The Chase Begins ... Again

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Continued from The Chase Begins (http://sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?s=&threadid=38513&perpage=20&pagenumber=1) and Prison Blues (http://sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?s=&threadid=38510)

Once arriving inside Star's End proper, Dasquian and Grace had split up to deal with entirely separate issues. Major Bailiol had the unenviable task to placate Captain Svel with useless conversation in attempts to keep his inquisitive nature sated. Grace thanked the Force for that. She disliked Svel immensely. They way that he looked at her made her feel uneasy and what was worse is that he did little to hide his lewd intentions.

Instead, she was assigned to Corporal Nire, who led her after security check, after security check, after security check. The Empire was lax compared to the Corporate Sector in regards to prisoners and Grace was pleased with the plan that her and Dasquian had formulated. Cutting through the red tape had taken less time in getting them here to the penal colony then trying to map out an attack plan. And that was if they could get to the prison planet in the first place, and if their Jedi was even here. There were too many doubts to warrant the use of such resources and potential lives.

Nire had escorted Grace through the administration building without a word. Neither of them had anything to say to one another, they just wanted to get their jobs done and be rid of each other's presence. A more typical attitude towards the Empire that Grace was comfortable with.

"Here we are," Nire stopped in front of the data room and slid his identification card into the locking mechanism. The door opened and he stepped to the side in gentlemanly fashion, "After you, Major."

Grace nodded curtly and took a look around the computer room as Nire pointed things out, "As requested by your government, everything you need to conduct your investigation will be found in here. I understand the discreet nature of your mission but if you need assistance, I am here to provide anything you require."

And to spy on me, she thought to herself. "I only need you to boot up the systems and log me into prisoner databank."

He nodded and cued up the terminal with his access code. "There you are."

"Thank you, Corporal." Grace did a cursory search until Nire backed off. She watched him slink his way out of the corner of her eye and position himself at another terminal in an attempt to look busy.

Now she focused her search on the being they came here to spring. Zabian Bal-Wandler. His name came up rather quickly and much to Grace's dismay, the Jedi prisoner was no longer here. The Empire already had bargained for his transfer.

Mentally, she was fuming. Nothing could ever be easy. The plan would just have to change and she began to memorize the details of the transfer.

"Lieutenant?"

Grace turned in her chair with an eyebrow raised in question, "Yes?"

"Apologies. I need to take care of something quickly. I shant be long. Please stay here until I return."

She wasn't sure what to make of this. Hopefully it was a random problem that did not deal with her or Dasquian. From the way Nire addressed her, it didn't seem to hint towards that. "I understand."

Nire nodded to her out of politeness and left, leaving a confused Grace behind.

[Drin Kizael]

"Jake!" echoed an ernest, growling voice deep within the labrynth of Star's End.

Drin Kizael stepped out of his cell, looking around the catwalk with an expression that bordered on alarm. Cellblock 2248 was still enjoying the illusion of recreation time in the hours after dinner. Although guards still made their presence known and droids monitored every exit, every cell door was slid open, with males of more sentient species than one could easily name loitering on the many levels of the prison. The scene almost lent itself to a merchant prominade, or a convention of sorts with everyone in red jumpsuits and gray shirts.

"Jake!" Kizael bellowed again.

Soon a blue-plated protocol droid rose up before him on a hoverlift. He swiveled his squarish head toward Drin. "Reply/Query: What do you require Prisoner 186942 Zeta?"

"My bunkmate needs to go to the infirmary. Now."

J8-K33 turned again, narrowing his photoreceptors on the human in the cell. Morgan Evenar stood unobtrusively, holding his forearm, which was bare up to the unzipped and pushed back sleeve of his jumpsuit. "Assessment: Prisoner 200773 Gamma's vital signs are within acceptable parameters."

"He was injured performing maintenance around unshielded fibercable." Kizael's raised voice made the statement almost sound self explanatory. "The CSCLU would have a field day with this!"

Jake tilted his head between the two prisoners. "Addendum: He is operating at above optimal performance for a human."

Kizael scowled and reached back, grabbing Morgan by his seemingly bad arm and holding it out for display. "Do you see that?" he demanded.

"Observation: It's barely a scratch. Dismissive suggestion: I would offer to kiss it and make it better, if I had lips."

"Tell him that when he shows stage 1 of trictoisis fever and his arm turns yellow and falls off," Kizael growled.

Jake looked at the wound, looked up at the big trianii. "Skeptical Query: Are you suggesting---?"

"You don't know what condition those pipes are in down there! I've cleaned out those scrubber drones myself. Factor in superheated metal from the welder, corrosion, and leaking conduits... You can't diagnose an infection like that without a medbay."

J8-K33 just stood there, apparantly trying to process an objection.

Kizael pointed back into the cell with finality. "I am not letting him near that refresher until he is checked out."

The droid's circular photoreceptors flickered as they fixed on Morgan. "Resignation: Follow me 200773 Gamma."

Drin maintained the look of annoyance until the two were past the first security checkpoint. He relaxed noticeably when they were out of sight. The white fur across the trianii's jowls softened, and he took a deep breath. As if on cue, the curiosity of the nearby inmates dissipated as well.

With a casual pivot, he walked off. As he marched purposefully toward general population, inmates would step aside without acknowledging him, but not derisively. It was as if he wasn't there, yet they somehow decided their conversation area needed to be moved over a meter or so.

Drin Kizael had arrived at Star's End prison colony over 5 years ago on charges of sedition and terrorisism. Among the inmates, he gained the immediate respect that came with being a Trianii Ranger, a freedom fighter in the ongoing revolution against the Corporate Sector Authority. Among the Espos, he was just another political fanatic.

What none of them suspected was that long before his service in the war to free his people as a Ranger, he had served in the Clone Wars as a Jedi. On a level they could never understand, this wasn't his prison, it was his hiding place.

It was not his plan to wind up in prison. But in point of fact, the Jedi quickly accepted this unnoticed existance in, very literally, the farthest corner of the galaxy, as the place that the Force wanted him to be.

Until three days ago, he thought he knew why. Survival as a motive was self-explanatory. But then a slicer with the constitution of a wookie showed up and his once relatively quiet life was suddenly anything but.

He wanted to know why, but trusted his feeling that he wouldn't find out any time soon. In the here and now, he had to find out what kind of zinnit's nest he had just stirred up by making a production out of Morgan's "injury".

The orange felinoid slid down a short set of metal stairs by the railings, making his way quickly through a winding set of maintenance tunnels. Despite his brisk pace and seemingly random turns, every step had been calculated. He had consciously avoided cameras, droid posts, or thrown a mental distraction when needed without losing stride.

At long last he came to a durasteel hatch. "Basilisks won, seventeen to four." In response to the code phrase, the door popped open with a hiss.

[Morgan Evanar]

Things were getting weirder. That was a significant statement with how things had been going. Morgan looked down at his arm, and the bit of metal embedded in it. He didn’t think there was anything exciting enough on the shrapnel to make him ill. Drin was using this as an opportunity to do accomplish something unseen, Morgan guessed.

Drin was going to do something. He knew something important was happening, and Morgan felt like he was riding the same wave. It was dizzying. J8-K33 led him to the infirmary. It was a fairly long walk, and Jake had to work his way through two security checkpoints.

“Is the Trianii normally this insistent?” Morgan asked. He hadn’t had a chance to talk to anyone but Drin and his slicer friend the entire three days.
“Resignation: Prisoner 186942 Zeta has a history of being intractable about certain issues.”

Jake turned him over to a 2-1B surgery droid.

“Be still. This will sting.” The droid instructed coldly. 2-1Bs were never known for bedside manner to start, but this particular sample seemed extra surly.
“Ow.” Morgan said, wincing as the needle and associated pliers fished out the flecks of metal, and then injected a series of anti-viral and anti-bacterial agents. He would get no bacta, it had become more and more expensive as both the Rebellion and the Empire stockpiled it. Besides, this was Star’s End. They were just as likely to let you die. After a batch of different scans, Morgan was given an exceptional bill of health and turned back over to J8-K33.

Morgan was escorted back to his cell, without Drin in it. J8-K33 seemed unsurprised. So unsurprised he didn’t do anything about it after dropping Morgan back in. The slicer crossed his arms and wondered what he where going to end up now.

[Roker]

The echo of boots on metal announced Kizael's arrival before Roker saw him enter. The diminuitive slicer waved excitedly across the makeshift computer lab, tucked away in one of the deepest -- and hence unsecured -- maintenance levels of Star's End.

"Drin you gotta check this out! Look what I found."

"Perhaps later," Kizael replied. "Right now I need to know if you can slice into J8-K33's databank."

Roker started to say something, but cut himself off and looked at the big trianii like he'd just sprouted a second tail from his ear.

"No," he snorted derisively.

"What do you mean no? You blackmailed the Vice Prex of Sienar with ledger data from the most secure archives on Bonadan."

Roker had to take a moment to smile bashfully, but quickly shot back with a stunned glare. He repeated, "Yeah but... no." Realizing his answer was not self-explanatory, he eased back in his chair, looking at Kizael as one would a kindergartener asking why the sky was blue.

"Ever wonder why droids have to use hand-held comlinks?"

Kizael narrowed his eyes. In point of fact, he hadn't thought about it, but clearly didn't appreciate the Bimm's tone nonetheless.

"You'd think they'd have a transmitter built in right? According to some history texts, that's how it used to be, too. It was an insane security risk." Roker looked up at Kizael's annoyed expression and sighed.

"Drin they don't have any wireless input. Droids got sliced all the time. With plain old data terminals you need remote access and just have to deal with updating your firewalls before the next round of lockpicks comes out. But when you're dealing with the risk of letting someone else control an AI... I mean c'mon."

"Alright fine. Can you track his reports. I need to see who he's talking to."

Roker spun around to face his terminals, already typing. "Yeah that I can do. Why what's up?"

"I realized that for such a coordinated effort against Morgan, someone had to know where he was at all times. And someone with authority to override my bribes to get him reassigned had to be involved. I want to see the data trail of Jake's report."

Roker chortled. "Short trail. He just made 2 transmissions. One logged, one personal."

"Personal? He's a droid."

Roker pointed at the readout, with an unspoken "duh" in his expression.

Kizael leaned in closer to the holographic screen with a furrowed brow. At last he had a name. Salen Massey, an assistant warden, did little to hide his influence among some sectors of the prison population and his connections with the outside.

Drin patted Roker on the back. "Keep an eye on that byte," he said with a broad grin. His gaze drifted across the sea of displays, as if noticing them for the first time. Not that he ever took his Bimm friend for granted, but perhaps he hadn't fully grasped the slicer's talents.

"What's this?" Kizael asked out of more than a little curiosity, nodding to a security holocam feed. At first what caught his attention was recognizing the Director Chief in the vid. But the double take came when he realized the other two wearing Imperial uniforms.

The Jedi quickly supressed and rechanneled the panic that threatened to swell in him, calmly running through a thousand scenerios in his mind.

"Oh those are the Rebels," Roker replied offhandedly.

Suddenly he jumped as if hit with a stun stick. "Ooh! Ooh!" he yelped excitedly. "That's what I wanted to show you before! See, see, these two, they showed up. And they were flashing these Imperial codes and I was like, 'Yeah right'. Ameteurs. Well not that amateur. That's why I figure they're rebels and not just crooks or something. And--"

"Roker!" Kizael roared.

The Bimm shrank a little into his chair. "Yeah," he added with a sheepish grin. "Sorry. So... I don't know who they are exactly. But they're saying they're here for a guy named Zabian Bal-Wandler. Problem is, he's not here anymore. He was in and out so fast a couple weeks back he never even got a cell. So I don't know what's up."

Kizael studied the "Imperials" in the holovid. With an almost alarming clarity, everything about the last 3 days clicked into place. He followed the progress of one as they split up.

"Can you contact her?"

Roker actually giggled. A few moments later he punched the transmit button in triumph and turned to watch the show. Kizael raised an eyebrow as the Espo in the hologram picked up his datapad in confusion, excusing himself from the room.

"So what do you want to talk to her about?"

[Grace Van-Derveld]

It hadn't taken Grace long to snap out of her confusion and begin to download the information about Zabian into her datapad. This was far easier then memorizing the details and the Rebel was certain that there were only five minutes tops before Nire came back.

That was when her comm link went off and wondered why Dasquian would be contacting her. Unless....

Her eyes shifted towards the door. Perhaps someone had figured out they were spies. But why would Nire leave her alone? That didn't make much sense but answered the call promptly to avoid any suspicion.

"Lieutenant Cath here."

[Drin Kizael]

"That is as good a name as any," Kizael said to the hologram.

Before Grace could object, he quickly continued, "Do not be alarmed. The guards cannot hear us and are seeing a loop of you working at that terminal."

Roker watched another display, where the guard he had led away with a fake report was nearing the nearest security office.

Kizael continued without missing a beat. "I need you to listen to me very carefully. We know your ID is sliced. If you do not cooperate, so will the Espos. I apologize for resorting to such tactics, but time is critical."

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace was beside herself. If she ever saw the Rebel that sliced their ID's, he was going to get a quick trip to the medbay.

The Trianii wasn't bluffing. She could tell it by the tone of his voice, but what the Rebel didn't understand was why the underlying urgency that she heard.

Either way, she was caught and Grace couldn't allow her or Dasquian to be turned over to the Espos. The longer that they dallied here, the more Alliance lives were put on the line. She had to relent, "What do you ask of me?"

[Drin Kizael]

"You've learned by now that the prisoner you came for is no longer here. But in your searches through the records to confirm this you came across this man."

Kizael pointed to the monitor with Morgan's file. Roker replied by sending it to Grace's terminal. "You will take him instead."

He paused for a moment to let her get the gist of the slicer's rap sheet. "We know that he is here in Mytus VII under false pretenses and that he has ties with at least one criminal organization in Imperial space, so it will not be difficult to convince them the Empire wants him, too. Not if you're good enough to lie your way in here."

[Roker]

Roker was tapping away feverishly on another panel. "Okay I'm whipping up a warrent for him. I need your datapad's port code." Still typing, he looked up.

"What model is that?" he asked, peering at the hologram. "A Deleryne 580? Okay. Go to a command line, type slash-conman-pound sign. You'll need a password. Push in admin... Oh grife never mind. You downloaded Bal-Wandler's file."

Roker just shook his head, making scolding noises. "Don't worry I'll wipe this. Unless you want them to know you uplinked. Wait, no. I'll keep it there, just futz the string a little so your pad is still safe. Makes sense that you wanted to have their file on him, too. Who knows if those Imperials that took him were really Imperials eh? Crazy dren happens here at Star's End."

The bimm slicer took a quick scan through his work, darting a glance at the returning Espo down the hall.

"Okay here," he exclaimed, hitting the transmit key to punctuate.

Kizael leaned in, looking over Morgan's real CSAnet report. He groaned, "Oh by the Maker, he's out of the infirmary already. Not much of an actor, that one."

"Okay Lieutenant Cath, I trust you're a professional. Take a moment to familiarize yourself with the file. The guard will be back in 30 seconds or so. If you have any questions, my associate here will be available by comm."

Roker grinned, "Hi."