Chapter Six: En Passant

Chapter Six

"En Passant"

*Imperial Mansion, Colondu*

         Moff Ixis Waugh sits in his plush office, reading over reports from Admiral Talon. The displeasure was evident on the normally jovial Moff’s face. He had paid a significant sum of money to locate the Jedi who’d caused him so much grief in years past. Resources that were needed much more desperately in other areas as the Imperial machine continued to grind to a halt. And even with that, that one man had managed to elude him again. To make matters worse, reports indicated he had help. If they’re back together again, at least they’ll all be an easier target. Or at least a bigger one.

         Putting the report aside, he goes back to reviewing the reports from his other intelligence sources. Things looked bleak. In just two months, the Empire had lost almost 15% of its resources to the Rebellion. Calling themselves the New Republic had given systems a place to run. If the other Moffs knew how to run their sectors like I run Colondu, we wouldn’t have lost all those systems. Not to mention only my fleet has had a military victory in the past two months.

         Waugh smiles at that thought. It was only a month ago that Liberator fleet had been effectively put out of commission. That the new cruiser the rebels had was far more powerful than they realized was a valuable, if somewhat expensive, lesson they’d also learned.

         Finally, Waugh starts reviewing the reports from Coruscant. Still no Emperor. This bickering has to end. Or the Empire will. Waugh makes a note to contact the Grand Moff later in the afternoon to again discuss the succession process. As he finishes, he hears the door open and he immediately looks up to protest this intrusion into his office. “What’s the meaning…”

         The taller of the two hooded figures throws his hood back, his steely gaze immediately throwing the Moff off. The man certainly exudes evil. “Waugh, your pet Admiral has again failed.”

         Waugh bristles at the insult, “I hear your man didn’t do a very good job either.”

         The other figure throws back the hood on her cloak. “Both of you save your posturing for later. Or do you both want the rebels to keep gaining on us?”

         Waugh looks over Kat. She was a very attractive woman with her raven black hair and piercing green eyes. But her beauty hid the danger lurking just below the surface. Not a woman he wished to cross. And as much as Justin’s imperious attitude grated on him, they needed each other. For now. “I have it on good authority that Liberator fleet is being reinforced. The rebels shifted some resources from two other fleets and pulled some of the older Mark 60s out of retirement to replace the ships lost last month. Talon thinks this indicates they’re preparing for a major reprisal operation.” He grins. “They’re sending a hard copy to their High Command by armed courier. We’re going to steal it.”

         Justin frowns. “Why would they continue with their plan then?”

         Waugh shrugs. “We just have to make sure we interdict them far enough out that they don’t discover what happened. By the time they realize their plans never made it to the High Command they’ll have successfully started their campaign. Hopefully they won’t have any reason to suspect we have their battle plan. And by the time they do realize…” He just grins.

         Justin nods and puts his hood back up. “We’ll be in touch.” Without another word, they both turn and exit.

         Waugh sighs and sinks down on his chair, picking up the small kiwi fruit that had been sitting on his desk, biting into it as he mulls over the meeting. I really can’t stand those two. Next order of business will be ridding myself of them.

*Aboard the Wreckless, hyperspace*

         Sharliss drummed her fingers on the bunk absentmindedly. The datapad in her hand showed a summary of all the plans that they’d made to date. For some reason she couldn’t focus.

         They’d decided to take the Wreckless to Ord Mantell rather than leave it. Less clutter for the frigate to deal with on its flight deck – they had still left the Banshee, after all – plus, they could ditch it as easily there as anywhere. One thing was for certain; using it to land on Colondu was right out. They couldn’t risk any association with their real identities cropping up, and Talon had seen the ship fleeing Concord Dawn.

         So they were off to Ord Mantell, as planned, to carry out the last few preparations for their endeavor. That, and to meet up with the slicer. Mils said he was the best one he’d ever found, and with all the work they’d done in their years together, that meant something.

         She found it hard to believe that things were happening so fast. Just a month or so ago she’d been contently bored as a smuggler with Mils. Then the message…meeting Striker…back into the life they’d all left behind years ago.

         Funny the things people will do for revenge. Striker wanted Waugh out of the way because him and Talon presented the largest threat to the fledgling New Republic. So what? What did that mean?

         Sia was a mystery, still, always, but she imagined he wanted all of them out of the way. Especially Kat. Max? Max probably just wanted a little fun. She snorted. And to get revenge on either Waugh or Talon, pick one. She never really knew what Max was thinking. He was on her side – for now.

         Mils, he just hated the Empire. And being tricked. That was reason enough for him to do it. So why was she?

         Boredom? It was funny. They’d be spending a fortune on this mission. Buying a ship, buying a slicer, buying equipment, documents…not like they needed the money. None of them were cut out to settle in one place. And for moving around, they already had the best ship they could dream of. One that they’d never used. One that they might never use, now.

         She still remembered how they’d tracked down Striker’s family fortune. A random thought, but thoughts of success were welcome. Especially considering what they were going to.

         Sharliss just hoped they wouldn’t let him down.

         …well, that, and that they wouldn’t get themselves killed. Priorities.

*Ord Mantell*

         The Courier bucked in the sudden deceleration from hyperspace, the inertial dampeners succumbing to the damage from Concord Dawn. Ahead lay Ord Mantell.

         The pink clouds swirling in the atmosphere provided quite the view, and giving an odd contrast with the yellow soil beneath. The two major moons of the planet shone on the far side as Wreckless descended into the atmosphere, countless minor ones dotting the sky. However, it wasn’t the sights that drew visitors here.

         “Docking bay 327. Ransom out.” They’d had to change the name since they were arriving in disguise. Though unlikely that Talon would make the connection, they weren’t taking any chances. Mils leaned back after acknowledging the landing vector. He cut back the power as the ship coasted down, towards the equatorial starport nestled in urban sprawl. “Shar and I’ve spent a lot of time here the past few years.”

         “Just as long as we find what we need,” Sia-Lan responded, half-lost in thought.

         “We will.” Mils sounded confident. “Guaranteed.”

         Captain Maximus Reams, New Republic Special Forces, was watching the clouds through the turret viewport. He’d spent a few months here himself in the last few years. Mercenary work, mostly, a little bounty hunting. Keeping the edge.

         He reviewed the plan. Mils’ slicer friend was here somewhere; they’d get together and get the information on the Holonet—and hopefully learn more about the current situation in the Colondu sector while they were at it. Max would handle uniforms. Sia and Sharliss looked for a transport to steal. It was no secret that the Imperials left Ord Mantell alone; even they needed something under the table occasionally.

         Max put the review aside as the ship touched down in the docking bay, scanning through the viewport instead. He heard Sharliss heading down the ladder from her turret into the ship, but he always stayed in a little longer just in case there was some kind of surprise waiting on the ground. Unlikely, here, but it was procedure.

         He switched off the instruments and laid the headset down, then climbed out of the turret well just in time to meet Sia-Lan stepping out from the bridge. He nodded and they went down the ramp, Mils coming behind. Sharliss was waiting for them at the bottom, hands on hips.

         They stopped at the bottom, trading looks. One of the starport clerks was walking toward them from the bay doors to collect the landing fee. They didn’t say much, something Max knew was from their experiences together. They didn’t need to. They knew each other too well.

         “I’ll see you tonight,” Sharliss promised. “The comlink’ll be on.”

         They’d agreed to split up for the first night. You always found out more if you hit dirt separately. Not like there was any threat. They’d all completed their disguises on the way in.

         “Good luck,” Sia answered, and with that she headed off for a side door. Conveniently dodging the clerk, of course, who reached the remaining three.

         “Landing fees are three hundred credits. Will you need fuel?” the young man asked.

         “Er…no.” Mils spoke up, shooting a glance at Sia. “No we won’t.”

         The attendant frowned, but Mils handed him the money. They wouldn’t need fuel if they weren’t planning on leaving in the thing. He nodded at Sia as he headed out, too. They’d agreed to all meet back up in the Fifteen Moons casino, after midnight.

         Max left Mils and walked off. He had work to do.

*Ord Mantell starport*

         Sia-Lan followed his own patterns in this sort of thing. He knew how the others worked, but he found it better to let his feet wander and see what he found. Sometimes he wondered if it could be considered “trusting the Force”.

         He hoped so. That sounded something like what the old masters used to say.

         He was still getting used to the new clothes. Wear Jedi robes for years and anything else felt restrictive. Occasionally he’d catch his reflection and find a stranger looking back at him. Not that this was the first time for that.

         The nightmares kept coming. After four years, one would think they’d fade. Sia wouldn’t let them. He continued to remind himself of that time. For his own reasons.

         Ah. He’d reached a different area of the spaceport, with larger docking berths. This was only one spaceport of many, true, but they didn’t have to be too subtle this time. There were no patrols to speak of in the system—all they’d have to do is breach one ship’s defense mechanisms.

         Imperial berths. He couldn’t see into the docking bays, but the stormtroopers standing guard at the doors he passed now proved a dead giveaway. It was no secret that the Empire played a part in the underground businesses of the planet; after all, not everything could go through official channels.

         Sia walked past, doing nothing out of the ordinary. He found that people never saw you if you conformed to their expectations. He wondered if any of these ships were from the Colondu sector. Maybe they could charter a ship from here and cut out the landing on the planet.

         That involved successfully getting uniforms and setting up an Imperial record. Plenty to do before worrying about that.

         Plenty of time to worry before they reunited. Sia continued his patrol, lost in thought.

*Administration, Ord Mantell starport*

         “Please? He said he was arriving today!” Sharliss pleaded.

         A few minutes after departing, she’d gotten the whim to try one of her old tricks. “I’m sorry, miss, but it’s against regulations to do that,” the administrator replied.

         Of course it was against regulations. It was always against regulations. But he hadn’t said that he couldn’t do it.

         “But…but he’s here! I know he is!” she continued. “We didn’t make plans to meet up elsewhere, I said I’d meet him at his ship.”

         “Maybe if you tell me the name of the ship, then…?” he offered.

         “I don’t remember!” she wailed. Oh, this is priceless. “His captain just got a new one, I know I’d recognize it but I can’t remember!”

         “Might I get your name, miss…?” Right about now he’d be trying to calm her down.

         “Callisto Novarr.” Sharliss gave him her best hopeful look.

         “And his name?” Uh-oh.

         “Kyle. Kyle Brannigan.” Lies served best with no delay to think of a name. She just wished she hadn’t picked that one.

         The administrator eyed her briefly before looking around. And he didn’t check the name. Good. “Okay, look, I’m really not allowed to, but just this once…”

         She gave him a quick hug to seal the deal. Maybe she should try this look more often. “Thank you, thank you! I go back on duty tomorrow, and this was going to be…”

         A few minutes and a printout later, she walked off with a copy of the docking manifest.

*Backstreets of Ord Mantell*

         Mils did a little mental backtracking to make sure he’d come to the right place. Ord Mantell had the strange policy of not putting up any addresses. They seemed to think that if you didn’t know where you were going then you didn’t belong there.

         Incidentally, that’s another thing that made the place so attractive to the kind of people they needed. Like his friend. He looked up again at the alleyway leading between the two blocky buildings in front of him. Yep, this was the place.

         Mils stalked into the shadows, one paw on his blaster—in case it wasn’t the place. Or in case Reese was quick on the draw. He tended to get a little jumpy. So did Mils. Maybe that’s why they got along so well. Well, the free drinks Mils provided didn’t hurt. Adopt a slicer. Only a bottle a visit!

         Third door down, on the right. Bingo. He knocked. Nothing. After ten seconds or so he tried again. “Come on, you bastard, we both know you’re home!” Reese was a bit of a recluse. Still, they’d known each other for half of forever, and he was damn good at his work. They hadn’t used him too often, but only because the group had disbanded before they’d really needed to. The prices didn’t help either. Better broke than dead, though.

         Mils reminded himself to remember that phrase next time he got made fun of for his landings.

         He held up the bottle in his other hand and took his hand off the blaster at his hip. The black fur might be throwing Reese off. Mils had already gotten used to it. “It’s Mils, so open up the door already!”

         Thinking of leaving a few seconds later—maybe Reese really wasn’t home—he was interrupted by a sound from inside. Lowering the bottle, he put his paw back on his blaster. I think I’ve been around Sharliss too long, he chuckled.

         With a grating of metal on stone, the door slid open. Though dark inside, Mils’ vision was sharp enough to make out the hoverchair and its owner’s long, straggled hair. “Hey Reese. Figured you could use a refill,” he said. Reese can be tricky…

         “The hells have you done to yourself, Mils? Having a mid-nine-life-crisis or something?” The man inside swiveled back in the chair, not blocking the door anymore. Catching sight of the bottle, he added, “At least you remembered your manners.”

         The Farghul played along. “Aw, Reese, you sound disappointed to see me. I’m trying a new look. And I have a little honest work, if you’re interested.” Not that they really had many options if he wasn’t. Amused, Mils stepped inside the door. “By the look of this place, I know you are.”

         A snort answered him as the hoverchair passed, leading deeper inside. The place was a mess. Not the usual sort of mess – it looked like it hadn’t been tended to in quite some time. Mils hoped his friend was up to the task. He usually didn’t get this kind of work out here, and he didn’t advertise. Good for Mils, secrecy-wise; bad for him, skill-wise. Reese used to be one of the best—he just hoped he still was.

         As he followed him to his “lair”, Mils couldn’t help but wonder again why Reese bothered with the chair in the first place. He’d always rode the thing around out of preference, but he wasn’t handicapped. But he rarely stood. Odd.

         “Mils, you’ve never done an honest deed in your life, and you and I both know that,” he called out over his shoulder. “Now how about you tell me what it is you need, and I start complaining about what it’s going to take to do it, eh?”

         Damn. “Sounds good. This one’s big, man. I need a Holonet crack, four records implants, ship credentials, and information. Good enough that a hard probe won’t find a thing. The works.” As he went, his friend slowed in front of him, eventually coming to a full stop and turning. They were just short of the vault, but he didn’t think that’s why he halted.

         The incredulous look he got confirmed it. Reese raised an eyebrow. “And how much, pray tell, am I going to receive for doing this for you? No offense, but I need to decide whether to throw you out now, or merely dislike you. A lot.”

         The Farghul shrugged, scratching his head with a claw. “Well…I was thinking about ten thousand should cover it. Plus another ten, minus one per day it takes.”

         Reese whistled, biting his lip as he thought. “So you’re not kidding. Normally, you understand, I’d still have you shot. But it’s been a while since I’ve had decent work, and you did remember to bring drinks.” He turned, completing a retinal scan. The vault’s blast door slid open slowly, revealing the sophisticated equipment inside. “I want fifteen up front, and you buy my stims.”

         Mils grinned. No matter where you went, haggling was always a very good sign.

*Backstreets of Ord Mantell*

         Local midnight on-planet. Perfect time to do some breaking and taking.

         Max took one last cautionary glance around the street. Nothing worth noting. He crossed the wires, vaguely amused. Low-grade electronic locks were a joke. The door whirred open quietly, and he slipped inside.

         First he’d though about hitting a surplus store, some place where they might have a lot of spare uniforms around, but then it’d hit him. He knew from experience that Imperials used this planet. He also knew where they went to get their gear cleaned. One benefit of the special flame-resistant issue suits—it took special chemical agents to clean without damaging, and the process usually lasted through the night. Being Imperials, they’d set up a central collection point, so all the work was done at the same place. Here.

         Looking around, he didn’t see any obvious surveillance systems. Five minutes later, he’d found no hidden ones, either. No good if someone with his description hit up a store like this. Time to get to work.

         Rifling through the inventory manifests on the shop terminal, he was surprised to find a few items. That will work out nicely.

         Soon enough, he was walking out the door, carrying a bulging bag full of carefully folded, pressed uniforms. Those Imperials’ll have kittens when they find out. It would almost be worth sticking around to watch, but he had an appointment to keep.

*The Fifteen Moons*

         As the rented repulsorcraft slid to a stop, Sharliss—Callisto—couldn’t help but shake her head in wonder. She’d seen the place before, but never partook. As one of the centers of opulent decadence among Ord Mantell’s multi-species community, the casino was quite the sight to behold.

         A solid foundation of plasteel supported the structure, the latticework stretching upwards from the base. Blended glass formed the first, largest central dome. A shimmering field protected it. Not a military-grade energy shield, it was still powerful enough to deflect any unexpected threat to the expensive building. Beyond, more similar domes rose in addition to the first, a stylized fifteen “moons” that gave the place its name.

         She took a moment to glance around at the other inhabitants of the vehicle. It was strange to see everyone all dressed up, especially as their alter-egos. Have we ever had a real night out on the town? Irrelevant thoughts. Focus, Shar.

         Sharliss decided she wasn’t wearing enough clothing as she stepped out of the vehicle. The coastal wind cut right through her faux-crystal dress. Sia followed her out, then Mils, then Max.

         Mils leaned in close as their entourage made its way through the doors, the valet taking care of their ride. “Tell me again why we’re spending money on this?”

         “Because we can,” she hissed back, smiling. One mustn’t ruin appearances, after all.

         That seemed to quiet him for now. The entrance hall was mirrored, allowing her to catch a glimpse of the procession. If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t recognize any of us, either. We almost look like we fit in here.

         A faceless representative came out from behind the front desk, murmuring welcomes and gesturing to one of the doors. The party shuffled behind, heading into the back of the building. This particular hallway circumvented the gambling floor; it’d be enough to make her nervous, if she hadn’t been the one who’d arranged it to be that way. No point in advertising our presence too much.

         Soon enough, they’d been deposited safely in the secure little back room that they’d requested. And not too soon—Mils seemed to want to follow up on his line of inquiry. They were spending his credits, too. Sharliss started to speak, but Max…er, Ramius beat her to it.

         “This is for all of us, ‘Slim’,” he began. “We needed a chance to practice our personalities, if only to get used to responding to the right name and not the wrong one.”

         “It’s not like we’re paying for the privilege. I know someone who works here. But we really need to work on that name,” Sharliss added. The group spread out, taking seats around the small table waiting for them. Drinks were waiting as well, conveniently.

         “Naw, it works for a smuggler,” the black-furred Farghul contested. “How did the ship shopping go?”

         Sharliss shot a questioning look at Max, who nodded. “Room’s secure. It’s been arranged. And our dress code is covered.” So he had the uniforms. Still looking doubtful about the room, she turned to Sia.

         “You were right, ‘Ramius’,” he said. “Imperials do berth here. They have the southwest section of the stardock all to themselves.”

         “So that option’s open to us,” Sharliss chimed in.

         “Any good finds on the docking manifest?” Mils asked.

         “One or two. We could rent passage there, still.” She shrugged.

         “No, we can’t. That’d leave witnesses who saw us together on the way there. We’ve been over this.” Max crossed his arms. “All take one freighter, or a couple of us hitch with the Imperials here. That’s it.”

         “Well, that depends on what cover story we want to plant. How does your friend like the proposal, Mils?” Sharliss asked.

         Mils shook his head. “He’s willing enough for the price we’re going to pay him. You just have to finish the details so I can hand them off.”

         She faked a cringe. “More work. I’ll get them done in the morning, once figure out the rest.”

         “We need to ditch the ship,” Max brought up.

         “I asked around,” Sia pitched in. He’d done some footwork on that account. “We can drop it into the ocean; no one would know that way, and it’d be rather hard to find. Or, we could put it in the Junkyard.”

         The Junkyard was the informal name for just that—a massive pile of scrap that was one of the major attractions for the planet in the first place. Every non-capital chassis of some sort was in there, somewhere, rumor had it. It’d been around for so long that even Old Republic equipment still lay dormant there.

         “I like it. We let him land it,” Sharliss tilted her head at Mils, “it’ll fit right in.”

         “A guy has a couple unfortunate accidents and he never hears the end of it…”

         “Accidents? Accident implies a rare occurrence...”

         “How many times has that turret of yours malfunctioned again…?”

         “Speaking of unfortunate accidents…”

         “That’s enough, you two,” Sia-Lan cut the banter off. It almost made you wonder what else they made fun of each other about. “Here’s what we need. ‘Callisto’, you finish the documents and hand them off to our slicer. ‘Slim’, you stick with your friend and wring him dry. Any information of use on the Imperials, we need it. ‘Ramius’, you find out if any of those Imperials are heading to Colondu. Any questions?”

         None came up. Maybe it was too late at night for serious thought. “Then let’s enjoy our time here.”

*Admiral’s chambers, ISD Vengeance*

         Talon grins and tosses a data crystal down on the holotable. “I’ve done it again. Go on, take a look.”

         Captain Ninx doesn’t say anything as he picks it up and places it in the holotable. He knew when to keep his mouth shut. Of course, around Talon, that was almost always. The Imperial Admiral was as cruel as he was brilliant, and Ninx had made it to Captain of the Vengeance by knowing how to stay in step. What he wasn’t expecting to see when the hologram finally displayed, however, was a sector map containing fleet movements. He blinks and looks over at Talon, “Sir, is this what I think it is?”

         Talon just continues grinning.

         Ninx follws suit and looks at the plans, his own grin beginning to grow. “Your orders?”

         Talon looks back at the map. “We’re going to hit Ambra. It’s close enough to make them notice. Two of their Golan platforms are currently out of commission as well. The colony is poorly defended.”

         Ninx nods. “I’ll send a transmission to the Olmeh supply yards.”

         Talon scowls. “Did I give you an order to do that, Captain?”

         Ninx blinks and starts, “I just assumed…”

         “That,” Talon interrupts, “is not your job, Captain Ninx. Prepare the fleet to move on Ambra.” He spins his chair to stare out at space, the conversation quite obviously done.

         Ninx spins smartly on his heels and heads out of the office. We are all willing to die for the glory of the Empire. They’ll fight well.

*Imperial Mansion, Colondu*

         An hour later, the fleet that was massing over the Colundu is gone. The garrisoned capital is hardly undefended without its fleet, though, as the gun emplacements that bristled all over the surface and the stationary Golan II platforms in orbit would provide any aggressor fleet plenty to handle.

         Waugh glances at the sensor display for a moment as it shifts. He was aware of what was happening. His guest wasn’t, however, and he intended it to stay that way. “Moff Stanton, I appreciate your concern. However, the Colundu sector is to remain firmly aligned with Coruscant. This is a trying time, to be sure, but just three months ago there was no worry among the governors that their sectors could get out of control. And I should remind you that Colundu has not had a single defection.”

         Stanton scowls. “Yes, well, not all of us have an Admiral Talon to keep the sector in line. And the Ruling Council’s decisions…”

         Waugh holds up a hand, “Are meant for the survival of the Empire. Surely you understand how critical the next several months are.”

         Stanton nods. “Then listen up, Waugh. That’s what I’m here to tell you. We couldn’t have this discussion over the Holonet. I have an ear on the council.”

         Waugh frowns, “What are you getting at?”

         “The Ruling Council is about to declare a strategy of retrenchment.” Stanton says, “And my contact risked a lot to get that to me.”

         Waugh growls, a vein on his forehead bulging at the news. “They wouldn’t dare!”

         Stanton grins thinly. “They would dare. And they will. We’ll have the orders within the next few days, I’m told.” He turns and heads out of the office. “We’ll have a conclave of the Moffs once the news breaks.”

         As Stanton walks out, Waugh narrows his eyes at the other Moff’s back before turning his attention to more pressing matters at the moment.

***

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