Compromises of Morality

[Byl Laprovik]

The hovervan stopped at the back of the unmarked warehouse. Byl opened the back doors up, taking a few cursory looks before hopping down to the street. A bearded man walked casually past, and took a turn along the sidewalk around the corner. He was the one to follow. Byl did so calmly, adjusting the concealed blaster inside the waistline of his pants as his contact opened the locked side entrance.

"This is cache 932. All firearms prior issue, bulk-shipped from former combat zones. We refurbish the most servicable portion and return them to Imperial forces for a service charge. They save money and we cut operating costs."

Byl eyed the storage facility as his contact described it. It was a mess. The best of the inventory was still on racks. Most of it was tossed haphazardly into storage crates. Even a few of those had spilled onto the floor. Nobody here was particuarly worried about passing an Imperial commander's inspection, since this place was technically a civilian area.

"So then I guess nobody will lose sleep over other bidders checking out the merchandise?"

The bearded man bristled with discomfort.

"Mr. Janorek, please sir. Keep your voice down."

Calming, he continued.

"This is still precarious, albeit with less security to deal with than through other channels. I honestly don't even know why I'm doing this."

"Sure you do."

Byl smiled, and procured a small, tightly packed pouch from his jacket, laying it on a weapons crate.

"There's enough Ryll in this pouch to pay for any four of these crates with it's street value. Fortunately for you, I'm only asking for two."

The bearded man was sweating slightly, and he took the pouch in his hands.

"Yes, yes I know. I just don't like being reminded."

Byl smiled, and patted the civilian contractor on the back.

"Think nothing of it. You'll have enough money to recover the cost of the product you give me, and enough left over to ease your mind."

"I know, but...drugs?"

Byl paused, a sour expression on his face.

"Don't think I'm not doing you a favor. Every day the Empire tightens the outer rim blockade is a day that your payment appreciates in value. You won't find a rate of return like that in any market. And when you think it's time for a much deserved early retirement..."

Byl ran his hands along the dirty floor, and stood up again with his palm up. He blew against his palm, creating a puff of dirt and dust.

"...poof. It's that simple."

The contractor brushed aside a bead of sweat and nodded.

"Good. I'll have a courier by in the morning. Keep the boxes unmarked."

Byl started for the door to leave, and paused.

"Oh, and Paul. Don't think about heroics. We're both coming away from this in the good."

He glanced back to Paul Shrade.

"I don't want that to go south on you."

Byl returned to his van, watching carefully as Paul closed the facility up and left the opposite way. Only after he was gone did Byl tap his comm.

"We're set for the morning. Should have enough cards in the deck for at least a game or two."

[Akrabbim]

He had been tailing the Imperial Quartermaster for several weeks now, gathering information on the man. He could simply overwhelm the man's mind and take the information he needs. And soon, he will. The problem is, only so much information can be gleaned from scouring a person's mind.

Most people believe that no one knows them as well as they know themselves. In some ways this is true. But in many others, it's simply not. How many times does a person think about the way they walk? Pay attention to the odd tilt of the head they affect when listening to another? Notice the odd way their hands fidget when they're nervous? Almost never. To the person in question, such things are completely invisible. They are, however, VERY noticable to others. Thus the reason that Akrabbim must observe. And observe he has.

As soon as he receives the signal from his associate, he will strike. The plan is to ambush the man in his apartment and strip him of any relevant memories needed to perform his job. Fortunately, this is incredibly easy to do with many Imperials. They are more or less trained to be obedient and to allow others to do their thinking for them. Individual thought, self-will... some possess such traits, but not low-level Quartermasters like this man. Akrabbim chose him specifically because of his solitary lifestyle, routine schedule, lack of ambition, and overall malleability. What few distinguishing movements the man has will be easy to replicate. He will not be difficult to remove from his current post.

Once Akrabbim has all the data he needs, he'll have to take care of the man. He has no desire to kill him outright. For a Jedi, to kill is generally a last resort. Murder is out of the question. Therefore, he will have to have the man... deported. Overpowering the man should be no problem at all. Once that is accomplished, the brain scan and subsequent mental wiping will leave the man disoriented and amnesiatic for some time. A simple sedative will keep him out of commission for a while longer. Then, Akrabbim's contact will hold the man until the work is done. After that... it really doesn't matter. Let the Imperials find him. The resulting chaos will only help matters.

Akrabbim watches the man leave the last of his regular errands when his comm notifies him of an incoming call.

*We're set for the morning. Should have enough cards in the deck for at least a game or two.*

Understood. The package will be ready for pickup within the hour.