticing the look that was almost distaste flit across Tyrell’s features.

Placing his hands at the edge of the desk, he leaned down and looked at his uncle. “With your help, as well as my own and other parties we can make this a victorious fight for Dodonna and his forces.  One that is over quickly before too much life is lost on either side.  Are you with us, Uncle?”

Tyrell leaned back in his chair, rubbing one hand over his face and through hair that had gone almost completely silver with age before looking first again at his only child.  The young man he was so proud of with a contemplative expression, before looking back up at his nephew.  The look in his eyes, as if he thought him a stranger, before it was replaced by something close to resignation.  “Okay” He sighed.  “I’ll do it, more so out of loyalty to an old friend who I owe much to myself.”

Looking away from Daiman almost dismissively, his eyes sought out the others in the room, “Now, what else are we to discuss here this evening, gentlemen and Commander Lane?”

Re: Imperial Renaissance

It was obvious that nobody had to add something to Daiman’s plan. At least not now. It had been a long day for all of them. “Good.” Tyrell rose from his chair. “Maybe we should return to the party then, before the other guests will start missing us.” Daiman smiled by his uncle’s words, offering his arm to Commander Lane, immediately back in their roles. Tyrell noticed that Traven’s eyes were following them. His son’s face was unreadable. Helpful for a high-ranking Imperial officer, Tyrell knew that. His old friend Maximillian Dodonna thought the galaxy of Traven’s leadership qualities.

Back then in the prime of the Empire it had been a tremendous honour for their family that Traven had been accepted to Carida, then later served on the flagship of the Imperial fleet. But then the first small rebellion turned into a full-blown civil war and instead of  ending his naval career after his first period of service, instead of returning to work for the family business, Traven decided that his place was in a cockpit. Because he believed in what his privileged education had inculcated him with. Lanah and Tyrell were very proud of their son, of his career. Even still now with the Empire ironically in the position the rebels had been a decade ago. Once Tyrell had supported Palpatine’s election campaign to become chancellor, because the senator stood for economical stability. And later the Emperor thanked him with making Dunn Industries to one of the top players in arms industry. Now Tyrell supported the remnant Empire because he believed in the men behind it. Men like Dodonna, Traven and Daiman.

Traven and Daiman, who had been like brothers always. And hopefully wouldn’t quarrel now about a woman. If that had been the reason causing the emotionless look of his son. Tyrell resolved to talk with Traven about this situation. Alone. Without Lanah who had been interrogated Daiman already about a potential liaison of the Houses Lane and Dunn. Tyrell loved his wife, who was a refined and intelligent woman. But sometimes she forgot that their son was a grown-up man.

It had been only seconds that all the thought ran through Tyrell’s mind and quickly he was the perfect host again. He too had good education and training. “Mr. von Aath.” He addressed the older man, who was about to leave his study. “I hope that you and your charming assistant will stay as our guests at least for tonight.” The Moff showed a thin smile. “Just when we don’t cause inconvenience.” Tyrell bowed his head slightly. “Of course not. It is an honour for us. But if you may excuse me for a moment… Mr. Kabal, may I have a word with you?”

The tall cyborg stopped his steps. “Yes, Mr. Dunn? Is there anything I can do for you, Sir?”  Tyrell smirked as he walked to his desk. “No, it’s more that I can do something for you, General.” He opened a drawer, taking out a key card. “We had talk only briefly before as you arrived. But I think I am in possession of something that belongs to you.” He handed the card to the other man. Kabal cocked his head, obviously his version of confusion, as his eyes scanned the card. “<i>The Hunter</i>?” Tyrell nodded. “As I heard about that ship as an evidence in the hands of CorSec, I recognised her immediately. And knowing some of your special abilities, I thought it was better to take care of her until you would be able to return. The corvette is a little masterpiece. It would have been a pity if one of my business rivals would have laid their hand on her.”

Kabal grabbed Tyrell’s hand, shaking it. “You have my thanks, Mr. Dunn. This generous gesture will not be forgotten or go unnoticed. I assure you.” Tyrell rubbed his hand after the cyborg released him. Slowly the blood circulation returned. “We Dunns have been men of honour always. The ship belongs to you. Keeping her wouldn’t be correct. You’ll find her in my shipyards in orbit. One of my company shuttles can bring you there tomorrow if that is your wish.” Kabal put the key card into one of his pockets. “Nevertheless I'm in your debt, Mr. Dunn. Should you require anything of me…”  

“Maybe one day I will take you up on that, General.” Tyrell replied. “But now let us return to the party. I promised my wife a dance.”

Re: Imperial Renaissance

Before she and Bal’ak could sneak away, Petra heard a whisper.  “Miss van Aath!”  She looked up to find a blushing young waiter standing a few feet away and coughing to try and get her attention discreetly.  “Your presence is requested in the study, my lady, along with Mr. Arlos.”

“Now?” Petra glanced back and felt some satisfaction hum in her veins at the annoyed look in Bal’ak’s eyes as his hand tightened slightly at her waist.

“I’m afraid so, Miss.”  The boy swallowed hard and bobbed his head.

Her head started to throb at the situation, especially when she caught sight of one of the guests from earlier… <i>attempting</i> to dance despite his body lacking the proper coordination.  To Petra’s horror, she recognized Kabal’s cybernetic form before he suddenly lost his footing and went down with a crash thanks to his clumsy footwork.  <i>Oh dear gods above.</i>

Letting out her own sigh, Petra straightened her dress and graciously accepted Bal’ak’s proffered arm before gliding down a few ornate hallways and into the opened doors.  Apparently a few of the gentlemen had been offered cigars as a courtesy, and she inwardly groaned at the idea of being stuck with the smoke clinging to her skin for an hour or two.  As if he could read her thoughts Bal’ak made a slight shake of his head when offered one, only leading her to a corner and offering her one of the chairs.

Petra nodded and graced him with a smile before her eyes took in the room carefully.  Of course she recognized the man sitting behind the large wooden desk, Tyrell Dunn, since he was their main contact.  Standing next to him his son Traven appeared every inch the military man despite his civilian attire, and Petra’s shrewd eyes caught the small glance Traven made towards the other female in the room, Jordan Lane.  <i>Maybe I should let Jordan keep the dress,</i> Petra tucked the thought into a back corner of her mind.  It never hurt to use one’s body to get attention in this male-driven Empire.

And there was Daiman Sirana.  A small smirk curved onto her lips when she caught sight of the dark-haired and tall figure of the ruthless businessman.  Rumors had only graced her ears concerning his practices, but there was enough to condemn him as a bad boy, and an alluring one at that.  Both he and his equally but fairer cousin Traven had avoided the matrimonial noose for years, and neither seemed remotely interested in long term commitments to the female gender.

Crossing a leg delicately, Petra continued surreptitiously taking in the members of the room despite her boredom at the politics of the situation.  She absorbed herself so much that she jumped when Bal’ak’s voice sounded next to her ear.

“You appear as fascinated by this… spectacle as I do,” he murmured, and she felt his lips brush against the tip of her earlobe.

“It doesn’t hurt to know one’s enemies,” she only replied calmly.

“Enemies?” Bal’ak leaned over, giving off the appearance of being completely absorbed in what she said.  Despite her only being a decoration out at the party, he gave no indication of wanting the role to end so soon in the evening.

“Well,” and she accepted a glass of water from a servant before they bowed out of the room and the doors closed, “maybe enemy is too strong a word, but I like to know what I’m up against in any situation.”

His dark eyes gleamed with something indefinable that interested her, but then Tyrell opened the floor by addressing his nephew, “Daiman I would be happy to help an old friend, and honored to assist the cause, but-“

Moff von Aath made a small hand signal to Petra, and she stood to walk to his side and kneel down.  “Yes?” she asked quietly.

“You and the two other pilots are not needed right now.”  Willem studied Tyrell quietly before adding, “Why don’t you go enjoy yourself?  The night’s young and you’ll soon be surrounded by military outfits on Bakura.”  In other words, he did not want Imperial Intelligence having a presence necessarily in this room outside of Maarco.

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes Petra only murmured, “of course,” before standing and tapping the other pilot’s shoulder (was his name Uer or something?) on her way out.  He raised an eyebrow and she shrugged before taking Bal’ak’s arm and leading the other one outside.

Before she slid out the door behind them, her eyes met Daiman’s for a brief moment.  He gave her a speculating glance before she let the door close behind her.

Once outside the younger pilot immediately tried to loosen his collar.  “Frell, this thing’s tight!” he exclaimed while trying to yank it off.  Bal’ak sharply cleared his throat and glanced at Petra, and it amused her that he was trying to protect her supposedly ladylike ears.

“I’m personally not a fan of these frakking heels,” she informed them both cheerfully while lifting her dress to show off slim ankle and the heels that made her want to cut off her feet.

For a moment Bal’ak’s eyebrows looked like they were going to shoot clear off of his forehead before he slowly grinned and leaned against the wall next to her, his arms crossed over his chest.  “We were discussing something before we were so rudely interrupted,” he started to remind her.

Uer rolled his eyes and muttered something about the officers’ water being spiked by Zeltrons before ambling over to the bar.  

“Alone at last.”  Petra’s heart thumped hard against her chest at those words spoken in that low voice that sounded like chocolate-covered sin, and she absently licked her lower lip.  His eyes zoomed immediately on her tongue.  “So what’s your name?”

“My name?” she echoed while he leaned closer.  “It’s…”

The sounds of the crowd faded to a dull roar that barely penetrated their senses, and Petra’s eyes fluttered closed as she breathed one word before his mouth covered hers,

“Petra.”

Re: Imperial Renaissance

Quietly Traven followed Moff von Aath as well as Daiman, who was still leading Jordan, her hand on his arm. The ballroom was still full of guests, enjoying the evening with excellent drinks, foods and music. Even Traven had to agree that the band was chosen perfectly by his mother. She had always the right touch for things like that. The scenery reminded him of Imperial Center almost. Except that they had to be careful about their true opinion in public. Some of the attending Corellian High Society wouldn’t agree with their <i>philosophy</i>.

For a moment Traven watched Daiman  who had persuaded Jordan into a dance. He had been a smooth talker as long as Traven remembered. Hopefully he was just playing his role now. Taking a glass from the tray one of the servants offered, Traven tried to distract himself from ridiculous thoughts caused by a hint of jealousy. The Corellian Whiskey, it was said that it was one if not even the best brand in the galaxy, burnt slightly as he took a big swallow. Instead in direction of the dancers, he stared how into the direction of the hallway towards his father’s study. Frowning he wondered what his father and the General had to talk.

“Any idea what your Father and our tall friend have in common?” Daiman’s voice made him turn around. Traven shook his head. “I can only guess.  Father talks with me about the technological innovations the company develops, about stock quotations. But not about <i>co-operations</i> with bounty hunters.” He looked pensively. Daiman’s expression was more curious. “Your father never seemed to be a friend of such business methods. Still waters are deep obviously.” Traven took another sip of his whiskey. “I remember that Father mentioned once an industrial espionage incident with some infiltrators sent by Sienar Fleet Systems. Maybe that was the time he met such… individuals as Mr. Kabal.”

Traven turned his eyes back to the dance floor. “Apropos spies: Is it just me or does this <i>Miss von Aath</i> scream ISB? Admiral Dodonna mentioned to me before the mission, that it is very likely that Bastion will send an operative from the Bureau.” Daiman followed his cousin’s gaze, smirking. “I think that Mr. Bal’ak is hoping she’ll scream something else later.” He started to chuckle as he saw the shocked look, Traven gave him. “Sometimes you act like a monk, Trave. Maybe you need another drink to loosen up?” Daiman pointed to Traven’s now empty glass.

The Imperial Captain shook his head. “No, thank you. Not at the moment. I think I should interfere before Mr. Bal’ak tells all fleet internals he knows about.” After handing his glass to Daiman, Traven made his way through the dancing couples until he reached his <i>target</i> “May I cut in, Miss von Aath?” he asked politely. The angry look of Laakim was hidden hastily, but not fast enough, as he noticed who was interrupting them. <i>Miss von Aath</i> was holding up a hand quickly, silencing Laakim, before she smiled charmingly at Traven. “I’d be honoured, Captain Dunn. And please call me Eliena.” Traven rose an eye-brow about the use of his real rank and name, but changed places with Laakim. Another song started and she allowed him to lead her to the catchy tune.

“I’m surprised the admiral let his star pilot this far away in enemy territory.” A charming smile played around her lips still, making it look to potential watchers as if they were talking about the weather. “I wouldn’t call my family’s estate enemy territory.” Traven noticed, his voice low. He didn’t feel comfortable to discuss such matter in public. Her smile was still sweet. “But I’m sure the Corellian government wouldn’t be too keen to be harbouring a fugitive from the New Republic.” Traven’s smile was very thin. “Well, my father did a good job in rebuilding  our company legally. Oh, you meant that I’m the fugitive?” Following the song he whirled her around. As they were face to face again, her eyes flashed amused. Traven wasn’t sure if it was the dance or the game of words she enjoyed. Maybe both. “I’ll leave that to your interpretation. After all, you were the top of your class at Carida.”

Now it was Traven’s turn to grin. He had the evidence now. There was slight sarcasm in his answer. “I see, you had an excellent briefing for a Moff’s daughter.” She looked totally innocent at him now. “I have my sources.” Traven noticed the annoyed gaze of Mr. Bal’ak who was waiting next to the dance floor. Nevertheless or especially because of that Traven continued the dance. “That is obvious, Miss… Eliena. And you are an excellent dancer.” She flashed a smile as he twirled her around again. “Thank you.” Traven pulled her closer again. “Excuse me, that I’m a little rusty on the dance floor.” She was leaning closer, speaking quietly enough for only him to hear. “I imagine you don’t get very many dances on the <i>Ravisher</i>. “ Traven stayed that close as he whispered in return. “What else do you know?” Her smirk was unreadable. “Give me a topic and I’ll tell you.” Traven’s smirk matched hers. “Well, how about a certain topic: Me?”

<i>Eliena</i> looked amused. “Hmm… you’re tall… and handsome.” After the next twirl she added. “Oh, and there’s the whole issue after the battle of Endor that was never really solved, now was it?” Her eyes didn’t leave his face as she searched for a reaction. There was just a hint of tentativeness in his own eyes, but his voice remained calm. “It was solved. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here.” She chuckled slightly about his answer. “And you try so hard to prove yourself because of your family and wealth? That’s something anyone can see.” Traven’s facade darkened. “I’m just doing  my duty like every good Imperial citizen should.” She nodded as she glanced over his shoulder at Laakim, who wasn’t pleased at all with the arrangement of the moment. “I can see.”  

That gave him his next cue. “What else are you trying to find out with help of Mr. Bal’ak?” She rose a slender eye-brow. “Who said that Bal’ak told me anything?” Traven was honest. “My experience.” Men like that pilot were simple. Some flirting compliments and they tried to show off with their knowledge. And Traven was sure that the woman in front of him was the opposite to that. Regardless of this conclusion he asked in an almost easygoing tone: “Well, maybe it’s your turn now to tell me about you?” The song was ending and they stopped their dance steps. “There is not much to tell.” She answered. “Besides, you’ll find out more in time. If you’re lucky.”

“Lucky?” Traven frowned about her choice of words. Again she leant closer, a seductive gesture, whispering in his ear. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you, Dunn.” He could tell by the look in her eyes that she wasn’t kidding. Traven nodded simply. “All of us have our orders.” <i>Eliena</i> studied him for a moment, then she nodded too. Traven cleared his throat, ending the now awkward silence between them. “It’s always a pleasure to meet dutiful people.” The smile returned to her face. Genuine or faked, it was hard to tell. “It’s a pleasure, Captain.” Again she glanced over his shoulder. This time her eyes descried Jordan who kept company with Daiman. A mischievous smile appeared on <i>Eliena’s</i> lips. “You might want to tell your wingmate that she looks good in that dress. It’ll score you points for later.” And after a knowingly wink she was walking away.

Traven managed to hide his surprise. This woman was dangerous. It was better not to antagonise her.

***   

It was two hours later as the party ended finally. Tyrell and Lanah were seeing off the last guests at the main entrance while the others, who stayed overnight, retreated to their rooms. Traven felt tired, but also restless. The day had been long, but most the time it had been eating, drinking, standing around. The few dances of the evening had been no compensation for the daily training routine, he imposed on himself when being on board of the <i>Ravisher</i>.

It was after midnight planet-time, but Traven took the sports wear out of his room’s closet. Running at the beach would give him the needed weariness to find sleep. As he went downstairs, the house was quiet, except the servants cleaning the remains of the party.

Traven took a deep breath of the clean sea air, before jogging along the beach. The sand made it difficult to run first. But after Traven decided to take off his running shoes, it became easier. The sand felt strange at his naked feet, cold at this nightly hour, but also soft. Traven hoped that he would recover his shoes later. But this was a private beach belonging to his family’s property, so there were no worries about other people. But right that moment he saw the silhouette of another person maybe hundred meters in front of him. Traven concentrated to identify the human in the darkness. The only sources of light were some lanterns around the house which allowed no clear sight at this part of the beach. Traven  wished for a glowrod, but after some few more meters he knew who it was.

“Hello Jordan.” He said almost casually as he caught up, running next to her now. Jordan turned her head to him, even in this dim light he could tell that she was smiling shyly. “Good evening… Traven.” He returned the smile. “I see that we had the same idea.” She nodded. “Yes, this is a nice change to our treadmills on board.” For a while they ran quietly next to each other. Traven enjoyed that there was no need for small-talk. But then he remembered the advice, <i>Eliena</i> had given him earlier. “You looked beautiful in that dress tonight.”

Jordan stopped her pace abruptly. “Really?” She sounded surprised. But then realised what she had said and began to stutter almost. “I mean… thank you… eh, I meant…” Traven smiled, cupped her face and kissed her simply. After the first shock she began to return the kiss and just moments later they found themselves in each others arms, falling into the sand.

***   
Covered with sand Traven was sneaking along the hallway towards his room, his shoes in his hands. Everybody in the house seemed to be asleep, so it was almost startling as one of the doors opened and <i>Miss von Aath</i> stepped into the corridor. Her eyes narrowed, then she smirked slowly, giving him a wink . Quickly, without any word, Traven slipped into his own room.

Re: Imperial Renaissance

"Petra…" he breathed quietly into her ear, "now that's a pretty name."

She reached up with one hand and quickly opened the top button of his suit. Her fingers brushed his chest, and then hooked into the front of his jacket, pulling him down gently to her lips.

"And it's a name you will never speak in public," she said softly, "unless you want me to demonstrate what skills I really have."

"I can only imagine," he replied. He stepped back and tugged at his collar. "I think we should now head back to the festivities."

He and Petra had emerged from their hideaway in time for another dance session. He noticed she was good at working the room as she presented herself and introduced him several times to different party guests. As much as he wanted to get involved in the local politics, other things kept his mind occupied.

His thoughts kept flashing back to their hideaway, when he and Petra had been sharing a moment. In retrospect, it was the most candid moment Petra had allowed him. It had started when she'd asked…

"May I cut in, Miss von Aath?” Traven Dunn asked politely. Laakim couldn't have been more furious.

“I’d be honoured, Captain Dunn. And please call me Eliena.” she replied.

"But of course, Captain Dunn," Laakim could only say. He saluted by making a quick nod and dismissed himself. Another song started and she allowed Traven to lead her to the catchy tune.

Laakim made his way back to the counter where a bartender attended to him by serving him something dark with a high woody aroma. As he raised it to his nose, he recognized it as Johrian whiskey. He drained the glass, and asked the bartender to pour another. "Serve me up. I may be here a while."

The sight of his TIE captain dancing with her caused a tightness in his chest that he couldn't identify, a strange mixture of jealously, anger, and revulsion. Nor could he identify the source of the negative feelings. Was it because of how he felt about his captain and possible secret affair with his XO that he was suspicious about? Or the fact that maybe Petra was merely using him to get information and now she was doing the same to Dunn? If he was only closer to hear, he could at least confirm something. There was a great deal to sort out yet, and he'd hoped for more time.

He finished his second drink and decided to make his exit. At least while he still had his dignity. The Dunns had made arrangements to accomodate their guests, and Laakim decided it was best to take advantage of their hospitality. He brushed past General Kabal and his wingmate Zak Uer, giving both of them a quick goodnight before the band concluded their number.

The lengthy corridor was lined with holopaintings, commemorating many of the company's past chairmans, as Laakim stormed down the empty hallway, biting down on his lower lip. His bruised ego still ached from Dunn's casual disregard. His indifferent tone rang in his ears.

<I>How dare he purposely move in between me and Petra?</I> he agonized. <I>Isn't it enough he is probably having an affair with his wingmate?</I>

An open room caught his eye, revealing a lone computer settled on a wide desk inside a library. He swerved purposely to one side and peered around to see if anyone was inside. <I>If I'm agonizing this much about her, maybe it is time to find out who she really is to make it worth my while…</I>

The modern-looking steel desk gave him a place to do his research as he booted up the computer. A potrait of the Dunn family, consisting of Tyrell, his wife, and a young Traven, occupied a place of honor upon the library's wall. The framed holophoto served to be possibly a keepsake or inspiration to whoever sat here. Laakim sat at the desk, staring intently at the illuminated screen of the monitor, which now displayed a limited roster of active Imperial officers and agents who were serving on Bastion.

<I>Seems my serial number and identification still is active in the Imperial database after all. Now to see who you are… Petra.</I> Unfortunate she didn't reveal her last name. His search in the database would take all the longer. And he didn't have much time until someone began to lurk around for him. He continued to click rapidly though the profile photos until he finally laid eyes on Petra's serene face. <I>There you are…</I>

Gripped by a renewed sense of urgency, he feverishly worked the computer's keyboard. Quickly selecting her profile, he began to read her file, confirming that she was indeed an Imperial agent that had joined under Isard's program. Unfortunately, her most recent activity was restricted to a higher level of security, leaving only her profile ending at the age of nineteen when she joined the training corps.

His eyes snapped open. "So your father died while you were in training? Interesting." Laakim leaned back in the chair, staring speculatively into the warm brown eyes of this former mysterious woman. <I>So why did our Admiral agree to have this agent recruited with us?</i> he pondered, resting his chin on his steepled fingers. <I>And is Captain VonToma aware of this? Or even Captain Dunn? Was this plotted from Bastion itself?</i> Too many questions flooded his mind all at once.

Although he couldn't answer those questions, Laakim knew that it was vitally important that he locate his Captain and inform him about this. Granted, everyone knew she was part of the Imperial cause, but no one really knew what she actually <I>did</i> for the Imperial cause. Laakim did now.

Or would he keep this information to himself? It would make a good bartering chip when the time came. For now, he would keep his options open.

A quick tap of a few buttons and the computer was once more dormant. With a quick glance into the hallway, he sauntered into the hallway once again and made his way toward his private quarters assigned to him, his hands clasped behind his back in smug satisfaction…

Re: Imperial Renaissance

It had been about three hours since the party had officially ended, and Willem was debating why he still was sitting in his room within the walls of the Dunn Residence. He, already changed out of his clothes, could not go to sleep against the backdrop of Corellian night. The soft wind was pressing up against his body as he lay against the bed sheets, his hands behind his head. He was long past the stage of sleep, and his primary focus now was to day dream. Maarco, lying in the bed next to him, was fast asleep but the dream was a nightmare, judging by his face and the sweat rolling down his face. He had snuck into Willem's room in order to defend him in case either there was an assassin or the house was being raided. The 'Grand Admiral's' life over his. Willem sighed to himself, now staring back up at the ceiling.
   
Why am I here?
   
To defend the citizens of the Galactic Empire and itself versus all foes, near and far. An automatic response came from within his mind, the mantra of all fleet commanders who go to the mandatory War College on Kuat. But Willem shook his mind: he did not fight for the Empire, no longer. He fought for the duty of its citizens, not the Empire. He remembered the reason why he distanced himself from power corruptible, and stayed with his moral code.
   
Why am I here?
   
To defend the people of the Empire and make sure their assets are secure. Another automated response overriding the other mantra, this one the code of the Imperial Navy. But even then, it came up different in his head, sounding more like a financial code of pretext than anything else. No, he thought, this is different.
   
Why am I here?
   
Because you choose to be. That was Riika’s voice, his only star, which had faded long ago. He bit his lip, to cause pain, to forget for the moment. He could not reveal one piece of information, or else his ploy as a Grand Admiral would fail. But her voice was right. That was all he needed to know, why he was fighting, why he was here. Because he chose to. Because he wanted to.
   
Because he needed to.
   
You need to fight, or else the chance that no one will is going to rise.
   
You need to fight, because you are the last chance for the Patriots.
   
You need to fight, for her.
   
And with a smile on his face, Willem drifted to sleep.
   
   
He awoke four hours later, the sun now in the sky and shining brightly. Willem yawned and stretched out his arms, slightly wincing at the pain in his arms. He relaxed them, opened and closed his mouth a few times, before he let the sunlight actually hit his eyes. He felt its rays hit his skin, and he felt better already.
   
Maarco was already awake, talking on a personal holo-communicator to Marsh about the ship arrangements. But Willem didn’t care, he suddenly felt a lot better about everything now that he had sleep. A smile was on his face in the morning, something Maarco and Zaafrian and the entirety of his command staff could attest to never seeing.
   
“Good morning, ‘Colonel Davien’.” He replied, giving out his codename within the operational area. No one was allowed into their webs of deception: only Petra, and she didn’t know everything. That’s how Intelligence operations are, Willem thought, keep your agents at arm’s length. Maybe that’s why Janus did so well out in the field, he never knew anything beyond the mission parameters.
   
“I suggest we high-tail it to Big D’s outpost, sir.” Maarco said, being vague, but Willem understood the code word and the tone of voice he spoke in. “Don’t worry, we’re leaving in fifteen. Pack your stuff and get rolling.”
   
“Aye, sir!”

   
He carried a small briefcase besides the smart-looking business suit that came with his clothes package. He had an air of Corellian: tough, decisive, and strong. However, he was pleased that hardly anyone else in the house was awake, save for Tyrell and Lanah. He would never call him or her by their first names, nor did he plan to. Wasn’t proper military bearing on his part.
   
“Mister von Aath! Are you leaving so soon?” Tyrell asked him, as he walked down the flight of stairs to the main foyer of the house. He adopted a sad face, but he was glad to be rid of this place. It reminded him too much of the elite on Coruscant during the Civil War, it stank of richness.
   
“Yes, sadly. Work and duty compels me to get to the RV point as quickly as possible. But thank you for having me over. I hope me, Maarco, or P…” He coughed, a faked one, but to him real enough. “Excuse me. I hope my daughter didn’t cause any sort of problems.” He said, adding a curt nod to his sentence as he gave a soft little smile.
   
“That’s a shame. We were hoping you or your compatriot could stay for lunch.” Miss Dunn spoke up from the kitchen, now leaning against the doorway that enters into the eating area. Willem shrugged, looking at her as he spoke.
   
“I know, but, you both know the nature of the Navy. We do our job, then we move, then repeat. Oh, Mister Dunn, can you do me a favor?” He asked the elder Dunn, staring straight at him with a keen eye. He saw that he was still unsure about this whole operation, or his allegiance to the Empire.
   
“Of course, Mister Aath.”
   
“Tell my daughter that…’she needs to take the bus home.’”
   
He gave Mister Aath a curious, confused nod, but a nod nonetheless. Willem then smiled, and outstretched his hand. The elder Dunn smiled back, and grasped his hand firmly, Willem’s hand increasing tension to keep up with him.
   
“Make the choice that appeals to you, Mister Dunn. That’s about the only good thing that anyone in the Galaxy can do.” He said, with a smile, before he ungrouped the elder Dunn’s hand and walked briskly, as if he was on a time schedule. Behind him was Maarco, carrying his clothes in one hand and his report files in the other. Both of them walked out quickly with no time to waste, exiting the Dunn’s home.
   
“Sir, I got a question.”
   
“Shoot, Anton.”
   
“What did you think about our comrades in arms?” He chose his words carefully; however sometimes a brash man Maarco was elegant and his knowledge of the word game was large thanks to no small part from Willem, who often took him to formal military dinners where other military officers often partook in bashing each other. Willem merely smiled at Maarco for a few seconds, walking to their repulsorlift vehicle, before he opened his mouth to reply to his protégé.
   
“Ignorant.”
   
“Pardon?”
   
“They believe they can beat the New Republic by military might. I’ve heard from Shadow that the situation on Bakura is worsening by the day. We have to hurry to stop Dodonna from spreading dissenters across the entire planet.”
   
“You don’t think that we can’t win with military might?”
   
“Of course not. The New Republic ships number in thousands, men in billions. The only way we will win will be by political and economical control. If Shadow’s men can continue to keep their hands on IGBC’s money operations then we got our economical control. But political will be different.”
   
“How so, sir?” Maarco asked as they strapped themselves into the repulsorlift, Maarco behind the wheel. He pulled it up and over, towards the spaceport and Coronet. The radio played soft music, background stuff to Willem’s ears but the crooner caught Maarco’s attention for a brief second before he opened his ears to his commanding officer.
   
“The New Republic is a large giant, made of corruption and money and power. All we do is play their game. You simply go to the Senate and plead your case. You’ll gain the attention from one of those younger Senators who haven’t experienced the Rebellion, and then you simply create a power schism.”
   
“You mean one side versus another?”
   
“Exactly. The goal of the operation is to let them argue among a single subject so reverently that they forget about the New Republic themselves. It happened in the Republic, and it always does. Then, during the Imperial Advisor Incident, and now.” He said, leaning back against his chair, but sounded as if he didn’t trust the plan. As if he was with Dodonna, but he couldn’t say it.
   
“Let’s get home.”

   
“Captain, contact sighted!”
   
“Scanner Officer, confirmed!”
   
“COMSCAN, confirmed! Thirty degrees off our port bow!”
   
“Weapons, target and fire!”
   
“Aye, sir! Weapon batteries firing.”
   
Silence.
   
“Target destroyed.”
   
“Sir, with all due respect, these are useless. We’re prepared.” The sound of the executive officer, Commander Parker, spoke up from the command bridge of the Nightbringer with a concerned tone in his voice. The training exercises in his mind were very much worthless; Nightbringer had some of the best crew members in the fleet, and he was willing to risk everything he had on them. Line Captain Zaafrian stood still with a hand cupping his chin in thought at his suggestion.
   
“What else are we going to do, Parker? We got nothing else to do besides wait for Moff von Aath’s signal to move.”
   
“Well, something else besides training missions, sir.”
   
“Like what? We’re…”
   
“Sir, encrypted communiqué, Double Aye trackers on it!” The Communications officer shouted from his station. The COMSCAN Officer and the XO rushed to the console on the lower bridge floor, in their hands a red placard with numerous numbers and other letters stuck in a line, marking code identifications and other military identification orders.
   
“Sir, coded message has a RED mark. Code is one, five, seven, five, nine, four, Tau, Alpha, five.”
   
“Repeat identification, COMSCAN.”
   
“RED mark. Code is one, five, seven, five, nine, four, Tau, Alpha, five.”
   
“Repeat identification, XO.”
   
“RED mark. Code is one, five, seven, five, nine, four, Tau, Alpha, five. Code and message is authentic.”
   
“Agreed, code is authentic.” Lieutenant Falico reported after he heard Commander Parker repeat the code. The COMSCAN officer stared at Line Captain Zaafrian, who looked over the message with a keen eye over each and every line. It was a small message, but more important. It could be the deciding factor against the New Republic.
   
                           

“Set a course for Bakura. We will meet Moff Aath there. For the glory of the Empire!”
   
“Pax Imperialia!”

Atunda, 15th of Helona

Bakura, Salis D'aar, medcenter – day after unrest's at Arden High – noon


Scorched flesh, bacta, bota, and disinfectant. Another nurse hastened down the neon-lit corridor: brown-haired, well-stacked; yet her face was shut, the operating smock smeared with blood and lesser humours. When she caught the bald trooper’s glance, she glimpsed daggers. Bugslut! Frowning, Nash gazed after her till she vanished in the next ward. Next to him, Kix sneered as VonToma grabbed the datapad and skimmed through Dodonna’s directives.

Ironic. When they’d walked up here he’d still joked: what caring type that VonToma had to be, and what spook; only then recognized the man he’d believed to be dead. Right, the captain they were to report to was exactly that ISB agent with the smug mug of whom he’d gladly wiped a Nar Shaddaan gutter. Gnardly! If he don’t hatch out reprisal, I’ll eat my bucket. He’d thought. Yet three hours in hearing range of the groans and death rattles of fellow Imperials realigned your perception.

Yet another of those false nurses. Oh, of course, in view of my E-11 you get out of my way… But take in her look: furtive. Insidious. Like a frakkin’ lizzard. Trust and you’re frakked, turn your back and she’ll give you the scalpel. You Bakurans refused Imperial supremacy before; and that was after we reacted on your call for help; saved you from a frakking alien-invasion.

Another screamed. The small nurse hurried past trailed by a waft of alazhi and antiseptic. Glaring after her, Nash turned up his nose.

Yeah, look innocent, why don’t you!  I know here die those who lower their guard. His eyes snapped back to Kix and the ISB agent. That’s why you spook look like death warmed over, too; that’s why you hang about here for hours and hours: watching; that they don’t cut your troops’ throats…

“And to what do I owe this honor?” Eventually, VonToma lowered the datapad and gave them a glower.

Kix shrugged. “Admiral Dodonna assigned us to your counter-insurgency force.”

“Really?” Reddened eyes narrowed. “And why was I not informed of this earlier?”

“Now, as far as I know, the Admiral is quite busy… reviewing some broadcasts that were—how do you guys say? Not entirely in his interest?” Kix’ eyes widened, mouth opened, tongue showed for split seconds; his display of a hanged drew disturbed stares from two orderlies that rushed past with drips’ gallows.

“I see.” The agent hissed with a bulge in his jaw muscle. “You can make yourselves useful by reinforcing the checkpoints in the Bakur Ring of the city.”

The blond trooper grinned; and stood rooted. VonToma stared him up and down.

“Oops. Did I forget mention? The Admiral wishes us to function… as sort of your personal escort. After the recent incidents, he thinks, you can do with additional protection.”

The captain’s eyes became chilly. “I am touched. Inform the Admiral that I send him my compliments, but a personal bodyguard detachment won't be necessary.”

“Aww. Aren’t you a bit happy? Didn’t we share some pretty good times?” Kix sneered; and arched a brow as Nash failed to join in. “Anyway, I’m afraid we’re a gift that you can’t…”  

An approaching footfall, at double time pace, interrupted Davin jeering, and VonToma turned round to look at the junior officer who stopped next to him and quickly snapped to attention.

“Sir?” Lt. Botela gave an uncomfortable glance at the two troopers, then back at his glowering captain. “Pardon the interruption, but may I have a word with you? It is of utmost importance.”

“But of course.” Tilting his head, Kix smiled affably. “Lt. Cadman and I, we’re to be readily trusted.”

Re: Imperial Renaissance

Continued from Zeltros…

"We're coming up on Bakura," Crash said casually as Iris slid into the co-pilot's seat beside him. His hands were as gentle on the controls as they often were on her, she noticed. His two loves. "Here's hoping they won't blast us into micro atoms the moment we hit realspace."

"This ship is Zeltron design, remember?" She smiled confidently. "They'll hold their fire."

"So you say." He shook his head. "You're so confident."

"Oh, hush, love. I've been infiltrating Imperial territories all my life. What's one more?"

Crash suddenly looked grumpy. "Not even your Jay Anderton could get you out of trouble if we screw this up."

"Ooh, ooh!" Iris grinned, ignoring his statement of trouble. "Is my sweetheart jealous?"

He gave her a smart look. "He could be there, you know. On Bakura. Waiting for us with binders in hand."

She started to laugh. "Relax, my love…" She leaned over and kissed his neck, tasting his skin. "Stop being jealous. I only have eyes for you."

"Hey… How about a little sugar for Faran?" The Huntress' brother's voice came from directly behind them, bending down to Iris' lip height. "I have this good spot on my neck, too…"

Crash swatted him away. "Get outta here…"

"Selfish," the younger man commented, then looked down as the navicomputer started beeping. "Bakura?"

"Bakura." Crash reached for the hyperdrive controls, then shot Iris a sideways glance. "I really hope you know what you're doing."

"So do I, love." Iris thumbed the intercom switch. "All right, Leon, Sauric, we've arrived. Entering Bakuran space. Sit tight and quietly."

For the benefit of those in the cockpit, Crash said, "Entering hyperspace in three… two… one."

If it were possible to bring the ship to a screeching halt in the vacuum of space, Crash would've done it. An Imperial Star Destroyer – The Ravisher, Iris thought with more than a little bitterness – hung suspended in orbit, a whole starfleet of TIEs circling it with their screaming engines like flies buzzing around a corpse. When Iris saw how near the Destroyer they were, she knew immediately what Faran spoke aloud.

"Too close!" he whispered, as if fearing he would be overheard all the way through two starship hulls and the dead of space. His hand shot out between Crash and Iris, pointing at a squadron of TIEs breaking free of their formation and heading towards them. "Too close – Crash, you brought us out of hyperspace too close!"

Crash gritted his teeth, hands tense on the controls. "Piloting isn't an exact science!"

Faran muttered, "Someone other than the guy named Crash should've flown…"

Iris shot him a look. "Hush yourself!"

Crash ignored the younger man's comment. "Iris, they're coming in fast. We can book it now if you think it looks bad."

She turned her violet eyes onto him. "Do you trust me?"

"Absolutely. With my whole life."

"Faran?"

"I've always trusted you, my Lady."

"Then we stay right here." She squared her shoulders. "I'll need silence from both of you. Pheromones don't travel over radio waves, and this might take a little work."

Crash nodded and "parked" the transport as best he could, skillfully adjusting thruster strength until they were adrift.

Iris swallowed, watching the TIEs approach. She had stared down quite a few Imperial blaster barrels in her line of work, but so few turbolaser cannons. She felt herself instinctively release her pheromones, saw that both Crash and Faran could feel it – their eyes wandered to her without them even realizing it yet – and centered herself. This is just another day, and these Imperials are just more assholes.

The TIEs circled once, twice, and then a male voice thick with a Coruscanti accent came through on the intercom. "Unidentified craft, state your name, cargo and destination."

Iris answered immediately. A lifetime of training gave her voice a casual, slightly husky tone, one she'd chosen subconsciously the minute she heard him speak. "Of course, sir. I am Iris Kieral, come from Zeltros to deliver a shipment of fine goods that was ordered by a Bakuran government official a month ago. The ship is the Succubus Kiss. Would you like me to transmit the registration codes for you to check?"

There was a moment's pause. Crash was looking at her deliberately this time, a slow smirk spreading across his lips. Then the voice said, "Please do, Miss Kieral."

Iris kept her voice pleasant. "That's 'Ms.,' if you please."

Another pause. Crash smirked wider.

"Please do, Ms. Kieral. We won't ask again."

Iris deactivated the intercom and Faran blurted out, "Way to go! Let's piss off the Imperial Commander or whoever that is!"

"I was just making conversation," she replied haughtily, touching the screen to transmit all their ship's information. "If I spoke humbly, showed fear, wouldn't you think I had something to hide?"

He grumbled something while Crash reached out and stroked her arm. "You're doing wonderful, gorgeous."

"You know it, big boy." She grinned, then cleared her throat as the voice spoke up again.

"Ms. Kieral, who is on board with you?"

She thumbed the "Talk" switch. "I have a crew of four very strong, handsome, able-bodied men to help me."

Crash buried his face in his hands. There was another long pause. Iris knew the Imperials were having a hard time trying to figure out what to do with them and how to deal with her.

Finally, the Imperial replied, "The shipping manifest you just transmitted indicated a shipment of fine Zeltron wine and food products, is that correct?"

"Of course, sir."

"You do realize that all IDs and cargo will have to be verified?"

"I would expect nothing less."

"Please hold a moment while we see what we can do."

"Of course, sir, but please consider that my boss is on a deadline and this must be delivered on time."

There was no answer. Iris turned off the intercom and sat back, grinning. "See? Effortless."

Faran sighed. "I'm sweating blood over here, Iris. Those guys are gonna catch us in a lie."

"But we're not lying," Crash protested. "We're actually telling the truth. We're working for this company, we are who we say we are, and our job is what we say it is. Now if he asks how many of us are going to be on board when we leave, then we have to lie."

"My sister owes me," Faran sighed.

After a minute, the voice came from the speaker again. "Ms. Kieral, the TIEs circling you will escort you down to the surface, to a clear landing zone in the city. Upon landing, you are to open the boarding ramp or hatch and line up with your crew. Your identification and goods will be verified before delivery."

"Ah! Wonderful. Thank you very much for your hospitality!" She feigned hesitation. "On a different note, sir, may I ask what Imperials are doing on Bakura? Last I checked, this wasn't Imperial territory."

"That is classified and is none of your business. Comply with our orders or be forcibly removed from Bakuran space."

Iris had expected that, but she hadn't wanted to sound like she had excepted the Imperials to be there. "Of course, sir. Thank you again." She disconnected the intercom and grinned. "Follow the leader, Crash."

Her lover grinned softly. "You're something else, you know that?"

As the TIEs streaked towards the surface, the Zeltron transport ship followed, and Iris activated the on-board intercom. "We're headed planetside, guys. Stow the weaponry, Leon, and Sauric, hide your lightsaber and see if you can get a feel on Garrick's location as soon as possible. The hardest part is over. Now it's just a matter of patience." Turning in her seat, Iris smiled at Faran. "Do what you do best, love."

He smiled softly, pulling his hydrospanner from his belt. "As my lady wishes."


Crash set the Succubus Kiss down as gentle as a mother would lay a child in a cradle. As started cycling down the ship, Sauric and Leon filled in the doorway.

"What now?" Sauric asked. "I'm afraid I haven't done anything like this since I was a teenager, and, well… all this makes me feel old and lost."

Iris' face softened. "Leon, take Sauric to the boarding ramp. We all need to line up outside."

Sauric didn't seem to mind being shepherded around. "Where's my son?"

"Faran's tampering with the engine now."

"Uh-oh." Crash nodded out the viewport. They had landed in an open-walled spaceport, and striding towards them in the doorway were four stormtroopers. "Our welcome party has arrived."

Iris stood quickly as she touched the intercom. "Faran, they're on their way! Finish your job and then hurry back downstairs. This is a meeting you can't be late to." Turning, she looked at Sauric and Leon. "Weapons are hidden?"

Leon nodded. "They could search this ship for a month and not find anything."

"Good." For a reason she couldn't define, she felt her heart swell with affection for all of them. "I love you guys so much."

Leon blushed a little at her sincerity and turned away, heading down the hall. Sauric only smiled, patting her head in a fatherly way and following Leon. She watched them go, then nodded to Crash. "Pop the boarding ramp and power this down."

"Already done," Crash said as he touched the last lever and the lights in the ship went out.

The cockpit was filled with a moonlight she would've liked to enjoy for a few minutes, but sightseeing was not an option on this trip. With a sigh, she nodded softly and turned for the door, but Crash stood suddenly and seized her by the arm. She started, turning, and he slid his other arm around her waist and pulled her close.

"Iris…"

She blinked. "Love, now is not the time–"

He reached up, pressing a finger to her lips to still her. "I want to tell you something."

She stared at him, puzzled, and though that sure, confident, cocky smile was on his face, there was genuine sincerity in his eyes. "Crash, I…"

He laid his fingers over her lips again, then reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind one ear, his arm tightening around her and pressing her tighter to him. "I want you to know that if something or anything goes wrong and we end up arrested and in some Imperial prison somewhere turning into Trent-like vegetables for the rest of our lives, it would all be worth it just for these past few weeks I've spent with you."

She blinked, opened her mouth to speak, and for a while, nothing came out. She had to swallow to speak again. "Trusk, that's the most beautiful thing anyone's ever said to me."

He shrugged softly. "It took a while, but I thought it up all by myself."

She laughed – he always made her laugh – and touched his cheek. "Thanks for answering my call and coming to Zeltros."

He smirked boyishly. "Thanks for calling."

Suddenly, Sauric's voice rang in her head. My Lady, the boarding party is just about here… Regretting that she couldn't have just five more minutes with him, she seized Crash's hand and turned. "Come on, quickly…"

They hurried down the hall of the ship towards the ramp. Faran dropped out of a maintenance shaft behind them and ran after.

Outside, the Bakuran night air was crisp and clear. A squadron of TIEs shot by overhead. Iris relaxed her hand in indication that Crash could let go, but he hung on wordlessly, so she laced her fingers through his and squeezed gently. Leon and Sauric were already standing patiently. Iris fell in next to Leon, and Crash and Faran stood still on her other side. She wondered whether or not it was deliberate that they had lined up so Iris was in the middle of all of them.

Iris took in the four stormtroopers advancing on them. There was nothing distinctive about them, and she knew that was the point. Her eyes moved over them, and her pheromones spread out like a fragrance that wasn't felt but sensed.

They must've sensed it, too, because the minute they got within range of her, they stopped dead in their tracks. Iris smiled sweetly, one hand in Crash's hand, the other reaching up to lightly play with Leon's hair. Leon didn't shrug her off or roll his eyes or swat her hand away, but lightly nuzzled her hand in his macho way of showing affection, playing the part. He'd worked with Iris long enough to know his cues.

"Iris Kieral?" the lead stormtrooper spoke.

"That would be me, of course." She smiled softer. "Good evening to you, gentlemen."

He looked down at a datapad in his hand. "Names and position, starting with you, sir."

Sauric bowed. "Sauric Korim, laborer."

"Leon, laborer."

"Iris Kieral, supervisor."

"Trusk Camlok, pilot and laborer."

"Faran Korim, engineer and laborer."

"We were sent a copy of your shipping manifest." The stormtrooper was trying hard to sound controlling, but the pheromones were working, making him feel in a better mood than he probably wanted to be. "The spaceport is equipped with labor droids to help you unload. Every piece of cargo is to be brought out here on the landing pad and left so we may scan its contents. Bakura is in a bit of a turmoiled state, you see, so we have to be sure of everything."

Iris glanced east as she heard an explosion somewhere in the city. She turned back. "I see. Well, whatever we have to do."

The stormtrooper gestured at his squad mates. "Activate the spaceport labor droids. You five, start unloading."

Iris nodded and released Crash's hand. "Come on, boys, let's get to work."

As they strode up the ramp in a knot, Iris whispered quickly, "Faran, is the starboard engine–"

"Offline," he whispered back.

"Sauric…" She turned to him as they advanced on the cargo hold. "Can you feel anything?"

"I felt a disturbance in the Force as soon as we landed." He nodded. "Garrick's in this city, I'd bet my life on it."

"Then start reaching out for him. As soon as you get a mental hold on him, tell him that we're here and we're ready to go. This is it, guys. Now we just do our jobs and let things unfold as they will. It may take a little while, but we're going to do this and we're gonna do it right. Okay?"

They all nodded, then set to work, starting to unload the first of their many loads of cargo into the Bakuran night.

Re: Imperial Renaissance

<b>0800 Local Time
Coronet City, Corellia</b>

<i>“Miss von Aath?” Knock, knock.  “Miss von Aath, are you awake?”</i>

With a small groan of annoyance, Petra moved her arms to push her off the soft bed the Dunns had provided for her room before climbing off the bed and walking to the door to open it and reveal one of the butlers she vaguely remembered from a few days ago when they arrived.  He immediately turned bright red and she raised an eyebrow before glancing down.

Oh, right… Closing her robe around her body she shook her hair out of her eyes.  “Yes?” she asked, prompting him back into consciousness.

“Uh, Master Traven wishes for you to know that they will be leaving in an hour.”

“Yes, thank you.” She brushed her hair out of her face with her fingers while thinking.  “Please tell him that I’ll be ready in ten minutes.  Thank you.”  And she closed the door before shrugging off her robe and wandering over to her small valise to pull out a simple dark jumpsuit and jacket for the trip that day; she had found that as long as she was remotely comfortable in her clothes she could survive space travel with little inconvenience or nerves.

Absently she reached into her bag and pulled out the small bottle there, spraying some of the contents into her hair before she started to put it away.  Malla flowers reminded her of home, and it always made men pay more attention to her or at least tolerate her presence with less complaints.  Considering the crew was more than seventy-five percent male that would be ideal.

<i>“Has anyone ever told you that you smell like heaven?”  Petra looked up laughing into Laakim’s face to see an expression of serious concentration.  “It’s intoxicating.”

“I can’t say,” she replied while he twirled her under his arm.  “I’m flattered, though…” </i>

All the gods!  She threw the bottle back into her bag with a frown while she started pacing the floor, thankful that her bags were at least all ready for departure even before she slept last night.  For some reason, that man would not leave her head no matter what.

Rubbing her temples Petra considered calling into Bastion and telling them her position was compromised, but then that would mean that Marsh and she would be under Korran’s tyrannical grasp again and she couldn’t do that to Marsh.  Besides, Dodonna had a reputation of being as stubborn as a bantha but still having a clear head towards the Imperial ideals.  At very least he would treat them both well, and she could do more serious work for the Empire.

Petra yet again scanned her bags to make sure she had everything with her before pulling out her comlink and dialing in the familiar code.  She soon got a response in the form of a groan.

“<i>Waaa-</i>”

“Marsh?”  Her forehead wrinkled in confusion.  “Are you okay?”

“<i>I dunno… what hit me?</i>”

Pinching the bridge of her nose with two fingers, Petra grumbled, “I’m guessing that last glass of Ottegan mead.”  At the sound of Marsh’s confused grunt, she added, “I told you to not drink too much of that stuff.”

“<i>It tasted good last night.</i>”

“Uh huh.”  She fought a smile despite her annoyance at her partner’s actions.  Marsh was the closest thing she had to family now (her mother barely kept tabs on her).  “You want breakfast?”

His response was a gagging sound accompanied by patting feet towards the refresher.  She hung up before she had a front row seat on the sound of Marsh upchucking everything he had consumed the night before, making a mental note to ask one of the servants to send Marsh her remedy for a hangover: mattberry juice with a dash of Ithorian sauces and some other ingredients that would definitely help Marsh wake up enough for their transport to Bakura today.

In less than fifteen minutes Petra hefted her luggage over her shoulder and walked towards the front hallway to drop it off before finding her way through the maze of halls towards the dining room.  Glancing around at the huge portraits and pieces of artwork, she remembered the last time she had been in a residence of the Dunn family.  She had only been seventeen at the time, and her father tried to quietly point out the art to her while her mother dragged her towards the ballroom to find potential husbands.

The only outcome of the evening she remembered pleasantly was the small tour Lady Dunn had graced her with when Jadis Williams was occupied, and meeting Traven.  At the time he had been twenty-two, home on shore leave and flirting with some of the pretty girls when his mother pointed them out.  Lanah introduced them, Petra politely declined his advances, and the two found themselves on the balcony discussing Nabooan philosophers until Landon beckoned his daughter to leave.

It hadn’t surprised her that Traven didn’t remember her; after all, she had been young, naïve, and not seen any of the Galaxy yet other than Naboo and Imperial Center.  Now she was a battle-hardened and cynical spy who couldn’t tell him her real identity, and her mask last night seemed to frighten him into backing off enough to avoid any attempts of digging for her real identity.

Entering the dining room she found Traven sitting there reading the news on a holo tablet while sipping a cup of marbleberries and alcoari tea, or at least she guessed from the smell.  She walked to one of the seats and lowered herself in while a maid appeared at her side.

“Can I get you anything, Miss?”

“A cup of tea, please, and some fruits.”  She nodded politely; Jadis had always expressed embarrassment if Petra attempted any formality with the staff.  In her head Petra kicked herself for focusing so much on what her mother had wanted.

<i>It’s this place.  It reminds me too much of what Mother wanted for me: a rich husband, a grand home…</i>

“Good morning, Miss von Aath.”  The greeting came from the other side of the table, behind the news.  “I trust you slept well?”

“Very, thank you.”  Petra graced the maid with a smile when her tea and fruits were placed in front of her before taking a sip.  Mmm, yes, she could taste the marbleberries with a small tang of something citrus-like added for more flavor.  Putting her hands around the thermo-mug she let them warm while watching Traven put his paper down.  “I trust you slept well after the workout you received last night on the beach?”

Traven’s response of almost choking on his tea made her inwardly laugh with glee but she managed to keep her features composed with an air of complete innocence.

“Yes, I slept well,” Traven finally managed around the same time that Bal’ak entered the dining room.

Immediately Petra felt a shiver shoot up her spine when Bal’ak’s eyes spotted her and he slowly scanned her from head to toe before a smile curved over his face.  It wasn’t a cynical smirk, nor a lecherous grin, but simply a pleased expression before he saluted his commanding officer offhandedly.  Traven returned the exchanged and invited Bal’ak to the table although his hazel eyes sharpened at the expression on Bal’ak’s face.

“Good morning, Eliena,” Bal’ak murmured as he slid into a chair next to her, his fingers brushing against her clothed shoulder.

“Good morning, Mr. Arlos,” she replied with irony in her voice.  Technically their aliases were of no use anymore since they were in safe territory and about to go, but it still was a good sign that he was overly cautious.  She watched him surreptitiously through her peripheral vision as he asked for a cup of caf and a bowl of bran for his breakfast.  “I take it you slept well?”

“Not really,” he replied as he reached for the cream and sugar for his caf.  “You see, a certain woman kept haunting my dreams all night, making sleep impossible.”

“Perhaps you should turn your mind to more important matters, then,” came from Traven’s side of the table with the covert politeness Petra remembered from Imperial Center.  It may sound soft and pleasant but the barb that came out still cut deeply.

“I was not complaining, sir,” Bal’ak replied with a hint of frost in his voice.

Raising an eyebrow, Petra glanced between the two men.  Now she could see a subtle tension in both of them that neither exhibited before Traven’s comment, and she wondered what kind of man Bal’ak was, that caused this kind of reaction in his Captain.  Was this the kind of man that a woman would want to let herself get involved with?

“We leave in one hour for the docks.”  Traven stood and took his holo-tablet with him before heading outside.  “Be careful; we had a security breach last night in one of the computers so guard your belongings.”

Petra followed suit by rising to her feet.  “I need to go check on Mar- my assistant,” she corrected herself before nodding to Bal’ak.  “I’ll be seeing you soon, Mr. Arlos.”

“And I’ll be seeing you soon, spygirl.”  

Over her shoulder Petra glanced back at him only to see an innocent expression on the man’s face.  She frowned slightly but continued to Marsh’s room.  She had no time to wonder about Bal’ak’s intriguing comment nor about tingles up her spine from his touches.

With a tap of her wrist, Petra announced her presence before entering Marsh’s room.  “Okay, sleepyhead, I’m- Gods above, Marsh!”

Her eyes widened as she took in the clothes strewn over every surface that didn’t have a techno gadget on it.  On the table near the window a screen from a datapad scanned an area with a soft “beep” sounding every time it came back around to its original spot.  Another object appeared to be a satellite dish, aimed in the direction of the sky near the air strip they would be visiting later.  A couple of tools littered the floor along with some disposable caf cups, a stack of dirty dishes, and a pair of shoes that looked scuffed and smelled like a wet Wookie.

Pinching her nose Petra called out, “<i>Marsh</i>!”

“In here!”  She followed the sound of his yell to the refresher to find Marsh scrapping off the last remnants of shaving cream from his face. Marsh still used the old-fashioned razor blade to shave, a fact that Petra found endearing since her father had practiced the custom whenever he trimmed his beard.  “I’ll be ready on time, I promise.”

“Good, ‘cause we can’t afford to be late.”  Petra boosted herself onto the bathroom counter.  “So have you contacted CorSec to let them know they have a Quarantine to issue when you leave here?”

“Shut up,” Marsh retorted.

“Marsh, those plates are going to be furry in a few hours.  We’ll be naming them, for frak’s sake.”

“Great.  I’ve always wanted a pet.”  Marsh splashed some aftershave onto his hands before patting his face, and then freezing with an expression of incredible pain.

Petra winced sympathetically.  “Cuts?”

Marsh only whimpered in reply.

“My poor Marsh.”  She leaned over and placed a big kiss on his forehead.  “C’mon, I’ll have the maids make you a nice big cup of caf.”

“The maids, huh?” Marsh replied with a small grin despite his jaw still spasming from pain.  “You better watch it, Pet; you’re starting to sound like a debutante all over again.”

“Bleh.”  Petra shook her head.  “No thanks.  It’s bad enough that I had to suffer through my teen years.”

Marsh managed to get his jaw to work properly and threw his shaving kit into one of his bags before walking to his room, Petra following.  “Well, tell me about the party last night.  I heard it was some shin-dig.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”  She remembered the way Bal’ak’s hands held her, tenderly, as if she was precious and not some tramp used to seduce men into talking.

“Huh-” Marsh had been putting objects away including the devices Petra noticed earlier when he paused and turned to face her.  “You okay, Pet?  You seem kinda out of it, instead of perky like usual.”  And then he slowly grinned.  “Oh, wait… You met someone last night, didn’t you?”

“Oh please.” Petra managed to keep her face from warming.  “Like I would settle down with one person.”

“You would have a long time ago if you weren’t a spy,” Marsh reminded her.

“But I’m now an agent for the Imperial Remnant, Marsh,” she retorted while she started pacing.  “I can’t just give up my job one day and be a house wife.”

“I’m sure that none of these guys are wanting a house wife, Pet.”  Marsh sat on his bag and bounced with a frown, trying to jam everything back in but finding himself unsuccessful.  “Hey, give me a hand, will you?”

Petra walked over and started trying to zip the duffel shut.  “Let’s just get to Bakura and see what happens, yeah?”

“Fine.”  Marsh grabbed her shoulder when she started to turn away.  “Hey.  You know I’m on your side, right?”

A faint smile played on her lips.  “Thanks. Marsh.”

Re: Imperial Renaissance

Bakura…

 

 
Bayner sat in the corner of a load-up speeder's flatbed as it sputtered to a stop at the mouth of a mining cavern carved into a mountain just outside of Salis Daar. The resistance had picked up a few other refugees, including Terra, who were cramped into the back of the load-up with mining sacks tied over their heads.

The sacks were dusty and reaked of unprocessed sulfer but Bayner was just happy for some rest. He and Terra had making their way out of Salis Daar on foot, and they were both exhausted.

Terra sat in front of him, her back leaning up against his chest. She was probably asleep, but he couldn't really tell. She had been silent since they were picked up, but with his arms wrapped around her, he could still feel her panicked breathing, the only thing that told him she was still alive.

As the transport slowed to a halt, a voice called out from ahead. "That the last of 'em?"

Another voice responded from the back of the load-up's flatbed, behind the refugees. "At least for tonight. Can't risk going out there again until tomorrow morning."

Heavy boots crunched their way around the transport to the flatbed, followed by a moment of silence.

"Alright!" The first voice called out. "Take 'em in! We're closing this entrance off for the night!"

Sputtering back to life, the warbling of the dying engine began to echo slightly as they entered the cavern's cramped tunnels.

---

In Transit: Muunilinst to Praesitlyn…



Janus slumped himself into a chair across the table from Jasra, who immediately slid a datapad across the polished surface towards him.

"Have you slept since we left?" Janus asked with a sigh, halting the incoming datapad with an open palm and flipping it up into the air, catching it between his thumb and index finger.

"It's only been 36 hours." She replied, not bothering to glance up from the mess of documents strewn across the table before her. "Besides, this operation will require quite a bit of preparation and everything needs to go smoothly."

A mild roll of the eyes was given to her comment as a light chuckle escaped his lungs. "Oh g… are you serious? We go to Praesitlyn, we present them with a suitcase full of credits, their faces light up, we move on. What's to prepare?"

"..Well that isn't what I'm referring to at all." She replied without a change in her voice's tone, her attention still fixed on her work.

"..What? Bakura??" Was his second guess. "Textbook counter-insurgency." He continued, about to kick his feet up on top of the table, tossing off the datapad without even giving it a glance.

"Hmm.." An, 'I know something you don't know' smirk began to emerge across her lips accompanied by a raised eyebrow. "..Interesting. I thought they would've given you a full briefing.."

"Hmm?" He replied, with a raised brow of his own.

She released a heavy huff, glancing up from her pile of datapads to stare him down through the translucent shield of her rectangular focals. "This is… not.. a counter-insurgency operation, you're aware of that correct? You don't really think we would waste our time bailing out the ISB, do you?"

He thought about it silently for a moment, a grimace forming across his face as he realized how stupid that assumption actually was. "…Well then?" He asked.

An annoyed sigh escaped her lips as if she had explained this several times before, even though she hadn't. "The Bakuran Government…" She paused momentarily with a mild smirk to correct herself. "…excuse me, the former Bakuran government, did not allow offworld companies to operate on Bakura. Because of this, it is a virtually untapped market, and as such, many of our favored companies are looking to get a foothold on Bakura before any new restrictions are placed on foreign businesses."

"Mm.. all in one breath. Impressive.." Janus replied quickly in a dry, unamused tone, rolling his eyes off to the left to glance out the shuttle's window.

"Mm.." She replied with her own quick catty sneer before returning her attention to the datapads before her.

Now that he was in the know, he was naturally curious and as soon as her attention directed itself to the datapads, his did as well. They were contracts, all but the one she tossed him anyways.

Interesting list. Almost all the companies listed on her contracts were small, mostly unheard of subsidiaries of larger entities. H/K Revolutionary's upstart security firm was on the list, as was a special division of Tirual Construction Holding. Holowan Mechanicals also seemed to have formed a private security firm within the last couple days, and they managed to get it listed as well apparently.

"Hm…" He uttered to himself, in a bit of a chuckle. "..Tirual? Aren't they essentially an arm of the New Republic?"

"These are simply the companies that have made a bid on the vague project we've proposed. I haven't even given them a location" She snapped back at him, taking his words to imply that she was somehow incompetent. "Rather than ask me a series of irritating questions, perhaps you should actually read that document I slid your way when you first decided to grace me with your presence."

Glancing over to her with a vindictive sneer, he reached forward to retrieve the datapad he had carelessly tossed away moments ago. It contained information on the companies she had cleared so far and a three page job description that could've been summed up by three words

Chief of Staff?…" He gumbled, realizing that was a prestigious way of labeling her personal assistant in this venture.

"Your charisma will be necessary in urging these companies to behave in a manner that will benefit us on Bakura." She replied with a quirk of the left brow before her attention returned to the pile of contracts before her..

"Hmmm.. yes you're right, because without me, there certainly wouldn't be any charisma to be seen.." He retorted, placing the datapad back down on the table and twirling it subtly under his index finger with a mild smirk. "So the resistance is really none of our concern then?"

Jasra's eyes squinted a bit and her head leaned a bit to the left, as if his statement were as true as it was false. "Not particularly.." She began with a mild shrug. "..Idealy, we would like to quell the violence as people who fear for their lives tend not to spend their credits. However, even if the fighting persists, it will only serve to produce additional security and reconstruction contracts for our affiliated companies."

"Win win hm?"

"Indeed."

---

Bakura…


"She gonna be alright?" A resistance fighter asked with a nod directed at Terra who was still sleeping in Bayner's arms.

"She'll be fine.." Bayner replied as his fingertips ran themselves through Terra's sandy brown tresses. He had no way to know that for sure.. but it just seemed like the right thing to say.

The guard gave a nod towards the letter "A" embroidered on his jacket. "Shockball?" He asked, trying to change the subject to something lighter. They had all been through too much in the past few days, and everybody was trying to think about anything other than their current situation.

His gaze transferred from Terra to the letter on his varsity jacket. "..Oh… yea.." He said, beginning to nod as the left side of his mouth curled into a half smile. "..W..We took City this year…" Bayner continued in an awkward tone, finding it a bit hard to talk about sports under such dire circumstances.

The guard began nodding repeatedly. "Yea I saw that.."

The two of them began to nod awkwardly as they both struggled to figure out how to extend the conversation.

"…Solid team this year. Think that kid Roman is gonna go pro eventually? He's got the skills.." The guard asked quickly as soon as the thought came to mind.

Bayner's spirits sank immediately and he started shaking his head lightly, stuttering as he tried to force the next few words past his lips. "Yea …He..h..he..he didn't…" Bayner began "..He didn't make it out of Arden…" The youngster cleared his throat, wiping the back of his hand beneath his left eye to pre-empt the tears that were forming.

The two spent an awkward moment of silence blatantly trying not to look each other in the eye, each fearing the other's expression would open the floodgate for waterworks.

"…Well hey.." The guard finally said, displaying the most comforting smile he could produce at the time. "…Cosmic Balance works in strange ways sometimes man.."

Bayner took a deep breath, closing his eyes before going into a series of nods. A mild chuckle escaped his lips as he thought back on how hokey the Cosmic Balance theory sounded in religion class, but now he found these words of Bakuran faith to be one of the few things he could take comfort in.

"…Yea…" He replied, clenching his fingers around the black and white circular pendant that dangled from Terra's neck. "..Yea…"

Re: Imperial Renaissance

0900-Alarm subroutine activated
0900-Power settings set to "Awake" mode
0901-Organic system metabolic rate set to "Awake" mode
0902-Connection with Dunn residence reestablished
0903-Running diagnostics…
0904-All systems nominal
0905-Alarm subroutine complete, Good Morning Kabal, would you like a status report?
 Kabal stretched his limbs, rotating his cybernetic joints for lack of muscle.  Subconsciously he knew that his mechanical components never get cramped, but old habits die hard as they say.    
"Proceed with status report" he said to himself
 
0907-Status report: Currently recharging, batteries are at 75 percent capacity, 36 hours of battery life remains.
Unknown Subconcious event Intercepted and recorded at 0317
Recorded tide coming in 2 minutes behind schedule at 0456 instead of the official calculated time of 0454.
Cybernetic systems online
Weapons systems-online
Organic Systems- Functioning within acceptable parameters
WARNING, organic liquid disposal system labeled Bladder=Full.  Seek out a waste repository immediately.  Estimating 16 minutes and 40 seconds until involuntary release, would you like a countdown.

Kabal grunted a “No thank you” as he got up and relieved himself.  As he did so, the computer in his head continued its task.  

0909: Status report complete

Kabal finished his morning release.  Walking out of the fresher, Kabal activated his workout mode, making sure to keep the few organic components that he had left in perfect working order.  Plus, his ab and back muscles had to be in shape to carry his cybernetic chest plate around without being in pain constantly.  

“Computer, further define ‘Unknown Subconcious event’”

0914: An event in which the subconscious portion of Organic brain component sent visual and audible information to the cerebral cortex during rapid muscle movement of cornea.

“So I had a dream?”

0916: Affirmative, data suggests that event could have been a dream.

“How interesting…”  Kabal thought.  He had so few dreams these days.  Cyborgs by design cannot think outside of logical parameters, but every so often the human equation pokes through, and Kabal gets a glimpse at his subconscious.  “Computer was the dream recorded?” he asked.

0917:Affirmative

“Computer playback fullscreen” Kabal’s vision of the curtains in front of him flickered for a second before it was replaced with black, and then his dream started playing.  
The image is distorted and faded, then lips appear, pale lips drained of all color, then in a raspy voice which at first seems weak, but carries within it an inherent power.

“I have an assignment for you” the emperor began.  “We have found a Jedi in the Corellian System, his name is Halcyon.  I want him eliminated.”  

Another man’s lips appear replacing the emperor’s.  “I have found a boy that seems to possess Jedi traits here on Corellia, and in accordance with the Empire, we want him eliminated.  His name is Halcyon, Luke Halcyon.”

The image of a young teenage boy appears in front of him.  He’s on the landing of a grand staircase.  A robotic hand that Kabal recognizes as his own reaches out for the boy.  The youngster outstretches in arm, and suddenly Kabal felt himself flying away from the youth.  Landing several yards away, Kabal watched the boy vanish.  The dream image shifts to a quick glance as Luke Halcyon as a man, his face on a bounty contract.  

The images changed rapidly now, Luke and Kabal having a shootout in a Tatooine Cantina.  

Kabal kidnapping Luke’s wife and child

“Smile for the camera” Kabal hears himself say to the child followed by a cruel laugh, tilting her head up so the holocam can get a clear shot.   

A rainy night watching his enemy’s ship land in the courtyard of what use to be Halcyon Manor, then himself standing in front of a drenched Luke Halcyon saying “Welcome back Mr. Halcyon, we missed you.”  

Kabal’s vision flickered and he was brought back to the Dunn residence.  His workout had finished.  His breaths came in short gasps.  The images of the dream had a profound effect on his emotional matrix.  The cyborg took a deep breath and sat down on the bed provided for him.  Luke Halcyon had defeated him at Halcyon Manor.  It was how he came to be in the Empire’s service again.  The images of his encounters with Halcyon had stirred something within him, but he did not know exactly what.  Kabal opened the curtains and let the sunshine into his very generously sized room.  Looking out over the Dunn estate, the seaside mansion was a breathtaking piece of land, and yet, Kabal just stood there analyzing the materials it was constructed out of.  Something felt wrong to Kabal, and yet he couldn’t put his metal finger quite on it.  

“Computer, run diagnostic”

0930:Affirmative
0931rocessing…
0932rocessing….
0933rocessing…..
0934rocessing……
0935:All systems nominal

“All systems nominal…”  Kabal repeated to himself.  Kabal shook his head, and thought about why the dream bothered him so much.  “Computer, replay recorded dream” he commanded.  He watched through the sequence of disjointed images 3 more times, and when he opened his eyes the final time he had the answer.  “I was different” he said as he got up off the bed.  He paced around his room.  In his dream he had smiled, even laughed.  These things were foreign to him now.  Could something be wrong with his Emotional Matrix?

“Computer run diagnostic on Emotional Matrix”

0945:Affirmative
0946rocessing…
0947rocessing….
0948rocessing…..
0949rocessing……
0950hell program functioning within parameters
0951:Emotions limited to minimal

“What?” Kabal cried out.  “Emotions set to minimal?!  Computer, analyze Shell Program, AHH!” Kabal cringed in pain as a predetermined set of commands were executed.

Imperial protocol protection system activated
Wiping the last 900 seconds of memory
Restarting….

Upstairs a loud clunk was heard as Tyrell Dunn and his wife sat down to breakfast having just escorted the Moff out.

“Perhaps I should go check?” Lanah Dunn suggestion and started to get up.

Tyrell immediately stood “No dear, please allow me.”

“Oh, thank you” Mrs. Dunn replied as she sat back down and started eating her eggs.

1000:Rebooting…
1000:Using last known good configuration……
……………….
1005:Cybernetic systems-online
1005:Weapons systems-online
1005:Organic Systems- Functioning within acceptable parameters
1005:All systems nominal

Kabal’s eye fluttered, his vision cleared, and he found himself staring at the ceiling.  

“What happened?” he asked out loud.  As he sat up he received the reply:

1006: Fatal System Error occurred at 0955
1006: System has been restored to last known good configuration

“Unacceptable, what caused the error” Kabal demanded as his servos propelled his body up off the ground.

1007: Unable to comply, data missing

Kabal was getting more frustrated by the second, but there was little he could do about it until he got back to the Ravisher.  “Computer, what was the last task completed before I…”  Kabal started to say but the door chime interrupted him.  Kabal looked to the door and quickly switched his hologram to civilian clothing.  Instantly it appeared as if he was wearing a grey suit, white shirt, with a red and blue striped tie.  “Come in” he said facing the door.  Tyrell Dunn was standing behind the door as it swung open.  Kabal's artificial vision immediately highlighted his head, and then began scrolling information about Tyrell Dunn under the headshot.

“Good Morning Kabal, or do you prefer General now?” The eldest Dunn asked with an air of respect.

“General is preferable for my duties, but you sir may call me Kabal” Kabal replied stiffly

“Very well Kabal.  Please forgive the intrusion, but we heard a crash downstairs, is everything alright?” Tyrell asked as he closed the door.

Kabal lowered his head.  “Ah yes, my apologies for disturbing you, a slight servo malfunction, nothing to worry about.” He lied.

“Ah good.  Was everything to your liking?” Tyrell queried.

“Perfectly comfortable, thank you for asking” the cyborg responded.

Silence permeated the room for a moment too long, and Tyrell broke the silence.  “May I ask you something that I’ve been curious about Kabal?”

“To the man who gave me The Hunter back, I have no secrets.”

“Excellent.  Not that it doesn’t suit you, but why so serious now?  Is it the job?  I noticed you were acting rather off last night, is everything alright?”  Dunn asked.

“All systems are nominal” Kabal answered flatly.

“I’m sure they are” The master of the house sighed.  “Forgive the intrusive line of questioning, its probably nothing, maybe you seemed more grandiose then you actually were back then.”  Dunn said rather then dealing with the Cyborg’s cryptic answers.  “Breakfast is ready if you’re interested?”

“Lead the way Mr. Dunn” Kabal said taking the hint, and dropping the conversation.


The breakfast had gone well, the team had a full breakfast and made arrangements for leaving.  Since Kabal was taking his own ship, he was to leave the house first and separately from the rest.  It made sense from a security point of view.  Tyrell had a private shuttlecraft pick up Kabal.  He thanked his host, and was taken to the Dunn’s private space pad in low orbit.  There in all its onyx glory was his ship, The Hunter.  The ship was as black as space, non-reflective to give it more stealth.  A corellian corvette unlike any other, it was the brainchild of Tyrell Dunn, and given to Kabal as a gift for retrieving it.  As the shuttle docked, and the doors opened into the hold Kabal almost felt joyous, and for the first time since he’d been brought back from death: He felt home.  He walked through the hold, glancing at the racks of battle droids, still in perfect hibernation since he’d left.  The last command he’d given his ship put them all in stasis until he gave the passcode.  He walked through the halls, watching the many mouse droids that wheeled underfoot, and carried out all minor maintenance on the ship.  Eventually he reached the bridge, and the most unique control panel Kabal had ever seen.  He remembered when he first saw it he was very tentative about using something that would interface directly with his neural net, but now it was more like coming home to an old friend.  He slipped his arms into the control panel, and the ship hummed to life.  

Scanning user….Kalil Balek; Kabal identified
Welcome Home Kabal
Data from ship and from neural net not in sync, would you like me to sync now.  

“Yes” Kabal answered.  Usually what happened is that the ship would copy whatever had happened to Kabal since his last visit, however this time was different.

Implanting previous knowledge into Neural Net
**WARNING  WARNING**
A program(s) is preventing me from installing my software, would you like me to uninstall the offensive program?

“Uninstall, and put in a folder for later inspection.”

Understood…
Now uninstalling Emotion Matrix Shell Program
Now uninstalling Imperial protocols
Now installing personal memories from battle with Luke Halcyon recorded 2 months prior.  
Syncing with ship
Sync complete

Kabal opened his eye, and grinned slightly.

“Kabal this is Mr. Sirana, how do you feel about that business deal we discussed” Daiman asked through the com, which was the code on whether he was ready to leave and follow him out of the system.

“I feel like a new man Mr. Sirana, which is to say good.” Kabal replied his mouth still curled in a sly grin.

Re: Imperial Renaissance

While the ulterior motives for attending the Shipping Conference were far more important than the actual event itself in Daiman’s mind, he still had important business contacts to meet and network with.  Not to mention the crucial fact that the multi-day assemblage was serving as a near perfect cover for those previously mentioned motives.  As much disdain as he held for the intelligence types on either side, he wasn’t beyond employing some of their methods in getting things done.

So while most of the others slept off the effects of the previous evening’s festivities or enjoyed his Aunt’s hospitality over a leisurely brunch, Daiman was attending his second meeting of the morning with associates within the industry whom he regularly did business with.  This one even less interesting than the previous one, if much more lucrative in the deals made by the time it was over.  

More credits for SiranAxum meant more funding for Dodonna’s cause.  So he would subject himself to as many more sessions of discussions and handshaking and deal making as were necessary this final morning of his attendance.  

Not to mention it kept him away from the Dunn estate and the coolness with which his Uncle now seemed to regard him since the meeting in his study the night before.  As much as it pained him at the moment, Daiman was certain Tyrell would come around in the future once he saw the successful fruition of the cause he was being asked to support.

The thought made a ghost of a smile appear briefly on his lips, but it was enough to make the Kuati businessman he was only halfway paying attention to think Daiman was amenable to the parts provision deal they had been discussing.  “Just have your people submit the proposal to my office upon your return to Kuat, Mr. Danuvin and we shall work out the details between our companies within say, the next two weeks?” He said to the short, graying man shaking his hand before excusing himself from his presence and the room as he noticed the time.

On the speeder ride back to the Dunn estate, Daiman busied himself by contacting the flight crew of the Irrinna to assure she was fully prepped for the voyage back to Bakura, allowing himself a moment to think about the woman he had named the craft after erroneously.  He now had another name.  One that may prove false as well given her profession, but it was a start at least.  And Force willing, it would lead him to more and more information about the whereabouts of the woman herself.  Even now his most trusted of people were working on finding just that.

Running through the notations on the business conducted at the conference, he spent the remainder of the ride organizing documents to be sent via holonet to his offices on Anaxes and Coruscant on various matters of trade.

Purchase, selling, a request to have his R&D people look into development of  joint venture between one of SiranAxum’s subsidiaries and a small team of designers he had met with during the conference who had impressed him with an idea they had for machinery that would streamline production of starfighter armament parts by fifteen percent over current output.  

All seemingly mundane tasks, but ones he had no problem carrying out himself.  His father and his grandfather before him had set the trend of keeping as hands-on in the running of the corporation as possible.  Daiman himself was even more so, especially when it came to certain ‘specialized’ areas.

By the time he reached the home of his aunt and uncle, his ‘entourage’ was assembled in the great front hall, luggage staggered around them, his own already packed early that morning among it, as they awaited the speeder sedans that would take them to the Coronet spaceport.  Conspicuously absent amongst the group was General Kabal whom Daiman had last seen speaking to Tyrell at the party the night before.

“Are we just waiting on Kabal then?” He asked Traven who was standing between Commander Lane and Lanah who was flashed another conspiratorial smirk her nephew’s way, one that matched the expression seen on Traven’s face more than once over the years.  

“The General has made alternate arrangements according to my father.” Traven answered, passing him a sheet of flimsi with a notation from the cyborg that he would rendezvous with the team at the Dunn’s orbital docking station.  “But” He continued, “Miss von Aath and Mr…Flink is it?” The young, curly haired man nodded then winced, looking as if he’d gone a few rounds with a gundark and lost, badly.  The young woman between him and Laakim gave Marsh a sympathetic look.  “They will be returning to Bakura with us at Admiral Dodonna’s request if it is not any trouble, Cousin.”

“No trouble at all.”  Daiman replied, “There’s plenty of room if Miss von Aath doesn’t mind sharing a cabin with Commander Lane?”

Jordan glanced over at the other woman who nodded and smiled back amiably.  “That will be fine, Mr. Sirana.”

He was just about to reply smoothly that she please call him Daiman when their transportation to the starport arrived, likely saving him from another of Traven’s disapproving looks.

Bidding goodbye to his Aunt, he promised not to stay away from visiting family for so long next time, even though he knew with certainty that the new distant attitude toward him from Tyrell would likely make that a hard promise to keep.

The ride to the spaceport was quick and uneventful. Flink kept his eyes closed, groaning slightly and looking a bit pale once when the driver had to swerve to avoid another speeder that drifted slightly into their lane. Elina tore her mildly flirtatious attention away from Laakim long enough to ask after Marsh with concern.  He assured her he would be fine if he could get some sleep on the way.

As for Traven and Jordan, the two sat across from each other, seeming to gaze out of the viewscreen behind each other’s respective heads, but once in a while their eyes would flit across the other’s face.  Still they managed to be discreet enough about it.

“Mr. Uer” Daiman caught the attention of the blonde Paladin as he watched the landscape pass by out of his own window. “Think you can take the Irrinna out of port and onward to the docking station as well as you brought her in?”  

The younger man gave him a grin in return that was answer enough but added, “If you trust me to give it a go, I’d love to.”

“If I didn’t trust you, lieutentant commander I would not have asked.” Daiman said with a wink. “When we take off she’s all yours to fly.”

Coronet Spaceport, Aboard the Irrinna

The trip back through customs had been just as tedious as the one upon their arrival.  This time there were more questions concerning the change in the makeup of their party as well as the brief planned stop at Dunn Corporation’s private docking station, which were answered patiently and thoroughly until the Corellian Customs officers were satisfied.  

“Irrinna you are cleared for departure.” The voice of the spaceport traffic controller came over the ship’s comm. “May you and your passengers have a safe and enjoyable trip back to Anaxes, Mr. Sirana.”   

Daiman acknowledged her transmission as Zak brought the staryacht out of the docking bay with skill and care, heading in the direction of the low-orbital platform where Kabal was awaiting them.  “Anaxes?”  Came the voice of his cousin from the cabin right behind them. “But we’re…?”

“Relax, Trave.” He replied turning around the co-pilot’s chair. “What I made sure was filed in the flightplan and where we are actually destined for are two different things, but Corellian authorities don’t need to know that.” He gave him a cocky smirk. “Everyone settling in okay?” He added as the they approached the platform and Uer brought the craft to hover a few meters from the matte black Corellian Corvette already awaiting their arrival with its engines lit.

The comm beeped as Kabal hailed him from the cockpit of The Hunter and Daiman held up one hand in Traven’s direction in a gesture of excusing himself for a moment to acknowledge his hail.

“Kabal this is Mr. Sirana, how do you feel about that business deal we discussed” Daiman asked through the com, which was the code on whether he was ready to leave and follow him out of the system.

“I feel like a new man Mr. Sirana, which is to say good.”  Kabal replied
Daiman answered, “See you at the meeting point then, Sir and safe journey until then.”  Signing off and getting up from the chair before turning his attention once again to Traven as they walked back to the common area of the ship.

“Mr. Flink went straight to his cabin and is now lying down with the lights off.” Traven gave a smirk of his own.  “Apparently he enjoyed my parent’s hospitality a bit too much last night according to Miss von Aath.  She and Jordan seem to be getting along well.”

“So I noticed.” Daiman answered looking toward the cabin where the two women were getting settled. “Too bad it will make it more difficult for you to pay Jordan a visit.” He added, lowering his voice so it only registered with Traven.

Dunn was about to say something in reply to that remark when Daiman’s datacomm alert went off indicating an incoming message.  “Excuse me for a moment, Cousin.” He said, glancing at the small device he’d fished out of his pocket before excusing himself. “I’d better take this in my stateroom.”

Closing the door behind him, Daiman sat at the small desk in his cabin, pulled down the flatscreen from its position against the bulkhead and entered the accept code to read the data feed, knowing it had to come from one of three people.  Sandoz, Mal’fey, or Roth.    This time, as expected, it was the latter.  

Nothing of any great urgency, just updates on the status of operations on Bakura among some other items of interest.  One that stuck out most being a request from a most esteemed business associate on Coruscant to be contacted at Daiman’s earliest convenience upon arrival at the location of their newest joint venture.  That could only be referring to Mal’fey.

He also had news of an even more interesting nature regarding the expected arrival on the rimworld of ‘C’ an old acquaintance from Coruscant, until a short while ago a member of the New Republic Senate and a behind the scenes ally in matters of trade legislation important to SiranAxum’s legitimate business dealings.  But what interest would someone like Randyl Corra have in travelling to Bakura?  Who had sent him…and more importantly why?  Daiman supposed he’d have to wait until his own arrival to find out.

Re: Imperial Renaissance

<b>Meanwhile on the ISD Ravisher
Standard Time 0900 hours</b>

<i>STANDARD SYSTEM CHECK BEGINNING THREE… TWO… ONE
SELECT SCENARIO FOR SIMULATION
SCENARIO: SPACE, REBEL FORCES COUNT TWENTY, CRATER FIELD
DIFFICULTY 9.7.  STARTING NOW.  </i>

Paron flexed her fingers over the controls before settling her hands into the smooth grips, her thumbs brushing over the top controls to propel her ship into space.  In front of her, the screen revealed two Rebel X-Wings shooting past with a group of their buddies following suite a few decimeters away.  In her ear she could hear the robotic voice of the simulation Control speaking.

The dark sky glittered with the various stars dangling around her, along with a field of asteroids and craters that danced and shot past each other in their complicated diversion techniques that the simulated Rebels were milking for their best interests.

“<i>TIE Defender, this is Control.  Enemy craft heading your way.</i>”

“Roger, Control,” she responded before doing a barrel roll to avoid an on-coming asteroid.  “TIE Defender leaving hanging bay now, and ready for action.”  She pressed the button to start her oxygen life support then adjusted her position in the seat before her face cleared of any emotion.

One of the Rebels zoomed by, then flipped around and aimed straight at her.  Paron quickly shot her TIE upwards and into a complicated dance of rolls and spins until she shook off the simulated pilot and clipped his wing.

<i>“Good shot, Defender</i>,” the simulation informed her.

“Shut up,” she muttered while concentrating on a knot of Rebels heading for the base ship.  “Frak!”

<i>“Word does not compute.</i>”

“SHUT UP!” Paron almost yelled at the machine while clutching the gears, making random shots at strategic parts of the enemy warcraft: wings, cockpits, the engines, even the guns.  One Rebel suddenly lost control and started spinning until he crashed into two of his friends and a large explosion illuminated her screen.  “Yes!”

“<i><b>Controller Emyn!</i></b>”

Before she could even enjoy her victory, a harsh barking sound ripped over the ‘com system and caused her to lose control, spinning into space wildly while the screen dolefully informed her that she had lost.

“<i>Controller, get out of this ship now before I drag you out by your frakking hair.</i>”

“Frak.”  Paron grimaced and brushed her hair out of her eyes before climbing out and down the ladder, then standing at attention at the bottom while an incensed Chief Daklis Risms marching over to her with fury in his eyes.  “Chief,” she tried to keep the sullen edge out of her voice.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, you idiot?” Risms practically screamed.  “Captain Dunn and his XO are gonna be back any moment, and you could have-” He practically started babbling in his anger.

“I had free time and I’ve been allowed-”

“I don’t ‘allow’ any frakking women on my sims,” Risms growled while jabbing her sternum with a dirty finger.  “Got that?”

Paron’s temper flared but she managed to bite hard down onto her lower lip, to the point of tasting metallic in her mouth.

“Is that clear, Lieutenant?” Risms snapped.

“Crystal,” she finally managed out before storming out of the hanger with steam almost shooting out of her ears.  In her frustration, she almost crashed into a body on her way out of the room and narrowly missed landing on the floor when two arms shot out and grabbed her.

“Geez, who spit in your rations?”

She looked up into the grinning face of her twin, Alron.  “Frak you, you barve!  You scared me half to death.”  But she had to give him a smile in return as he ruffled her hair.

“So who did you piss off this time?” Alron asked as they turned to walk down the hallways together towards the bridge.  

“Risms is on a power walk again,” she informed him while avoiding a line of stormtroopers walking past.  “I can’t wait until we get shore leave to go down to Bakura and can do a swoop race down there.”

“Yeah,” Alron agreed with a dreamy look on his face.  “And getting to drink beer, watch the civvie girls…”

“You are so full of bantha fodder,” Paron informed him with a snort.  Alron only responded with a cheeky smile as she playfully shoved him towards the wall while they continued towards her part of the ship.  Neither remembered that she had forgotten to erase her simulation results…

Re: Imperial Renaissance

Outside a viewport, the galaxy streaked by in a brilliant swirl of blue before settling back to the black vacuum speckled with white planets and stars that everyone was accustomed to. A cobalt and green globe now filled the viewport, beckoning the Void Moon to land. Instead, the modified Lancer-class frigate fell into a steady orbit, hovering in anxious anticipation of what was soon to come.

Freezing cold air flushed into Randyl Corra’s lungs, and he felt the core of his body shiver. He closed his eyes and exhaled, his mind emptying as well. Randyl had taken up meditation years ago, after his grandfather had passed away. It was a wonderful technique for controlling his emotions, which he hated to admit sometimes, got out of hand. For many of his younger years he had operated under the assumed impression that things, for lack of a better phrase, were going to be handed to him. Being born into a powerful Coruscanti family has its benefits, but until one matures into an open minded adult, one who understands the concept of right and wrong, yes and no, good and evil, you would be confined to a life of disappointment and temper tantrums.

A quiet buzzing sound caught Randyl’s attention, though keeping his eyes closed, he used a small control panel to summon whoever it was that was outside his meditation chamber. The door slid open with a soft airy resonance and a silver protocol droid scooted in.

“Pardon me, Master Randyl, but—“

“I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed, TY” Randyl said.

“But sir, you told me to alert you once we were in the Bakura system,” the droid spoke with the slightest of Imperial accents.

“And?”

“…Um, we’ve entered the Bakura system,” A-2TY said rather bluntly. Randyl opened his eyes. A minute smile cracked the corner of his mouth. He supposed whatever sarcasm program his grandfather had installed on this droid was his idea of a prank, done just weeks before his passing. Or perhaps it was for his entertainment; Randyl Corra Sr. was like that. He was free-spirited, a thinker, a man of the people. He was loved as much as he returned the feeling. And…

Randyl Jr. stopped himself. He was tempted to repeat his grandfather’s eulogy in his head for the thousandth time, but now was not the moment for lamenting. The Void Moon and TY were both left to Randyl in his grandfather’s last will and testament, and they both constantly reminded him of his mentor and friend. He particularly enjoyed the hundreds of stories TY’s memory banks held. Never a dull moment with the chrome protocol droid around.

“What’s our ETA?” Randyl asked, standing and stretching his stiff muscles.

“Currently we are awaiting the arrival of Mr. Sirana and his associates. Until then, we are going to remain in orbit,” TY said.

“And what’s the status with Janus?”

“He is with Mr. Kaar, en route to Praesitlyn,”

A step ahead, a step behind. What else was new?

“What do you suggest we do to pass the time?” Randyl asked, slipping on a warming robe. He adjusted the room temperature as well, bringing it back up to normal levels, “And don’t say pazaak, you’re too good at that game,”

“Well, sir, you have not yet been fitted for your new suit. That may be a good start,”

— — —

The dark brown demicot silk felt good against his skin, double-layered and heavy, yet light enough to allow air in to keep him cool. This was his fourth tailored suit this month, but like he had been taught by father, “You never want to be seen in the same suit twice,”

Randyl looked over himself again in the three mirrors that surrounded him. As much as he had learned to control his ego over the years, he couldn’t help but think to himself that he looked good. He looked like a Senator…

A sharp burn in his chest singed the thought. You aren’t a senator anymore, he scorned himself, get used to it. Randyl had never made a habit of doubting himself, but the feeling was never as prominent as when he had to explain to his family that he was expelled from the Senate. He was revealed to be an Imperial sympathizer by his sister’s father-in-law and fellow senator Resit Brun, and took the brunt of blame, claiming his family knew nothing of his actions, an obvious fabrication. They insisted they had no loss of love for him and that they would support him through this tough time. But the feeling always lingered in his mind that he had let his family and his legacy down. Randyl still spent a majority of his time talking with his sister, trying to get as much information out of her and her husband, Dex Brun, as he possibly could. Perhaps they knew the reason Resit had come forward with such a dastardly, albeit true, accusation.

The TL-4 tailor droid circled him constantly, its thin arms swatting away stray strands and fuzz from the suit. TY stood behind Randyl, it’s yellow visual receptors scanning him up and down.

“Very nice, if I may say so, sir,”

“Yes, you may say so,” Randyl turned 90 degrees to make sure his profile was up to his specifications. Thin, but not skinny. Muscular, but not bulky. Perfect. “Who is Daiman bringing with him?”

“I’m not sure, sir. That was not specified,” TY answered definitively. Randyl supposed it didn’t matter who he brought with him, as long as he himself was there, “Although it is reported he has a considerable entourage with him. And it’s always nice to meet new people, sir,”

“That it is, TY,” Randyl was becoming irritated with the small talk from the protocol droid; “Would you excuse us for a moment?” he asked the tailor droid. It beeped in compliance and left the room as Randyl looked at TY in the mirror. He saw the dark outline of the mirror’s frame on the droid’s reflective exterior, creating an infinite picture-within-a-picture. For some reason, Randyl thought of his family. TY cocked his head slightly to the side, obviously seeing the contemplation on his master’s face.

“Is something on your mind, sir?” he asked.

Randyl blinked and instinctively smoothed his eyebrows, “No, just…thinking about what’s ahead,”

“Very good, sir. Would you like to go over the itinerary again? Perhaps we should start with a planet refresher…?”

“I already know everything I need to know about the planet: Terrain very similar to Alderaan, mountains, rivers, valleys, forests. Kurtzen are the native species, population of about 68 million, major exports are Namana liquor and repulsorlift coils, it has one sun, two moons and the capital city is Salis D’aar. All great information for a tourist, but our purpose here is slightly more important that a getaway. Have we received any new information about the Resistance?”

“Only that we are still searching for several cells that are unaccounted for. One of which includes our old friend Mr. Thayer,” TY said.

Randyl’s chest tightened at the sound of the name, “Matheron Thayer? He’s on Bakura?”

“Yes sir,”

“What’s he doing there? Is he being held hostage?”

“The reason for his earlier presence has not yet been disclosed, but it is presently confirmed that he has…defected,” TY hesitated.

“Defected?” Randyl asked, a cold feeling of sadness flooding his body. He walked to the viewport facing Bakura, staring grimly at the beautiful blue and green marble floating in the distance, knowing his old friend was some where on the surface. “He’s working with the resistance?”

“In our case, that would be the definition of ‘defected’,” TY answered. All at once, Randyl’s head filled with confused questions. He wanted them all answered, but his patience overtook his sudden desire of knowledge. “I’ll be in my quarters. Tell Herne nothing to heavy for my meal tonight, something light. Don’t disturb me until we receive a transmission from Janus or Sirana. Or unless we’re crash landing into the planet,”

TY responded by bowing as Randyl left the room, hoping some alone time could clear the jumble of thoughts in his head.

Re: Imperial Renaissance

The days of their journey back to Bakura elapsed uneventfully. Bal’ak and Uer spent most of the time to entertain Mr. Flick with stories about their lives as pilots. Mostly they were spinning a yarn. Listening to them quietly, Traven was sure that  if they would be stuck any longer on board of the <i>Irrinna</i>, they would start to tell that they won the battle of Bakura single-handedly. “Did I ever exaggerate that much too as I was younger?” Traven murmured to his cousin, who was sitting opposite to him. Daiman chuckled, moving his Ng’ok over the Dejarik board between them. “Yes, you did. But you used more polysyllabic words than them.” Traven smiled slightly, countering the attack with his holographic Kintan Strider. “There is nothing like an excellent education.” Daiman sighed, studying the board to plan his next move. “You are telling me…”

Traven was distracted for a moment from the sound of the opening door to the <i>Ladies’</i> quarters. He looked into the direction of the hallway, hoping that Jordan would join them. But it was Miss van Aath who stepped in, greeting them. Traven tried to appear not too disappointed as he returned it. It was enough to ignore the teasing looks of her and Daiman, when his <i>wingmate</i> was in the same room with  him. Not that they had many chances for that. Since they had left Corellia, Jordan avoided to be in his company. Staying mostly in her quarters, Commander Lane attended at the crew’s meals only. Obviously she tried to dodge any possibilities for starting rumours. So far only Daiman knew the truth, but Miss van Aath was suspecting enough to be dangerous for them. Especially when considering  her friendly contact to Mr. Bal’ak.

It wasn’t much later that day that the <i>Irrinna</i> left the hyperspace, facing the green and blue planet of Bakura. It would have been a peaceful sight, if there would not have been the Imperial armada in its orbit. But opposite to most people in the galaxy Traven felt comfortable as he beheld the <i>Ravisher</i>. The Imperial Star Destroyer had been his home since many years. It would be good to go back to the daily routine of duty and training. Even after being raised in luxury, Traven preferred the simple life of a soldier.

A female voice, identifying herself as one of the <i>Ravisher</i>’s controllers, was giving them the permission to land in the Paladin’s hangar. Traven was dressed in his black Captain’s uniform again, wearing his hair in the militant style. Miss van Aath winked at him as they stepped down the ramp of Daiman’s ship. “Dashing, Captain. Even when I prefer the more mussed look of yours.” Traven rose an eye-brow. “Thank you, I think, Miss. But if you and Mr. Flick will excuse me now. Mr. Bal’ak will be delighted to show you the way to your quarters.” With an eager look on his face the younger pilot stepped closer, while Traven walked to the next elevator.

In his own quarters Traven scanned and skimmed the messages and simulation reports in his inbox quickly. A lot of bureaucratic work was waiting for him. The other side of the medal of being a Group Captain. But now the report to the Admiral was the top priority. A datapad with all needed information in his left hand Traven stepped into Admiral Dodonna’s  office, saluting with his free right hand. The commanding officer watched him. “Take a seat, Captain. It is good to see you back again.” With a small smile Traven sat down. “It is good to be home, Sir.”

After offering a cup of stimtea to the Captain, Maximillian Dodonna began to read the report. Traven sipped the hot beverage carefully, waiting for questions. Finally the Admiral switched off the datapad. “A very detailed report, Traven. As always. But you don’t mention the transfer request of your executive officer .” Traven felt the blood draining out of his face. “Transfer request, Sir? I don’t know about that.” Dodonna frowned, leaning back in his formchair. “Curious. Commander Lane had been here just ten minutes before you. She seemed very certain about it. I presumed that she had conferred the request with you. That’s why I sanctioned it. Commander Lane will take the next transport to a squadron on Bastion. It is just a fair deal with the Governor. He sends one of his female agents, we send one of our female officers.”

~~~

With a quick pace Traven crossed the hallways towards Jordan’s quarters. As she opened the door for him he saw over her shoulder that she was packing already. Hesitantly Jordan stepped aside, letting him enter her room. As soon as the door closed behind him, he asked forcefully controlled: “What is going on here? A transfer?” Jordan avoided his look. Instead she was folding an uniform shirt to put it into her suitcase. “Yes, I decided that it’s the best.” The next shirt was about to be folded. Traven reached out, touching her shoulder to turn her around. “You decided? What about us?”

The cold look she gave him as she answered, reminded Traven that Jordan had been a graduate of Carida too. “There is no us. It is impossible. You are my commanding officer. How would we continue? Secret rendezvous? Sneaking into each others quarters? Or hiding in supply closets even? That isn’t what I want. That isn’t what I fought for all of these years.” Returning her look now, Traven asked calmly: “And what do you want?” Jordan crossed her arms in a defensive manner. “I want my career. You know what will happen when they find out. You will get a disciplinary hearing, but staying in your rank and position. Just instead of your clean record, you will have the reputation of the man who managed to get icy Commander Lane into his bunk. The other officers would congratulate you for that even, if they would dare. And you know what would happen to me? Because I’m a woman they would kick me out of the Navy. “

Almost one minute passed before Traven was able to reply. “You said you love me. So maybe that was just a method to get <i>icy </i> Captain Dunn into your bunk? Looks like the flygirls are not better than the flyboys.” He knew, he hoped, that it was not the truth, but he wanted to hurt her to protect himself. His face emotionless, the benefit of years as an officer, Traven stepped away from her. The pain that was in her eyes now was the same he felt, hidden deep inside him.  “Traven, you know that I meant it as I said it. But would you give up your career for me?” His silence was answer enough. Slowly she returned to packing her belongings. “You see. And neither would I for you.”

~~~

Two hours later a worried Daiman Sirana stepped into the gym where the Black Paladins trained normally. But now the place was empty except one man, who was pounding his fists into a punching ball like a maniac. “Here you are, Trave.” Daiman said relieved about finding his cousin.  “I was worried who would miss the Admiral’s dinner.” Traven stopped, panting, his shirt clinging at his body. “I forgot the time.” He answered simply. Daiman’s eyes widened surprised. “You? Mr. Punctual? What the hell happened?” Traven wept some sweat of his face, sighing. “Jordan requested a transfer to Bastion. She’s leaving today.” Daiman cursed. “Frak, Trave, so she’s dumping you?” Traven shrugged and nodded at the same time. “Kind of. It was hardly a relationship we had yet. And you have a wonderful prosaic way to put it into words that she does not want to continue whatever we had.” Daiman sighed, placing a hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?” This time Traven shook his head. “No.” Daiman nodded knowingly. “Then let’s hope that the Admiral serves enough alcohol at the dinner.” Traven frowned. “I will not get drunk.” Daiman smirked. “Not for you, but for me. I have to stomach that as well.”

Re: Imperial Renaissance

The fleet already arrived.
   
Line Captain Zaafrian stood over the bridge of the Nightbringer with his hands clasped tightly behind his back. His grey uniform hung tightly to his body, his shoulders pressing down and backwards to increase the stress over the connecting layers above the arms. It gave not only a commanding presence to his overall feel, it also gave the effect of a fit man who was firmly in charge. Behind him was the entire bridge crew, steadily working on their objectives for the day. The XO stood over the Operations Officer’s command console, viewing the incoming data from the rest of the 12th Fleet, save the Justice’s Hand. The Navigator calmly maneuvered the Stay Destroyer through the particle cloud that surrounded the system, avoiding massive asteroids with the swift but smooth motion of his fingertips.
   
Zaafrian, himself, was smiling.
   
His commanding officer, ‘Grand Admiral’ Willem von Aath, would be arriving anytime soon in the system, and he would see not only the Nightbringer but the fleet under Admiral Dodonna’s command, and he would also see the planet of Bakura firmly under Dodonna’s control. But, as that premise of mind came into Octavian Zaafrian’s head he shook it. He had no doubt that some sort of Bakuran Resistance movement was taking place on the planet, and he knew that with any resistance movement it couldn’t be quelled by martial might.
   
That’s why Zaafrian decided it was best for the fleet to be moved outside the system, the Star Destroyers and the numerous support ships had to be kept out of sight for a number of reasons, but at the moment he didn’t care about those. He knew why, and he knew their security, so he didn’t care for the seconds that he was keeping himself in. He only stared out towards the blue planet, Bakura, the new conquest for Dodonna.
   
He turned his head over his right shoulder, a distinct movement, as if he was commanding a platoon.
   
“Communications?”
   
“Aye, sir?”

“Nothing from Bakura?”

“Nothing as yet, sir. We’ll probably get something in the next few seconds. We only just entered the system’s outer edges.”

Zaafrian nodded, before he turned his head back towards the glass shielding him from space. They were still too far away to actually see it, but the data screens showing him from afar were still enough to make him smile. He grew up on a world like Bakura, a planet hardly unaffected by machines, and it was nostalgic to see ‘it’ again. His hands loosened, the tightness in the front of his body all but gone, his shoulders now drooping more realistic to his nature. The XO, wearing the rank of Commander, walked forward behind him.

“You’d think he’d be here sooner.” He spoke, his tone low but his accent drawling. He was no doubt from the Outer Rim (Zaafrian suspected near Bandomeer, or somewhere near the CSA), but from the dinners the officers had he had told everyone he was from Corulag. Zaafrian didn’t bother checking up on that statement: he knew all too well how hard it was to get up in rank because of where you were born.

“They’re probably jumping in random systems to make sure that no C-Sec or New Republic Intelligence crooner is following him.”

“I know. I would have been less worried if he had a couple of Marines with him, and not some Intelligence agent.” Commander Arimar voiced his fears again, confiding with his superior officer. Zaafrian nodded; the semi-young executive officer was cautious of Imperial Intelligence since the beginning of the operation, even though Willem was in direct control. Isard and her reign of terror set the moodset for almost all of the remaining Imperial officers: Don’t be like her.
   
“Maarco is Willem’s, don’t worry. He started that pro—“
   
“Sir! Communication from Bakura. Requesting our ship code and orders.”
   
“Figures. I’ll take it, Communications.” Zaafrian spoke, turning about and taking slow steps. It was another of his habits, walking slowly so he could give the Communications operator enough time to gather his belongings for the moment. He stood above the pit, and descended down with the ladder next to the stand. Sliding down it, he stopped off of it in front of the panel, and he pressed down on the green toggle next to ‘COMMUNICATION CHANNEL’.
   
“This is Line Captain Zaafrian, of the ISD Nightbringer, under the overall command of Grand Admiral Willem von Aath. Ship code one-three-seven-two, alpha-tau-lambda. We have orders to take orbit and wait for orders from our fleet commander.”
   
“This is Control Station One. Roger, orders and ship-code confirmed. You have permission to take orbit. Welcome to Bakura.”
   
“Looks like they’re throwing out the welcome mat.” The Operations Officer, Lieutenant Commander Jenkins, said behind the XO and Zaafrian. Octavian snapped his head back towards Jenkins, bending down on the toes of his feet, his own head facing the now visible planet within view. The remaining Imperial Ships turned to face the Nightbringer and the Justice’s Hand, the only Interdictor-class Star Destroyer in the fleet and the only other ship accompanying the fleet flagship directly into the Bakuran system. The rest of the ships still maintained their vigilant watch on the outer edges of the system, ready to hyperspace in and deal with a threat on a large scale.
   
Zaafrian was betting that he wouldn’t ever call th—
   
“Sir, ‘Grand Admiral’ Aath has just arrived in system!”
   
“Get the ship in here, and we’ll give him his uniform.”

   

   
He felt the tip of a needle insert into his skin.
   
Willem twitched his mouth, biting down a bit on his lip, as Maarco adjusted his medal bar into its correct position. The six medals, arranged in three rows of two, shone brightly in the private quarters that the officers shared. Purposely built in such fashion that it forced all of the officers to have to share one large quarters (like most of the senior enlisted personnel had to), Willem enlisted the help of some of the officers for his new uniform. His white uniform, only for the purpose of deception, fit him perfectly.
   
“I’m still surprised at all that the Imperial Ministorium still has these uniforms in stock.”
   
“Maarco, the Golden Crown…That, yeah. It’s two and three quarter inches off of the left pocket.” Zaafrian said, sitting down near his commanding officer, his hands ‘wapping’ a piece of tough cloth over the toes of his black dress shoes. Already, it had the deep but bright shine of hard work, and he had only been on them for the better part of fifteen minutes.
   
“That look good?” Maarco said, turning his head over towards the fleet commander. The Line Captain stopped, turning his head over towards Willem. The ‘Grand Admiral’ turned his stomach to reveal his uniform, but Zaafrian’s eyes only concentrated on the Crown itself, staring at it for a brief moment.
   
“Looks right.”
   
“Agreed.” Willem said, looking down.
   
“That’s about it?”
   
“Definitely. All of the special commendations you’ve earned can’t be worn on the uniform, sir. Which, to me, is stupid. But that’s uniform regulations. I think we can risk it with the Fleet sash, though.”
   
“Too gaudy, sir.” Maarco said, in Zaafrian’s direction after his suggestion cut through the air. Willem shook his head in the negative.
   
“Makes me look like I want to impress. I’m playing a Grand Admiral, but I don’t want to look like Krennel or anyone else who got iced in the War.” Willem said, turning his body around so his side was being viewed into the Uniform Mirror next to the threesome. He turned his head, sucked in his chest, then smiled to himself as he looked back at the rest of them.
   
“I look good?”
   
“Yes, sir.”
   
“Then let’s move.”
   
Maarco turned his head over to the Moff, who moved quickly out of the door like a hound upon the trail of vermin, his head hunched forward so slightly and his eyes open and alert. Maarco, dropping the manual of uniform wear and intitlation, quickly followed behind his commanding officer. He, too, was anxious and wanted to get this commander’s meeting with Dodonna on the surface over with.
   
A few moments later, Willem’s head popped into the room again.
   
“Zaafrian, the shoes. They’re fine. Come on.”

   

   
The Lambda-personnel shuttle held three officers, one ground commanding officer, and two other bodyguards. All in all, a total of seven men were heading down to the surface of Bakura from Willem’s own faction to meet with Dodonna and his men. It already was within the confides of atmosphere, hugging low to the ground in order to avoid any sort of ‘Insurrectionist’ anti-air fire. Soon, its speed decreased as it came over the main city, Salis Daar, as Willem tried to recall. It flew in a left-winding arc, two atmospheric fighters from Dodonna’s forces giving them an escort towards the GHQ.
   

Willem didn’t see this, he only heard the reports from the pilot to the ground group within the personnel bay hold. He was now standing, holding onto a rail bar descending from the ceiling, forcing his lean weight onto it. He felt the speed come even more, slowly even halting to a full stop, then felt downward pressure.
   
The landing clamps slammed into the ground, halting the craft. They landed.
   
“One, two: secure the outer area once we exit. Three, take charge after we leave and secure this. I still don’t trust Dodonna or his men.” Maarco spoke, his voice clear and cut towards the three, heavily armoured men. The three nodded, the only communication they could give at the moment due to the helmets.
   
The docking bay doors opened, and they exited swiftly, but not forcefully. Like bodyguards, they held positions outside the Lambda with stern looking imposes. They wore dark, black armor that had no recollection in looks to the Stormtrooper armor. Their helmet was just that: a circular helmet that revealed their upper face. Their eyes, eyebrows, and their foreheads were visible, but the rest of the face was covered by a black baklava. It made them seem more imposing.
   
The three officers, with Zaafrian and Maarco dressed in Dress Blacks, walked with Willem out into the dusty grey weather. Willem wore his dress combination cover, the white a stark opposite to the black naval combination covers that Maarco and Zaafrian wore. The building, as far as he could see, was still being repaired, but it was in good shape. Enough of a good shape, anyways, as far as Willem would concern himself with.
   
He turned his head around as a Dodonnian Lieutenant approached him.
   
“It’s time to make history.”

Re: Imperial Renaissance

Kess' boots touched Bakuran earth and she inhaled deeply. The night air smelled like smoke and carbon scoring, carried from all over by the wind. Fresh air and the smell of death, she thought with all but a sigh. My favorite territory.

Beside her, Garrick Mikaelian adjusted his Imperial cap – how he hated the damn thing, she knew quite well – and surveyed the same sights as she. "By the Gods," he whispered. "Look at what they've done."

"Not the first," JD said quietly, stepping down the ramp and stopping behind them. "Not the last."

The air swept through Kess' hair, fluttered her eyelashes. She inhaled deeply again, smelling freedom. She did not feel that freedom was yet a ways away. With Garrick beside her, she was free. The minutes were counting down until Dodonna found that out for himself.

An explosion sounded in the distant parts of the city, and they all turned to look that way. "Resistance," Garrick said aloud. "I saw much of it when I landed here."

Kess turned to JD and smiled. "Where's the rest of our – your – unit?"

He nodded. "Probably right there, fighting the good fight against Bakuran rebels. I'm sure Kix and Nash are there."

"You're positive?"

"Just about."

"And that's plenty good enough for me." She smiled, and they all stood in silence for a moment, listening to the wind in the street and the sounds of distant fighting. Then Kess turned at last to Garrick. "Can you get me out of this collar?"

He stared down at her with midnight-black eyes. "I could. Might hurt like a bitch."

"I am a bitch," she replied with a shrug.

He sighed. "Gods be damned, the only thing I can think of getting it off would be to short circuit the damn thing."

JD began to cringe. "Um… Can I ask how you plan on doing that?"

He nodded. "Stand back unless you want to feel this for yourself."

Growing concern in his eyes, he stepped several paces back. Kess unbuckled all her weaponry and tossed it to JD, but when she turned to Garrick, something dawned on her. "Wait a minute, wait a minute! Garr, what about our child?"

He thought for a moment, then shrugged. "I can do the best I can to direct it, but I'm not sure. I won't make it too strong for her."

Kess hesitated. She didn't want to risk her child – as if she wasn't already! – but she certainly knew that escape would be difficult so long as she had an electrocution collar around her neck that Imps could activate at any moment. And the shocks she had received from the collar didn't seem to have affected their unborn daughter so much. At last, she sighed. "Okay… Do what you have to do, but make it quick."

He nodded, raised a hand, and then lowered it. "Huntress?"

"Yeah?"

"Whatever happens, I love you."

She sighed. "Oh, for the Gods' sake, Garrick, just –"

The blast of Force lightning he shot into her blew her backwards off her feet and sent her sliding on her back. She felt herself spasm, writhing, and then the sensation passed and she was left staring at the sky as her muscles twitched and then relaxed. There was a clank as her slave collar sizzled and then sprang open, falling from her neck to the pavement. She blinked one, twice, and then arms were grabbing her and scooping her onto her feet, steadying her.

"Huntress!" JD cried, then looked to Garrick. "What was that?"

"The dark side," he replied, and looked to his lover. "Baby, you okay?"

"Ugh." She shook her head to clear it, normalcy returning to her body. She reached down, pressed a hand against her belly. All felt fine. "I'm fine. How is she?"

Garrick lay a hand over his wife's and his eyes gained a distant, dreamy look. Then he smiled. "Fine."

JD sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Huntress, you never told me he was a Sith."

"Not a Sith," Garrick corrected immediately, snapping back to reality and fixing JD with a skewering gaze. "Not a Sith. Just dark."

"Comforting."

Kess smiled. "Trust me, JD… when the blaster bolts start flying, you will never be so happy to see a darksider in your life."

"I'll throw us a party."

Garrick ignored him and turned to the mother of his child. "So… Let's make sure our plans are okay."

Kess nodded. "If what JD said is true, then Kix and Nash will be fighting the resistance. The Black Paladins have claimed the air for the most part and defense networks will be down, so quelling resistance is the last step in overtaking this planet. Every leader needs feedback, and we'll bring Dodonna his."

JD nodded. "We'll have to get a message cylinder and put any old message inside. Then we can say its from the front lines, and that Kix ordered you to go report back."

Garrick frowned. "Wasn't it Dodonna who labeled you now worthless in the first place?"

Kess smiles. "I don't think the Admiral would be at all surprised to hear that Kix broke orders and ordered me to me his errand girl."

"Well said."

She sighed. "All I have to do is bullshit my way into Dodonna's office. If I can catch him at the right time, when he's alone, I'll be able to do what I need to do to find that damned device he's carrying."

"What if he doesn't have it?" JD said softly. "What if he gave it to Kix or something?"

"I think he only gave it to Kix when we were on a mission. He's got to have it. And if for some freakish reason he doesn't have it, I'll make him talk. If I'm good at anything, it's making people talk."

The Imperial foot solder gave a nod. "Agreed. Look, we'd better get a move on. The longer we wait, the more flaws will form in our plan."

"Agreed," Garrick, echoed…and then stopped. His face went blank and his eyes became distant and he just stood there, almost swaying.

JD stopped in his tracks and turned. "Mikaelian? What's wrong?"

Kess frowned. "Garr?"

"Mikaelian, seriously –"

"Wait." Kess grabbed JD's arm. "I know that look. He's listening to something."

"What?" He blinked. "He isn't listening to us. We have to–"

"Kess." Garrick's voice started distant; he reached out for her, and she extended her hand and let him grab it. "Kess, they're here."

She blinked. "Who's here?"

"Sauric." He looked down at her, his eyes coming into focus. "With Iris, Leon, and Crash."

A cry escaped her; she clapped a hand over her mouth. "You're serious!"

"Dead serious." He blinked as if surprised. "They're a couple of miles due west of here at a Bakuran import yard. They're here, and they're waiting."

Elation filled her. The thought of seeing a Zeltron had never made her so happy. "How long? How long can they wait?"

Garrick closed his eyes and fell silent for a long time. An explosion sounded far off in the distance; JD glanced that way, anxious, and shuffled his feet. Kess only stood still, looking at the father of her child, studying the way he sent his thoughts back to her father. For the briefest moment, she had a fleeting feeling of envy in her, that he should be able to share such a thing with her father while she could not. Then his eyes open. "Faran broke their ship. They'll be staying for a while. When we get close, he'll replace the part he broke and we'll be off."

She laughed. "I love my family. Now where's your lightsaber?"

"You got a knife?"

Kess bent down and pulled one out of her boot, then handed it to her. Garrick quickly flung off his uniform jacket, unbuttoned his shirt, and pulled it off. JD stepped back and got out half a word that might's once intended to be "what–", but it became a panicked shout when Garrick thrust the knife into his forearm.

"Huntress!" he cried. "He – He just…"

"Here," Kess said softly, watching her lover cut around the circumference of his left arm. "Let me." She dug her fingernails into the cut, and like rolling back a sleeve, she peeled the flesh away from his arm. Beneath were wires, steel rods, and coiled cables. JD gave another shout as Kess parted wires and grabbed one ridged metal rod, then pulled it out slowly. It came free of his arm, and she extended the hilt of the lightsaber to him before rolling his synthflesh back up. "Put on your shirt and jacket and let's do this."

JD swallowed. "If I had a credit for every surprise I've witnessed tonight…"

Garrick grinned as he threw on his shirt and jacket, and it quickly became that wolf's smile, the smile of a predator that could smell prey on the air. "The night's just begun, little Imperial. So how about we get a move on?

Kess nodded, extending her claws. They felt good to be out, and ready to sink into Imperial flesh. Garrick drew his blaster, and JD sealed up the ship's boarding ramp. Then they turned together and headed down the street together, the most unlikely trio ever seen.

Re: Imperial Renaissance

Workers!

Yesterday morning, the Imperial Remnant butchered the children and grandchildren of 12,000. The students and staff of Arden High stood up against the ‘hand of friendship’ that bombed our capital. The Imperial Remnant slaughtered them with arms of Bakuran ‘steel. Still your bosses cooperate, and profit as you work for oppressors, executioners, our all hangmen and the murderers of our families. Refuse blood creds! Refuse to collaborate!

You have the choice, the responsibility and power!

Show solidarity!

In honor of the fallen, the bereaved, and our all liberty—

Caratras 21 calls you out on strike!

Rinehart studied the text of the declaration over the datalink Lieutenant Botela had supplied as he listened to the audio feed. The voice was young, full of fervor. So much passion. No matter, you’ve just written and signed your own death warrant, young man.

“So Captain, how many ergs of energy did you spend on shooting down a bunch of high school students?” Kix asked as he casually inspected his fingernails. “But it would appear that the insurgency goes merrily on.”

The ISB officer handed the datalink back to his Bakuran adjutant as Nash, ever the loyal bootlick. yukked it up dutifully over Davin’s wit, the storm commando’s braying laughter a particularly annoying sound. “OK, hotshots,” Rinehart snarled as he whirled on the two storm commandos, the need to play a cringing waiter now long in the past. “You want to be my personal bodyguards? Fine, then you two will accompany me on an attack on the BakOr complex. Think you could requisition a Gamma-class assault shuttle, Davin? I’m sure the good Admiral would be thrilled with holo-images of you and your lieutenant performing a combat drop right on top of the insurgent stronghold.”

“I think I have enough pull with Admiral Dodonna to get what you need, Spook,” Kix replied, the steel in his voice matching VonToma’s. The Imperial leaned forward, his hands balled into fists. “In fact, I wouldn’t miss this attack for the world, even for one as miserable as this.”

“Splendid. You have your orders then, Commander. Dismissed.”

Kix gritted his teeth, then abruptly grinned widely. “Whatever you say, Cap’n.” The blonde officer nodded to Nash. “Let’s go, partner.” Cadman give Rinehart a condescending smirk before turning to follow his commander.

“Don’t pay them any mind, Botela,” Rinehart commented as the two left. “They’ve been living on a Star Destroyer for too long.”

“Yes Sir,” the Bakuran replied somewhat unhappily.

“In the meanwhile, I need you to start readying the troops. Besides repulsortanks, we’ll need artillery tubes and engineer troops as well.”

“As ordered, Sir,” Botela answered as made to carry out his orders.

“Oh, and one more thing, Botela. Just how did we manage to pick up that transmission from the BakOr complex?”

The Bakuran looked away guiltily. “Um, certain members of the security forces and government decided that it would be prudent to have special countermeasures in places such as the BakOr mines. To head off any potential labor unrest and the like. You understand, of course.”

“Indeed I do,” Rinehart murmured. “Carry on, Botela.”

Now left alone, the ISB officer whipped out his comlink and contacted the small band of agents–Manatti, Daubs, and Novotny–who had accompanied him from Bastion and had been cooling their heels aboard the Ravisher ever since their arrival.

“Novotny? VonToma here. Prep the Z-10 for launch”

There was no mistaking the eagerness in Novotny’s voice. “I copy, Sir. We finally have a mission?”

“Affirmative. Your target will be the BakOr complex, mineshaft number three. I want full focus scans with every sensor we have on board that ship. Make as many passes as over the complex as you need.”

“As ordered, Sir!”

Switching frequencies, Rinehart finally contacted Morgan Yvies, his Bakuran advisor. “Yvies, VonToma. I need you back here on the double.” The Imperial suddenly scowled. “What do you mean, ‘I’m exhausted and need my rest’? My heart bleeds for you, Yvies, but it wouldn’t be too hard  for me to find another advisor who isn’t so easily fatigued.” Rinehart smirked as he listened to Yvies’ response. “You don’t know how much that pleases me to hear that, Morgan.”


Botela informed him that the convoy of men and vehicles were forming up just outside of Statuary Park. As VonToma arrived, troopers were hurriedly tossing combat packs, ration containers, and bins of ordnance and power cells into the cargo bays of the assembled speedertrucks.

The Bakuran adjutant trotted alongside the Imperial officer. “One battalion of infantry, Sir. Total of 683 in ranks.”

“That’s about 200 men short.”

“Yes Sir. Casualties, plus the need to retain some troops for security within the city limits.”

An explosion sounded in the distance. “Quite right, Botela. Can’t be helped. Continue.”

The Bakuran gestured to a line of armored vehicles, some of which bore blast marks and carbon streaks from the battle with the Arden High students. “Seven Firehawk repulsortanks. One hoverscout. Six artillery tubes.”

“Botela, those aren’t Golan M102s, are they?”

“Yes Sir,” Botela replied, sounding apologetic. “The Speizocs and SP .9s are required for the defense of Salis D’aar. No exceptions. The M102s are still effective weapons, Sir.”

“Lob shell artillery.” Rinehart shook his head. “It’s like we’ve gone back in time to the Clone Wars or something.”

In the midst of all the preparations was Morgan Yvies, standing next to a TaggeCo. SCS-19 Sentinel speeder. “Captain,” Yvies said by way of greeting, sketching an informal salute.

“Morgan.”

The one-time director of the BSA bristled at the use of his first name. “I’ve ensured that this speeder would be available for your use.”

“I’m much obliged, Yvies, but I won’t be needing it. I’ll be riding up front in one of the repulsortanks.”

“Captain, I must protest. It is most dangerous, and Bakura could hardly afford to lose the services of one her most valiant soldiers.”

“A commander can hardly inspire his men by remaining in the rear now, can he? I’ll lead from the front. On second thought, I do have one use for that speeder, though.”

Striding over to the armored speeder, Rinehart stripped off his ISB tunic and cap, and tossed them into the vehicle. Making his way over to a pile of arms and equipment, the Imperial officer selected, then donned a  Bakuran enlisted man’s combat blouse and web belt. Hefting a N’gant-Zarvel 9118 carbine, Rinehart rejected it in favor of a Blastech 500 riot gun. A favorite of the Corporate Sector’s Security Police, the weapon wasn’t very accurate; it’s main attribute was that it could spit out a tremendous amount of firepower.

Raising the blaster to his shoulder, Rinehart peered through the sight, picturing Matheron Thayer in the crosshairs, smiling evilly as he imagined energy bolts tearing through the turncoat’s chest. Enjoying his momentary reverie, the Imperial slung the weapon on his shoulder before grabbing a vintage Imperial Army issue helmet and setting it on his head.

Armed and equipped, the Imperial clambered aboard the nearest repulsortank. “This tank will be the command vehicle. Patch me into the tactical net.” Speaking into his comlink, Rinehart ordered, “All troops, mount up!”

The Bakuran soldiers manned their repulsortanks, scrambled aboard the speedertrucks. Following Rinehart’s hand signals, the vehicles glided along their repulsors into column, and then with growing roar of drive turbines, the convoy began to make its way out of Salis D’aar, eager to come to grips with the enemy.

Re: Imperial Renaissance

Taking his new guest, Petra, on an extensive tour of Dodonna's flagship had exhausted the Black Paladin after a few hours. Now, settled inside the small space of a lift, Laakim leaned his face against the cool transparisteel of the turbolift's viewport to get a better look at the planet he now called home. He hardly recognized Bakura with all of Dodonna's fleet surrounding it; their hulls gleaming in the light of the nearby sun over the planet's north pole. As the lift moved around the <I>Ravisher</I> toward the crew quarters, a patrol of TIE fighters came into view.

The sight of them caused a tightness in his chest that he couldn't identify, a strange mixture of pride, anger, and revulsion. Nor could he identify the source of the negative feelings. Was it because of the completion of the mission itself, or the fact that he will now return to the boring life of being another TIE pilot in a squadron that wouldn't let him go nowhere? There was a great deal to sort out yet, and he'd hoped for more time. The trip to Corellia had opened his eyes to new opportunities. He wondered if the Admiral would grant him yet another chance to go on another assignment.

It was unfortunate he couldn't spend more time to know Petra better. If things had gone a little differently, he might have had additional days, or weeks, to untangle that knot Petra had tied about her hidden background. Now he would return back to duty, his mind still fresh about her, the sting of her last kiss back on Corellia coloring his every thought. The time they spent touring the <I>Ravisher</I> just was not enough.

"You sure are quiet, Laakim." A voice was heard behind his shoulder. He turned to see Petra smile as she saw him, and it seemed genuine. But the smile quickly faded as she saw his face. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure," he confessed. "I'm just thinking where do we go from here? I'm sure the Admiral will have you summoned for your new duties, while I return back to the ranks of the Paladins and back to my routine as a TIE pilot. Do you really think we'll have time again for each other?" He waited for her answer.

She didn't shift her gaze. "For what it's worth, Laakim, I thought you knew it would come to this– that I would be eventually assigned. I wasn't trying to deceive you; I just didn't know how to tell you."

He looked at her. His face felt still and dead. He was attracted to this woman– even gladly endured the hidden taunts of those who claimed she was unapproachable. Now he tried to feel nothing, but failed miserably. "Perhaps–" he swallowed. "Perhaps there would be a chance. I'd like to think so, anyway."

"I have my loyalties, Commander," she said stiffly. "I will not apologize for them."

His face hardened. "Your loyalties have been bought, you mean. Von Aath and Dodonna are your meal tickets, your shortcut to wealth and power well above your station. I've always known this about agents like you. I simply didn't understand, until now, exactly what it meant."

Petra did not bend, but he could see that his words had stung her. <I>Good</i>.

"I'm sorry," she said, "that you feel that way."

The turbolift slipped into the special guest floor quarters. The lift's doors opened with a slight whoosh, and Laakim's ears popped. Apparently the pressure regulator on the lift was out of adjustment. It was the price the Imperial Remnant had to pay when limited parts were available and maintenance crews being short-handed.

Petra stepped into the corridor that lead the way to several quarters ahead of them. Laakim followed behind. "Your quarters are on the far right." He handed her a cardkey.

She took the card and nodded. "I can take it from here, Laakim. I need to get ready for the Admiral's dinner tonight. I also have to see the Admiral. Where is he?"

"Most likely on the bridge." He shrugged. "You might as well wait until the dinner party. He won't see anyone unless you are requested."

Petra glared at him. "I'll see you at dinner, then?"

He nodded.

"Thank you for the tour, Laakim. I had fun." She kissed his cheek and walked away quietly.

He nodded again. "I did too…" he whispered.

The Black Paladin turned and made his way back to the lift, his next destination the Paladin's quarters to report in.