The Chase Begins

[Grace Van-Derveld]

The Rebellion was still licking it wounds after the Battle of Endor. Small attachments of support vessels, including one Mon Calamari Cruiser, were several jumps away from the rendezvous point. Most of the crew wandered the ship in a daze at the heavy casualties suffered. Many heroes had perished, notably General Solo and Calrissian and regrettably, Princess Leia Organa. Reports had been coming in that even Luke Skywalker did not escape the Death Star and was killed.

It was a time of regrouping and evolving. The Rebel Alliance was not dead. New life would be breathed into its smoldering embers and burn brightly once more. Those that have died for the cause would not have done so in vain. They gave their lives for freedom and until that goal is achieved, the Rebel Alliance would never be defeated.

Grace watched several X and Y-wings practice on the deck of the Redemption, clinging to that hope. It was one of the rare times you would find her in the plain Alliance uniform. What few markings were on her designated Grace as a member of Rebel Intelligence.

"Ma'am?"

She snapped to attention, turning around with her arms crossed. Long brown hair graced her shoulders and her dark eyes lit up in curiosity to the young Private standing nearby. Normally, others stirred cleared of her. Her job consisted of all the dirty work that was necessary for the Alliance to exist and wasn’t discussed. Respected within the ranks because of the risks she took, she was also isolated from her comrades. A life Grace had expected and held no regrets. "What is it?"

"A transmission was received from base." He extended a datapad for her perusal. "Orders were specific. This was to be given to you."

Upon taking the datapad, he saluted and returned to his station as Grace keyed in her access code. The new orders were disturbing and she blanched. "Oh dear.”

Already her mind was calculating the best course of action as she pointed to one of the Communications Officer, “You there, Ensign."

A Sullustan turned around at his station and looked at the operative, waiting for orders.

"Get Belargic on the comm and tell him to meet me in the situation room ASAP." She took one last look at the orders and switched them off. "May the Force be with us.”

[Dasquian Belargic]

Many men and women of the Alliance would have liked time off from their duties to gather their thoughts and adjust to the news that they had just received. The death toll at the Battle of Endor was vast, encompassing people from soldiers to medics, from all walks of life and species. Yet in spite of this all, very little changed aboard the Mon Calmari Cruiser Redemption. Just as before, there were jobs to be done. For the time being at least, all emotion was suppressed. The Alliance needed their wits and composure about them – and none exemplified this more than Chief Intelligence Operative Dasquian Belargic. He arrived at the briefing room moments after he had been called by one of the bridge deck Ensigns. Therein, Grace Van-Derveld was waiting. She wore a troubled expression. Evidently, something else had gone wrong. Dasquian suspected it might have something to do with the data pad she was turning over, anxiously, in her hands.

“I have a feeling I’m not going to like what you have to tell me, Grace.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Within the year that the two of them had worked with one another, a solid foundation for trust had been built as well as a notorious reputation for getting the mission done regardless of anything. High Command had given the pair this mission for that very reason because they could be trusted to make a difficult decision if it came down to it. Grace was praying it wouldn't but there were no guarantees in their line of work.

"No." She stopped turning the datapad and handed it over with a stern expression. "You won't. We've been given one helluva an assignment."

She strode around the long table and cued up Star's End Penitentiary on Mytus VII on the holo-monitor while Dasquian read the report.

[Dasquian Belargic]

What the report detailed was nothing short of a catastrophe. Over the past months, the Rebel Alliance had developed contacts within the scattered network of Jedi Knights across the galaxy. One such contact was a Jedi by the name of Zabian. He, like others, had been entreated with knowledge of various Rebel locations and such like. However unlike others, Zabian had been aware of key details involving the Alliance’s movements around Endor. To hear that he was in prison was very troubling indeed. The capture of a Jedi was the kind of news that spread fast.

“It won’t be long before the Imperials catch wind of this. We’ve got to get to Star’s End.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"Agreed." The holo-monitor closed in on the details of the prison. Grace was leaning over the table assessing the weak points in the guard structure. A break in didn't seem plausible and they couldn't risk being caught. "Command is moving what they can of the fleet right away. Unfortunately with how badly we were hit, most of the ships are going to be sitting targets if Zabian talks. It is unknown how long repairs are going to take. In some cases they are still assessing damages."

She pushed herself off the table and gave Belargic a side long glance. "We have to make sure he doesn't talk. Regardless."

A knowing agreement of silence passed between them and then it was back to business.

"Security's tightly held by the Espos." Small green circles appeared over the hologram, listing entrances into the facility. Other checkpoints where listed along the right side when entering the system. "And because the location of Star's End is on the tip of the known galaxy and surrounded by an asteroid belt, we need to leave immediately. Time is not on our side."

She stroked her chin, mulling over options. Neither were going to help expediate matters. "If we're to enter on good terms, we need to have a tight story with what our business is with the Corporate Sector or they won't let us inside. Trying to sneak in is almost moot with the picket fleet watching the border."

[Dasquian Belargic]

“Conning our way into the prison won’t be easy,” Dasquian replied, as he studied the chart that was flickering in front of them. Various stock photographs of the penal colony flashed at its edges, whilst the map itself rotated and shifted to different angles.

“Mytus VII is nothing more than one giant cage. There’s very little business we could have with them.”

It was a tricky situation. The last thing they needed was to ruffle the feathers of the Corporate Sector Authority. Although they had once held an alliance with the Republic, the events of the Clone Wars had drawn the leaders of the faction into a fragile union with Count Dooku and his Separatists conglomerate. Palpatine had given them complete control over their sector, in such that they were beyond the laws of the New Order, creating their own codes of conduct. Slave laborers and cut-throat businessmen, the CSA had never been fond of the Jedi – in fact their loyalties usually lay wherever the most credits where to be found.

Dasquian frowned. “We may be able to pass ourselves off as investors, potential sponsors.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"I wonder," she brought her hand down and stared into the holo-image of the prison, causing the blue and green lights displayed to dance off her hazel eyes. "Since we're going to be saving one of our own, a Rebel Spy, let us get in by another unlikely method."

She cued up the liaison office of the Empire with a sheepish grin, "The Corporate Sector keeps their good relations with the Imperials through an Advisor. The office is small, but it is known that the Empire sends other members of the committee for inspections. They do anything asked to keep control of their sector."

The plan was slowly evolving within her mind and being spoken as each thought was formed. "We arrive, wishing to see if any new prisoners have been processed within the last, oh say, four months. The Rebel Sympathizers have become so desperate to avoid capture, that they are even willing to risk jumping the border into Corporate Space. Such behavior would land more then one of them in Star's End because of violating border laws."

It was uncanny how Grace shifted her posture and tone when creating a new persona. The change was fluid and almost instantaneous as she adopted a Balmorrian accent. Rather disconcerting to most, but a quirk of Grace's that her partner was quite used to. "We are merely offering our services to remove such vile scum from their prison. Clears up some space to make processing easier for new arrivals and perhaps saves a bit on the cred account."

Her voice returned to normal and she looked to Dasquian for approval, "If this is doable, we would need official orders and ID's drawn up."

[Dasquian Belargic]

It was times like these that Dasquian was reminded why the Rebellion had been so eager to recruit Grace. She had a knack for thinking outside of the box. On more than one occasion her Imperial upbringing had provided an excellent source for imitation. She had attended Corulag academy, spent time around both officers – her parents – and ground troopers – her brother and fellow students. It made her all the more skilled in playing the part.

“A formality,” Dasquian waved a hand in dismissal.

“One of our double agents will see to acquiring the relevant details. It shouldn’t take long… although I do suspect that the CSA will require more than just our help in removing the prisoner for their presence. They’ll be expecting a reward for having caught him in the first place.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"Of course," she chuckled. "CSA greed rivals that of the Empire. I'm sure it will be a formality as well," she mimicked her superior briefly. "One of our slicers can create a junk account that can be verified as Imperial in origin easily."

Substantial progress had been made now and Grace felt her nerves beginning to unwind, though Belargic couldn't tell the difference in her at all. "Considering the urgency of this, I presume that the Alliance will be forthcoming. A sizable reward will be necessary but do you think we have the means with all the repairs, Dasquian?"

[Dasquian Belargic]

“I should think so. Failure to rescue Zabian could result in even more catastrophic losses for the Alliance. The mind of a Jedi is a difficult thing to break, but it’s not impossible. We can’t gamble on his being able to resist interrogation.” As an afterthought, Dasquian added: “If worse comes to worst, we can use some of the Intel departments budget. I know that the boys in R&D were hoping for more funding for their new communications developments, but I think for at least for the time being any future projects can be put on hold for the sake of the Alliance.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"I hope it doesn't come to that." Grace started to power down the holo-monitor button by button. "But our losses were heavy. They might filter that money towards repairs and rightfully so."

Star's end flickered out of existence and she threw her partner a devious look, "Fortunately it's your job to get our plan approved ... as well as the credits."

An unenviable task. One that Grace always teased him about. Bureaucrats were the same, regardless of the cause. Even Rebel Intelligence had red tape to cut.

[Dasquian Belargic]

This was possibly his least favorite part of his job. As far as he was concerned, if something needed to be done, it needed to be done. The members of Rebel Intel had enough collective experience and knowledge to know when the costs of a plan were outweighed by the benefits. However, as much as he disliked it, Grace was right. With a knowing sigh, Dasquian stepped in front of the video communications unit.

“Computer, patch me through to the governing committee.”

A moment passed, the computer bleeping as it tried to open a channel. Eventually, the committee answered. A flickering blue image of an extremely flustered looking man appeared. Even before the man had begun to speak, Dasquian could hear the arguing voices of others.

“Make it quick, Belargic.”

Evidently, the board was already in session over the losses sustained at Endor, and by the looks of things in the middle of quite a heated debate. Typically, requests for funding were given weeks, even months, to be discussed; however, in times in crisis an immediate decision was required. This all amounted to a lot of pressure, pressure that the members of the committee were not used to.

“Gladly... I don’t want to alarm you all, but Zabian Bal-Wandler has been captured.”

The uproar in the board chamber subsided momentarily, before erupting once more.

“Agent Van-Derveld and I would like permission and the funding to execute a rescue mission. As you know, the Empire have an open bounty on all Jedi. We intend to pose as Imperial agents, using one of our slicers to fabricate an bank account that will allow us to buy Bal-Wander from the CSA – at the price of the aforementioned bounty.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

She knew they had heard his request but decided upon more debate and yelling instead of answering him outright. This was going to take awhile regardless and Grace slipped into a chair next to Belargic to watch the proceedings.

Poor Dasquian's posture said it all. He was being patient but she watched his fingers flex repeatedly that told the real story. Grace tried to focus her attention to bits and pieces of the conversations. It was difficult and giving her a headache, mainly because of the screaming.

"WE CANNOT DO THIS! OUR SHIPS..."

"If he talks. Jedi are strong willed..."

"But he got caught!! The Empire knows no boundaries. They'll be relentless after Endor to finish what they started!"

"We won as well. Our losses were terrible, but the Death Star is inoperable..."

"But for how long? And I bet a new shield generator for that battle station will be a priority. What then?"

Grace swiveled in her chair to face away from the committee, rolling her eyes at Belargic. Already they had forgotten about him standing there.

A strong voice cut through the bickering. Mon Razien, Mon Mothma's protégé, cut through the heart of the matter. He had been quiet since the communication, but his presence silenced all. A native of Chandrila, he was another of this galaxy's youth to have grown up far too quickly because of the war. His eyes showed wisdom twenty years his senior. "This bickering is pointless. Our ships will be repaired and moved as soon as it is possible. Our techs are working around the clock to see this done. As for Bal-Wandler, it would be foolish to put our entire faith in him and his power. The Jedi have always been our allies but they are not infallible."

There were murmurs of agreements.

"If he talks before our ships are capable of space flight, our hallow victory will be our last. We should let our agents proceed for the cost will be far greater then the credits we allow."

[Dasquian Belargic]

As always, the diplomatic voice of Mon Razien was a ray of light in an otherwise stormy horizon. His words quickly silenced the other board members.

“It’s settled then,” Dasquian smiled.

“Have the credits transferred before morning. We’ll have Zabian back in Alliance custody before you know it… Belargic out.”

Before any further protests could be made, the communication link was cut. Dasquian hadn’t suspected that they would be denied funding, but still felt accomplished none the less. Now it was only a matter of having their slicer get to work. That could all be arranged while they were on route to Mytus VII, of course. Getting to his feet, he felt a hint of adrenaline beginning to surge through his body. He looked to Grace and grinned.

“My ship or yours?”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace's brows waggled sheepishly, "If I didn't know you better, Belargic, I'd swear you were coming on to me."

A laughed heartily came and she got to her feet. The look on her partner's face was priceless. "Come on. Let's head to your ship." She wandered out of the situation room. "It has to be fully repaired by now since the incident on Ryloth."

[Dasquian Belargic]

The ship in question was a modest looking YT class affectionately named the Doppelganger. Though this was not the vessels initial title, it had gained its nickname on account of the many times it had been rebuilt and repainted. It had been everything from a smugglers stowaway to an Imperial ambassadorial escort. Initially, the ship had only been reused on more than one occasion because Dasquian simply had no other options – yet over time he had come to think of it as bringing him good luck.

“I thought we’d agreed never to mention that again,” Dasquian countered, with a laugh. “After all, I wasn’t the one who piloted it into the belly of a space slug, now, was I?”

The hangar bay was much emptier than usual. Dasquian suspected this was because the majority of the fighters usually kept on board were still dealing with the aftershock at Endor. The Doppleganger sat snuggly between an out of commission X-wing, currently being worked on by a large Wookiee armed with a hydro-spanner, and a captured Imperial shuttle, partially dismantled. One of the engineers nodded in greeting as he saw the two Agents approaching.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"Pfft," she scoffed back, "I got us away from the Imperials, who failed to identify us as I recall. That slug saved our life."

The deck engineer chuckled softly at the two agents, who were entertaining during this sad time.

Belargic lowered the ramp to the Doppleganger and allowed Grace to board first. "First stop is Bel's I presume? I can provide him with the appropriate markings again."

[Dasquian Belargic]

Within a matter of minutes, the ship’s engines were firing to life. It hissed into the air, moving smoothly out of the hangar, and beyond the shields.

Like many others, the man that Grace spoke of was part of an extensive and intricate web of contacts cultivated by the Alliance since the rise of the Emperor. Not all those who opposed Imperial rule had the gall, or even simply the capacity, to devote themselves entirely to the Alliance, for any number of reasons. This didn’t stop them, however, from aiding the cause.

Bel did this by providing a number of useful skills. First and foremost, he was a mechanic. With a keen eye and a steady hand, he was well known amongst Alliance members. To Dasquian and Grace, he was invaluable. It was his handiwork that had turned the Doppelganger from one ship to another.

Looking out of the main view port, at the desolate sky, Dasquian found thoughts of the battle at Endor creeping into the back of his mind. He had the feeling that the guilt and grief over the battle hadn’t quite settled in yet, for him or for anyone. He sighed somewhat and shook his head, casting the thought away. Now was not the time.

“It’s been a while since I saw old Bel,” Dasquian commented off hand, as he tapped in the co-ordinates for the shady planet known as Euceron. “We’ll just have to hope he hasn’t landed himself in prison again.”

The ship trembled somewhat and then, in a pulse of light, vanished – cutting into the ether of hyperspace.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

The trip wasn't too long to enter Euceron sector, but there was ample time for the two of them to take a short nap. It was Grace's turn to watch over the Doppelganger systems while Dasquian slept.

We should be arriving out of ... The red warning light lit up as if on cue. Hyperspace soon.

She hit the intercom switch, "Time to wake up, Belargic. We're here."

Strapping herself into the pilot's chair, she began checking over the system readouts, making sure the sensors were at their maximum range. Last thing they needed were any surprises.

The hiss of the cockpit door signaled her partner's arrival. "We're exiting now."

Instantly, the stars compressed into tiny bright specks outside. They were in normal space again. "Bel should be about twenty minutes away. Shouldn't be long."

A warning light flashed from the sensors. "Oh hell."

Her attention snapped to ten o'clock out in front. Four tiny dots were moving towards their position. Imperial TIE fights, Interceptors by the silhouette. "I purposefully brought us out of hyperspace just inside the border of Euceron space to avoid Imp ships. Oh just lovely."

One of the Interceptors were hailing them. She opened a channel.

Unknown vessel. You are to power down and prepare to be boarded by issue of Martial Law. All ships are to go through checkpoints when entering or leaving this space. Waiting for confirmation

"Dasq," she swallowed the lump in her throat. "Did I just hear that correctly?"

[Dasquian Belargic]

Having arisen from his sleep somewhat groggily, Dasquian received another rather alarming wake up call – as he stepped onto the bridge to see the shapes of four Interceptors advancing on the Doppleganger. Dejected, he heaved a sigh.

“Blast it. Of all the luck…”

Casually rubbing his chin in thought, Dasquian watched as the ships drew nearer – and made a snap decision. There ship was, as of yet, unmarked. The Imperial vessel had no way of knowing that they were linked to the Alliance. This allowed for the Agents to employ aggressive negotiations without any fear of repercussions.

“You know how to pilot this thing, Grace,” he called over his shoulder, disappearing away from the cockpit to the gun turrets. “Prepare to engage. Evasive tactics.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"Evasives. Hrmp." The TIE's had yet to break formation, still waiting for a reply from the Doppelganger. Grace brought full power to the deflector shields and opened fire. "There's your bloody confirmation."

A bold, yet effective move. Two blasts from the forward cannon blew apart one of the Interceptors and clipped a second. Now was the time for evasive maneuvering.

The YT ship spun a 360 and banked hard right after passing between the gaping wing. Frazzled at first, the pilots were already gathering their wits and returning fire. A couple of stray bolts hit the rear deflector screen, but the shields held.

"Thankfully the repairs were complete." She hit the comm. "I'm coming around for a clear shot on that damaged TIE."

[Dasquian Belargic]

“Copy that.” Dasquian swung the turret to the right. The read out on the targeting computer flickered before his eyes, a green pulse showing as the TIE was lined up with the cannon. The fighter screamed through the black sky, a fuel cell exploding as a succession of well placed shots from the Doppleganger hit home. The Interceptor careened out of control, a chain reaction of explosions turning it to dust as another TIE shot past.

“Childs play.” Belargic smirked as he watched the remaining two fighters loop around one another. The Doppleganger didn’t have their speed, but it certainly out-gunned them. They veered back and forth, attempting to evade the ships guns, but in doing so were unable to land any successful shots of their own.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

True, the ship out-gunned them if her partner would actually hit one of the TIE's, who were now gaining in speed, attempting to box the Doppelganger in with little room to maneuver. Having both squints so close on either side was discomforting, not to mention a terrible range to be shooting them at. Taking them out so close meant that their ship would take damage as well.

"You better be buckled in tight back there, partner. Don't loose your lunch." The engines hit full burn and suddenly the ship was careening downwards. The TIE's had to break off in separate directions in order to avoid colliding into one another.

Cutting the engines to half, Grace brought the ship around and targeted one of the Interceptors. She laid down a spread of blaster fire but her shot was veered off target by the other TIE reminding her there were still two fighters. The deflectors took most of the damage but the ship lurched. Shields were now down to 80%.

[Dasquian Belargic]

As the ship lurched downwards, jerking Dasquian forward in his seat, the two TIEs screeched past the Doppleganger. The sudden manoeuvre had created some space between the warring ships, allowing the Rebels to finally hit home with successful series of shots. One of the remaining ships imploded with a spectacular flare, the other following soon after. A status report confirmed that the combat had lowered the shields to 65% but that was of little consequence now. Deep scanning showed that there were no further threats in the immediate vicinity, leaving Grace to peacefully pilot the ship into Euceron’s atmosphere. Smirking, Dasquian slid back down into the seat beside Grace’s.

Euceron loomed large in the central view port. Dasquian was not surprised that the Imperials had stationed a patrol squadron in its orbit. After all, it was a well-known lay-by for both Rebels and smugglers. On the surface, it seemed quite plain, yet with only a little digging you could find jacks of all most any trade willing to lend a helping hand – sometimes for the good of the Alliance, but more often for a crate of credits.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Thankfully, Bel was not in prison this time around and Euceron was only a several hour stop. New markings and a new transponder made the Doppelganger into the Borealis, an Imperial YT cargo vessel that could be used for all sorts of missions.

There were also several packages for Van-Derveld and Belargic that contained two Imperial Uniforms and all the forged documents needed to hopefully fool the CSA. Intel came through once again and they could leave right away since time was was of the essence. It would still take over a day to get into Corporate Sector space using the fast known hyperlanes, and a few that weren't.

0832 hours - Border of Corporate Sector Space

The Borealis hit normal space near the Ammund Sector and Grace checked the long-range scanners immediately, picking up two modified Victory Class Star Destroyers.

She plotted in a general approach and pulled at the Imperial collar hugging her neck. Grace might have suggested this plan and as solid as it was, she never enjoyed wearing the Imperial colors. She was also a blonde now, instead of a brunette, which happened to be her real hair color. Ever since joining the resistance, Grace became a brunette to hide her identity.

They were close enough now that the CSA would have their ship on scopes and be watching them intently, but they were still a safe distance before anything hostile would commence.

"Well," she glanced over at Dasquian. "Here goes nothing."

Grace opened a channel and shifted into the Balmorran accent she had chosen for this Op. "This is Lieutenant Elara Cath of the Borealis requesting entrance into Corporate Space on behalf of the Imperial Advisory Committee."

Acknowledge, Borealis. Proceed with transmitting your clearance code.

"Transmitting now." She muted her end of the communication and crossed her fingers that the code would work. It was rare when one didn't work but you had to be prepared for the worse case scenario. The calculations to light speed were already programmed into the nav computer just incase.

Clearance granted, Borealis. Welcome to Corporate Sector space Lieutenant Cath. Request reasons for coming here.

So far so good. She reopened the comm. "Myself and Major Bailiol have been authorized by our government in negotiating a prisoner transfer from Star's End. We'll need to speak to someone in charge about clearance."

Time ticked away. Both Rebels sat quietly, patiently waiting for their response. This was no mere request after all. They wanted permission to head into Star's End Penal Colony.

Coordinates to dock within the Mandate have been sent. Captain Svel has been notified of your presence and will be your liaison with Star's End for now. Bring all necessary paperwork to ensure expediency. Tepadum out.

Grace punched in the coordinates and leaned back in the pilot's chair, "Our documents are good enough to fool the Imperials. They better be for the CSA."

[Dasquian Belargic]

“The boys in counterfeit haven’t failed us yet,” Dasquian replied, with a half-smile. While he was confident in the quality of their forged documents, he was also confident in his knowledge that the CSA wouldn’t be eager to let go of their prisoner, not unless they felt they were getting their moneys worth. Although they were ultimately under the Empire’s thumb, they had been given a degree of freedom which would allow them to bargain with their Imperial overlords. Dasquian only hoped that they didn’t go snooping about for loopholes.

As Stars End loomed ahead, Dasquian ran over the details of their task in his head, reminding and reassuring himself. Though their attention to detail and precision was keen, it would only take one loose end to unravel the entire rescue mission. It was for this reason that they had been so adamant that Bel make the Borealis just right; that the Imperial uniforms supplied were tailored from the same fabrics with the same dimensions as those used by actual officers.

The ship touched down with a rumble and a hiss. The communications channel clicked open, with an incoming message – brief, curt and cold.

Crew of the Borealis – you are requested to remain within your vessel and await the arrival of Captain Svel.

Dasquian looked sidelong at Grace. Seeing her in the uniform of an Imperial officer made him think back to the time she had spent on Corulag. Though she was entirely professional in her demeanour, he had seen a flicker of unease in her expression earlier. No doubt seeing herself as such brought back difficult memories. The pair sat in comfortable silence while awaiting the arrival of their guide. It was only a matter of minutes before he announced his presence.

The landing ramp of the ship lowered. With pristine martial stalk, Dasquian moved down to greet Svel. He moved with a rigid posture, his gait brisk and efficient. In comparison with the slightly swaggering Rebel that most knew, this was an entirely different Dasquian. He had become adept at getting into character and played the part of the aloof Imperial rather well.

“Captain Svel,” his bowed his head briefly, motioning to himself and his partner.

“Major Bailiol, Lieutenant Cath. Your arrival is most unexpected. We were not anticipating delegates from the Advisory Committee to come so far a field as Stars End.”

The man was direct, to the point. Dasquian nodded. “In this case, the Committee felt it necessary to make a special exception. I am sure you understand.”

“But of course, Major,” the Captain replied, eyeing Dasquian with what looked to be a hint of distrust. It was the look of a man who felt as though he was in charge, and did not like the thought of some pretty-boy Major from the Core Worlds waltzing in and taking control. Then again, he thought, it wouldn’t be so bad if Stars End had more visiting officers like Lieutenant Cath. It was so unfortunate that they were stuck on such a dead-end world, or he would have offered to take her for a drink. As if seeing all of this playing out behind Svel’s eyes, Dasquian cleared his throat.

*ahem*

Svel blinked. “Ah, yes. If you’ll follow me. We have a few rudimentary security checks and such like to complete. Formalities, you know, but it’s better to be safe than sorry, don’t you agree?”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

She had not missed her partner's interference, nor the Captain's straying eyes. Grace stood at attention with hands behind her back, pretending to miss the obvious, though the nail indentations on the palm of her hands noted otherwise.

"Of course," she readily agreed to the Captain's caution, "We expected nothing less, sir." Grace and Dasquian fell into stride along either side of Captain Svel. "How long shall the security check take?"

His lips puckered in thought momentarily, "It shouldn't take too long if everything's in order." Svel did not miss the purposefully placed tone of urgency within Grace's voice. "The Empire's business is important?

"Unfortunately, yes, I'm afraid." She answered as Svel opened up a door to a small meeting room. There was nothing pretty about it. Several comfortable chairs were placed around a table that had computer imports for various models. The room itself was aesthetically boring with neutral coloring for the carpet and walls, which had nothing on them expect for a viewscreen. The CSA didn't require anything else to conduct a meeting.

Svel sat down and motioned for the two Imperial Officers to do likewise. He folded his hands in his lap and smiled towards Grace in much the same he was eying her before, "Please do go on Lieutenant."

Quite a few rude comments were kept to herself but her outward appearance exuded professionalism, "I wish I could, Captain, but unfortunately it is a matter of Galactic security." Dasquian was ready to jump in at that point, but she had beaten him to the punch. Svel's initial reaction to her partner was unfavorable and she was hoping that if she did most of the talking, he wouldn't dig too deep into the purpose of their mission.

"Oh, really?" Grace nodded in affirmation but Svel wasn't swayed from the subject. He didn't care how fetching Grace was, subordinates telling him what he could and could not hear was unsettling.

Grace read his body language and spoke up before he could process another more detailed question, "Yes, sir, my apologies, but our orders were specific and failing to follow them could allow for a mishap the Empire cannot afford. Considering our good relations with you, the CSA and Star's End will be compensated for their time." She smiled apologetically, "I wish I could divulge more information Captain."

"I understand," Grace was correct with her assessment. Svel was taken by her presence and the respect shown, which deflected a lot of questions on his mind. "We just like to make sure our best interests are not over-looked by the Empire. Major?" Svel turned to Dasquian only out of formality, "Anything you'd like to add that Cath had possibly forgotten?"

She didn't flinch at Svel's informality, only wished that the security check could go faster so she could be rid of his attentions.

[Dasquian Belargic]

“No. I believe Lieutenant Cath has covered all necessary bases in sufficient depth,” Dasquian replied with an air of superiority befitting of ‘Major Bailiol’.

“Now, if that’s all, Captain…”

Without waiting for a reply, Dasquian rose to his feet. One thing that he had learned in his dealings with any kind of figure of authority was that you often got where you wanted to be a good deal faster if you acted with confidence. While carrying yourself with arrogance might, on one hand, leave some with a jaded opinion of you, others could be fooled into most anything.

Imperials, and their associates, in particular were used to officers blustering in and out with little time for conversation. They delivered their orders, their intentions perfectly clear, and moved on to the next port of call without stopping long enough even for a cup of tea. The Captain had to resist the urge to salute on impulse, his whole body rigid and standing to attention under Major Bailiol’s unwavering gaze.

“Very well, then,” Svel spoke gruffly, clearing his throat, adjusting his uniform without realising.

“If you’d both like to follow me. The detention centre proper is a short speeder ride away…”