Standard Recon

[Tristan Tahmores]

Druckenwell, Doldur Sector. That's where they were going. That's what lay at the other end of this swirling tunnel of white and blue. And that's why Tristan was sat at the controls of the Socorro, instead of being out at the back letting Jack handle the fairly routine duty of monitoring the ship in Hyperspace.

Jack let out a mechanical bleat, their long time spent together letting him know exactly what 'Master Tristan' was thinking. Normally, he'd be offended at having been replaced. But on this occasion, he was willing to let the Human off. After all, it hadn't really been his fault.

"What's our ETA?" the loud, gruff voice of Sergeant Krais Viego boomed, right on queue, causing Tristan to flinch. He sounded far too much like one of the Instructors to whom Tristan had been assigned when he'd first joined the Empire all those years ago. All those lifetimes. It wouldn't have surprised Tristan either if the Rebel had worked this out, and was trying to annoy him on purpose.

"Ten minutes," Tristan replied, trying to sound as calm as possible, and not at all like he was about to stand up and punch the guy. He forced himself to stare at the displays in front of him, and do nothing else. "Would you like me to..."

"Come with me," the Sergeant interrupted, already disappearing down the short corridor to the shuttle's aft section.

Tristan groaned. Why have him sit here for the entire hyperspace voyage, and then drag him away at the only part of it that actually required his attention? And he already knew what was about to happen. Knowing the Sergeant, it wasn't going to be an enjoyable experience.

* * *

"This is standard Recon," the Sergeant repeated, yet again. It seemed that the Sergeant liked the sound of his own voice far too much, and Tristan was finding it extremely hard not to nod off. He'd propped himself up just inside the hatch: if he did fall asleep, he'd end up on the floor, and that'd hardly be inconspicuous.

Unfortunately, the briefing had only just started. "Druckenwell is an important world to the Imperials in this sector. Most importantly - and most relevantly to us - its the site of a major BlasTek facility." His mouth became a grim line. "I don't have to tell you how important it could be to the Alliance if we can find a way through their defenses. If we can gain a foothold on Druckenwell..."

His voice trailed off. Apparently, the time had come to credit his troops with at least a glimmer of intelligence. Tristan had a retort loaded and ready, and was a few seconds from firing it, when the device strapped to his wrist let out a beep. He glanced down at it, text scrolling across the screen, as his droid, Jack, transmitted a rather urgent message.

The Sergeant looked up, shooting Tristan a questioning look, but the Corporal had already disappeared, sprinting up the corridor back to the cockpit. With a grunt, the Sergeant rose and followed.

Throwing himself into the pilot's seat, and cursed, fingers flying across the controls, casting a few furtive glances out of the cockpit viewport.

"What is it?" the Sergeant asked, seeming slightly put-out that his appearence didn't have the usual effect. Tristan didn't credit him with a verbal reply. He just pointed out into space.

It took the Sergeant a few seconds to realise what he was looking at. Druckenwell hung ahead of them, just as expected. The skies were busier than he'd thought they'd be, but that wasn't that big a deal. Cargo Traders came and went as they pleased, not necessarily following any logical pattern. Transports were to be expected. They were here all the time.

Then he spotted it. Them. He swallowed hard. "Is that what I think it is?"

Tristan cast a glance over his shoulder, and nodded. "Our sensors aren't good enough to get a positive ID on name or class," he revealed, "But there are definately big white triangles out there."

"Imperial forces in this system don't extend to Star Destroyers," the Sergeant began.

This time, it was Tristan's turn to interupt. He only wished he was able to disagree. "I know." He turned back to his console, and let out a worried sigh. "They aren't meant to be here."

[Miranda Tarkin]

Moff Tarkin stood on the deck aboard the Imperial Star Destroyer Wilhuff, named after her late grandfather. It was commissioned the day after she was sworn into office. The men below her work diligently at their stations while she stood erect and proud, garbed in Imperial grey with hands folded behind her back as she surveyed Druckenwell as if a god perched in the heavens. To some extent, that was true. She governed this section of space and was responsible for everyone inside. Anything that happened within her borders only occurred because she wished it.

Her eyes narrowed, somewhat perturbed that one of her Victory II class Star Destroyers, the Chimera, orbit was starting to block her view of the planet. It, along with the Discord, were part of her escort. Their only real purpose was to display a show of strength, reaffirming her power over this sector of space. Squashing the Rebellion insurgents on Doldur had secured her high popularity amongst her citizens but she couldn't be too careful. There were still Rebel sympathizers and Tarkin was determined to use fear to keep them in check.

"Madame Tarkin?" The voice belonged to Derrig Paron, her wizened Admiral and leader of the Doldur fleet. "We've contacted Dokin Krayng of our arrival and will be waiting for as at the space port on Il Avali ."

Krayng was Vice President of research and development for BlasTech on Druckenwell. He had a contact with the Galactic Empire to produce the turbolasers, ion cannons, missiles and deflector shields for their ships. The location was ideal since time was no issue delivering the weapons to the shipyards that were located on the opposite side of planet from the escort fleets current location.

"He's quite enthusiastic to have you here but wished there had been more warning to prepare a proper welcome."

As Tarkin turned around, both shared a knowing smile. "I'm sure."

"He also asked what the nature of your arrival was, but I told him that was for you to explain."

"Thank you, Admiral. I presume my shuttle is ready?" Paron fell in line as she walked down the deck and towards shuttle bay 4.

"Yes, Ma'am. A detachment of Imperial Troopers and Stormtroopers are already on board. Three standard hours ago, Major Ryke went down planet side to set up a security detail at your hotel when your first days inspections are completed."

"Excellent." They stepped inside the lift and the Admiral hit the proper level. "I'll keep you abreast of my findings. I'm not foreseeing any complications since no one knew we were coming, but you can never be too careful. Regardless, this should be an interesting visit."

The lift opened up the appropriate level and the two of them strode down the hallway as two Stormtroopers fell in line behind them, expecting their arrival. "As soon as we're clear, tell Krayng he'll have twenty minutes to prepare before I arrive."

As they entered the docking bay, technicians, troopers and grunts all saluted in respect to the Admiral and Moff. "I think that should be ample time. Don't you think?" Her expression was flat but her tone was most amused.

So was the Admiral's, except he was grinning. "Most certainly." He nodded respectfully as Moff Tarkin boarded the shuttle. "Be safe, Ma'am. We'll be seeing you tomorrow at 2100 hours as planned."

[Tristan Tahmores]

"Report," grunted the Sergeant.

If he says that one more time, Tristan seethed, but kept the words inside. He'd heard that, though more lax than the Empire, the Alliance still frowned upon decking superior officers. "We're definately looking at an Impstar, escorted by two V2's." He turned in his chair, somehow managing to avoid the sarcastic smile from his face. "One Imperial, and two Victory. Both definately Star Destroyers."

If the Sergeant detected the sarcasm, he didn't reveal that fact, which only served to boost Tristan's spirit even more. "Names?" he asked. Tristan wondered if, as the Sergeant became more annoyed, he lost the ability to form sentences, downgrading to the one-word statements that he was reduced to now.

Tristan turned forwards again, eyes scanning the computer displays in front of him. "Looks like..." he paused, finding the relevant parts of the displays. "Wihuff for the Impstar, Discord and Chimera for the other two." Tristan turned to face the Sergeant once more. He frowned, noticing how pale Viego had become. "Something wrong?"

"Yes," Krais nodded. "The Wihuff is the flagship of the Moff for this sector."

Tristan blinked. "That's bad."

"Yes." Krais growled. "Yes it is."

Jack whistled something. Tristan had heard that combination of sounds far too often to need to look at his wrist and read the translation. Instead, he looked at the Sergeant. "Orders?"

"They don't change." Krais turned, heading back down the corridor. "This is a standard Recon."

Tristan grunted, hooking the comlink behind his ear, and aiming the microphone towards his mouth. Hands gentle on the control, he rolled the shuttle onto a standard approach vector, waiting for Flight Control on the ground to hail them, and ask those annoying questions that would test their cover. Fortunately, since their cover extended to the truth - or at least part of it - that shouldn't be too much trouble.

Sure enough, the voice of Druckenwell's Orbital Traffic Control appeared through his headset. "State your purpose and destination," the voice snapped, sounding unusually harried. It seemed that they were as surprised by the Star Destroyers in orbit as the Rebels had been.

"Druckenwell actual," Tristan replied, dragging out his words to annoy the Controller as much as possible, "This is the Shuttlecraft Socorro. We're heading to Il Avali on standard business: passengers to deliver, cargo to collect."

The silence over his comlink was irritatingly long; the Controller's eventual reply was pleasantly short. "Proceed along this course," came the reply. Then the comm went dead.

With a shrug, Tristan adjusted the controls to follow the intended course. "He was helpful," he said to Jack, who always monitored communications to and from the ship, in order to avoid annoying situations where the Droid didn't understand Tristan's whitty criticisms of those on the other end.

Jack's reply wasn't the usual synthesised laugh that Tristan was used to. His eyes caught the translation as a readout on his console. 'Look up.'

Tristan frowned, peering out of the cockpit in time to see the familiar form of a Lambda-class shuttle appearing from beneath the largest of the ever-growing Star Destroyers. A few quick passive scans confirmed what Tristan's eyes told him. Their trajectory is eerily similar to ours, he thought, feeling his hands subconciously tense up on the controls.

"Sergeant," Tristan called, tapping his headset. "Looks like we're not going to be alone..."

[Aiden Tahmores]

Aiden's fingers tightened around the controls of his XG-1, the tight black fabric of his flight suit gloves creaking as it stretched. The uniform was an odd concept. It took the standard Flight Suit of a TIE Fighter pilot, tore it to pieces, and stitched it back together into something that looked almost identical to his Duty Uniform, save for the shiny black finish.

But then, he supposed that was the point: something that looked like a uniform both in and out of the cockpit. He didn't have the heavy, oppressive helmet of a TIE Pilot: the XG-1 had cockpit life support. Gunboat Pilots didn't have to be the same faceless pilots as were abundant elsewhere in the fleet, although they often were. He supposed that someone in the Moff's staff - the Admiral, perhaps? - had decided to opt for something less obviously threatening, although no less intimidating.

Aiden let out a smile. He didn't mind. He was flying the kind of ships he wanted to fly. Not that many of his fellows from the Academy would approve. After subjecting most of them to an embarassing defeat in the TIE simulators - earning him the callsign 'Nemesis' - he'd gone on to show them all up by requesting a Star Wing assignment. TIE Pilots always thought of the XG-1 Gunboat as a lesser craft, and hated the idea that there was a pilot capable of defeating them flying one.

For a moment, Aiden's good mood faltered. He wondered what his brothers would think. Inyos of couse would approve of his service in the military. His half-brother had been keeping in touch over the years: apparently, he'd been placed in command of an Interdictor, and was working on a highly classified assignment in the Corellian Sector. But what about Tristan? Tristan, he'd barely heard from since he left the Scout Troopers. Would his closest sibling approve of his choices? Would he be proud of his baby brother, even though he'd passed up the opportunity for greatness?

He'd want you to be happy, the voice in his head spoke to him. And it was right. Aiden let out a slight chuckle. He was happy. He was where he wanted to be. Nothing could be better than that.

Reaching out with a gloved hand, Aiden flicked one of the comm controls on the various consoles surrounding him. "Dagger One to Dagger Flight," he called, once again getting a small kick. Okay, so it wasn't a Squadron, but with at most five assigned to only the larger Star Destroyers, Flight Commander was about as senior as XG-1 Pilots got. He pushed his thoughts aside, and focussed on his flying. "Prepare for atmospheric transition."

A number of confirmations came back. He switched frequency. There were five XG-1's currently escorting Moff Tarkin down to the planet, but only four kept a close guard around her shuttle. The fifth was a few minutes ahead, ensuring that the way down was clear. "Dagger One to Dagger Two," Aiden called into the comlink in his helmet.

"Go ahead, Dagger One," a slightly distorted voice replied, twisted by interference.

"How does it look?"

"Everything seems good on the way in," Dagger Two replied. "No unexpected energy signatures on approach. No unauthorised craft on radar. And the ground crew at the landing site seems to be pretty preoccupied with getting everything ready for the Moff's arrival."

Aiden smiled. Everything was going exactly as it should. Good news for his first day. "Understood, Two," he replied. "Stand ready: we're bringing her down now."

Aiden glanced at the Lambda-class shuttle that carried Moff target, ahead and to starboard, slightly below his plane of flight. His flight was arranged in a fairly standard escort formation. Two fighters flew front and low, two aft and high. He wondered if the Moff was evaluating what he was doing. He supposed she was probably not paying her escort that much heed. She'd only want to pay attention to what he was doing if he did something wrong. Which he didn't plan on doing.

"One to Flight," Aiden announced, switching back to his original frequency. "The way is clear. Eyes open: lets do this right."

[Miranda Tarkin]

Twenty minutes later, Miranda's shuttle landed on docking pad 48 at Il Avali spaceport without incident. She led her entourage of guards off the shuttle towards Dokin Krayng. He was smiling, though Miranda saw a touch of nervousness. A small twitch of his cheek ...

However, he looked sharped. He wore a dark brown designer Razian suit and black shirt underneath. Razian's were only tailored made from the finest of Falleen silks. Krayng must have paid a fortune. His staff consisted of a rather attractive female and a dark skinned male. Their manner of dress were not as costly as their boss, but they looked just as professional as he.

"Moff Tarkin!" Krayng immediately held out his hand like a snake as soon as Miranda was in striking distance. "Welcome to Il Avali. We're honored by your presence."

She took his hand. "Thank you Mr. Krayng. Your expediency in attending to my arrival is appreciated." Her eyes wandered to either of his staff.

"We aim to please." He held out an arm and motioned to the woman first. "This is Dr. Strazin. She is one of our lead developers at BlasTech."

"Yes," she smiled knowingly. "You are still trying to combine both the ray and particle shields, but the Empire has you to thank for increasing their strength with our newest batch of Star Destroyers."

Strazin was taken aback by the comment. She normally wasn't commended for her work. "I'm glad that my skills are put to good use." And she felt really dumb for not saying something witty. She sounded dull and clumsy, not at all like herself. There was something about the Moff's presence that was making her antsy.

"To my right is Lukas Jellian. He oversees BlasTech's operations at the shipyards."

He shook Miranda's hand and nodded briskly. "Madame Tarkin."

"With introductions aside, I'd like a tour of the facilities Mr. Krayng," she said as they started to walk towards the armed escort surrounding the sedans. "I'm interested in seeing how our contracts with R&D are coming along as well as a detailed security check of the buildings. I've agitated a nest of Rebels and I want to make sure all of our assets are secure."

Krayng mouthed an 'oh. "Now I understand your visit. You didn't want the Rebellion knowing you were coming here."

"Partially." She tapped him on the side of his arm before entering the hoverlimo. "I also wanted to make sure that you were in compliance as well."

Krayng chuckled along with the Moff and closed the door with a gulp. Taking a deep breath, he loosened the collar around his neck that had some how become uncomfortably tight, and walked around the back of the limo to regain his composure, praying that this surprise inspection would go his way.

[Tristan Tahmores]

"Oh, you are kidding me," Tristan muttered, electrobinoculars pressed to his eyes as he crouched beneath the shadow of the Socorro's hull, annoyingly distant from the security perimeter of the BlasTech facility. He glanced to his left, where Sergeant Viego loomed, annoyingly close. "Looks like a meet-and-greet with the senior staff." He passed the binoculars to Krais, and rubbed a set of fingers across his eye. "Can't really make out their faces, but based on the profiles I was reading on the way over, we're looking at the boss, his henchman from R&D, and Mr. Shipyards."

Krais handed back the binoculars wordlessly, peering at the horizon with his eyes as if that was the more efficient option. "Can you make out anything that they're saying?"

Tristan pulled the binoculars away from his eye, flicking a disbelieving look at the Sergeant. A hundred and one comebacks to such a stupid remark already on the tip of his tongue. "No," he replied, trying his hardest to contain his agitation. "Can't really make out their faces."

Sergeant Viego grunted, rolling his eyes as if Tristan had just failed some secret test of his. Wandering away, Tristan felt compelled to follow, dreading what might happen even as he did.

"Nova Squad," Krais said as he marched up the ramp, gesturing to the cluster of SpecForce Troopers huddled in the aft of the Socorro. The Squad moved into various approximations of attention. "Standard Recon, as expected," he instructed, with a knowing nod exchanged to both groups. "Alpha Team is with me, Bravo is with Corporal Redman."

"And us?" Tristan asked from behind, on behalf not only of himself, but of the five other Troopers being 'left out'.

"Secure the ship," Viego said, eyes meeting Tristan's with a cold, hard stare. Obviously, the Sergeant wasn't used to being questioned. He would be, if Tristan was around much longer.

The moment passed, troops began milling around, the two Biker teams left behind looking somewhat deflated, pilots moving towards their precious speeders for comfort. The Medic seemed midly disinterested. Tristan seethed.

Grabbing the Sergeant's arm, he stopped his escape, pinning him beside one of the Socorro's up-folded wings. "What was that?" he asked, not bothering to dampen the annoyance in his eyes.

"Those were orders, Corporal." Krais narrowed his eyes. "You have a problem with them?"

"Yes," Tristan replied, bluntly. "I'm not here as your flyboy. I'm as well-trained as any of you in this sort of thing. Don't leave me on the sidelines."

Krais gripped around Tristan's wrist, pulling it free of his arm with surprising strength. "When I find something befitting of your specialist - Imperial - skills, I'll let you know. Corporal.." He cast a quick glance at Tristan's hand, and let out a disgusted grunt. "Secure the ship." He flicked a glance at it. "Its your hunk of junk anyway."

Tristan watched him walk away, hands balled into fists. He considered running after, beating sense into the Sergeant, or beating his arrogant attitude out, but he managed to contain himself. He stalked up the ramp, people stepping back to avoid the aura of rage that surrounded him as he headed unwaveringly towards the cockpit.

Throwing himself down violently into the seat, he jabbed angrily at controls, motors whirring as the ramp began to close, lights blinking as the engines fired up. "We're leaving," Tristan answered, in response to his droid's whistled query.

A hand landed on his shoulder, somehow draining the frustration from him. He turned and looked, the face of Nova Squad's Medic hovering over him. "Viego is a pompus bully," she said, a matter-of-fact, not a mere opinion. Tritan blinked at the blunt statement, not quite sure what to say. "You should've seen how he reacted to having a woman in his Squad." She sighed, running fingers back through her mid-length hair. Eventually, a smile formed on her lips. "He'll warm up to you. Just give him time."

With that, she left, leaving Tristan speachless, staring after her.

A string of beeps and whistles eminated from the R3 beside him. Tristan didn't need a translation for that. He turned, and shot the droid a glare. "No I don't," he snapped. The droid beeped a retort. Sighing, Tristan swung his chair back forwards, and cancelled the engine power-up he'd started. "Shut up, Jack," he muttered.

The droid beeped indignantly.

[Miranda Tarkin]

"Is that really necessary, Governor Tarkin?" Krayng was still trying to be politically understanding to the situation presented before him, and he was doing a fine job in hiding his concern. Miranda could still smell something was amiss. It could be something as simple as tax evasion but with the current uncertain state of the galaxy people like him, and the rest of BlasTech, needed to be investigated.

"My inspectors will not interfere with your day to day operations. They are merely reassuring me that no Rebel influences have infiltrated our holdings within your company. You must understand I must do what is needed to ensure the safety of the people that are contracted out the Empire and to protect our interests." The Moff smiled, "We have invested a lot of money into BlasTech after all."

Krayng did not miss the point. If by any random circumstance pulled the Empire's funding from the company, BlasTech would become bankrupt instantly. Dr. Strazin was sitting to Miranda's right and decided to chisel through some of the ice that had settled inside the limo. "And it's with the graciousness of the Empire that we're able to learn as much as we have in turbolaser and deflector shield technology. I know the citizens of the galaxy appreciate the personal use of it and would want the best equipment outfitted for their military forces."

The Doctor's blatant tactic of rear kissing was at least productive. It steered the conversation in a different direction. "And tell me, how has that new research coming along with the combination shields?"

She hesitated and her pale cheeks grew crimson as she was put on the spot. Strazin only wanted to pick Krayng out of the hole he created, not be the focus of the Moff's attention just yet. She only agreed to accompany Dokin to shut him up. He figured her presence would make him look good and credible without doing much of anything. She hated it and would rather be back in the lab making sure the infusion rates of particular fields were still stable. "Um, well. It's still hard to integrate the two fields." She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear that had gone astray. Dokin had wanted it hanging loose since it made her look more attractive, but she was used to having it tied up into a bun. Flailing hair inside a laboratory was asking for trouble. "We still are trying to find the right harmonics that will complement both fields and keep it stable."

Miranda decided she liked Strazin. She was honest, smart and beautiful. Three things to be admired for the innocent. "I'm sure you will given time. The Empire is patient." To a degree. As long as results were continuously being made, it was worth the wait. Plus, other areas of research have increased turbolaser potency and damaged to their torpedoes.

A small chime indicated that the limo was about to arrive at BlasTech's main facility. Krayng eyes lit up. "Good. We're here." And he couldn't be happier. Once he was able to show Moff Tarkin around, he was certain that she would be seeing things his way. BlasTech's security was not only privately funded, but the more sensitive areas of the building were secured by Imperial forces. There were endless levels of security that used genetic coding, armed guarding and lethal measure if someone came to close to things they shouldn't. He highly doubted the Rebellion was that stupid.

The armed escort pulled up to the first two guard towers and processed access for the entire entourage. Once passed that level of security, they drove through the hover entrance, which was being watched by armed private security. One by one, they lined up at the front of the building and exited their vehicles.

"We'll be heading to Personel and issue everyone temporary badges for here and the shipyards," said Jellian, who decided to finally join the conversation as they all walked up the stairs. "We'll also make up some badges ahead of time for the rest of your staff that's coming down to save you on time, Moff Tarkin."

Miranda nodded. "That would be most appreciated. I realize you want to get this done just as quickly as I."

[Tristan Tahmores]

Tristan sighed, leaning back heavily in his seat, throwing a crumpled sheet of hardcopy up over his head, catching it, and throwing it again. It was a simplistic game, and not all that entertaining, but it passed the time. It seemed to have frustrated his little droid somewhat: there was something about the almost - but not quite - repetative pattern to his throws that struck a nerve...or the robotic equivalent. But after so long, the droid had eventually come to just ignore it. Jack had shut down most of his higher processing functions; the droid equivalent of sleep. The only sounds that eminated from him were the gentle hummings of his inner workings. Tristan smiled. He always thought of it as snoring: an anthropomorphism that his droid hotly protested.

Another sigh escaped the pilot, and he swung his legs down from their perch on the forward console. He needed to do something. Needed to go somewhere. Needed to hurl abuse at someone. Preferably the Sergeant. But the comlink in his ear had been annoyingly silent over the past three hours.

Tristan frowned. Had it really been that long? Surely the Sergeant would have checked in by now. Sure, he'd try and avoid keeping Tristan 'in the loop' as much as possible, but he wouldn't breach protocols to do so...

He glanced at the console just to check. 3 hours, 11 minutes. "Spit," he muttered, sitting straighter in his chair, pulling up data on the console in front of him. Nothing. No coded transmissions on the relevant frequencies. No uncoded transmissions on the relevant frequencies either, for that matter. Something was up.

"Jack," he said aloud, swinging a foot gently into the metal shell of the R3 droid. Jack bleated at him indignantly, warbling a string of insults. Tristan annoyed them, waiting until he'd finished. "Did you pick up anything on the frequencies you were monitoring?"

'No,' the droid replied, somehow managing to slip sarcasm into his limited array of tweets and beeps.

"You sure?" Jack's response wasn't worth translating. Tristan shot him a glare. "Check it again," he instructed, despite the droid's deflated cyber-sigh.

Minutes passed, achingly slow. The light behind Jack's 'eye' flickered, as he scanned through three hours of recieved transmissions - transmissions he'd been monitoring all along anyway. Deep down, Tristan knew the droid wouldn't have missed anything. He wasn't surprised when Jack replied in the negative again. But he had hoped.

With a grunt, Tristan rose to his feet, checking the Scout Blaster strapped to his left thigh as he walked, stopping for a moment beside one of the crates the Rebels had dumped into the rear of his shuttle.

"Corporal?" one of the biker-scouts asked as he opened the crate, pulling from it a Blaster Carbine and an ammo belt.

Tristan turned, tossing the ammo belt across the cargo bay into the biker's arms. "The Sergeant is overdue checking in," he announced, passing out weapons to the rest of the Troopers. He shot them all a grim smile. "Lets go find out why."

[Aiden Tahmores]

Everything about this job had sounded good. He got to fly. He got to lead. He got a stylish new uniform. He got to defend an Imperial Moff. Of the four, he supposed the latter was potentially the most important, especially where career advancement was concerned. Earning the respect of someone so senior could only be a good thing. At least, that's what he hoped. He doubted Starfighter Command would be issuing any promotions and commendations for exemplary performance. When you were protecting someone like Moff Tarkin, people only took notice when something went wrong.

Aiden sighed. Everything about this job had sounded good. But what they neglected to mention was how much of it involved sitting around and doing nothing. Sure, the glamour was there. It was a pretty high-profile job. And the looks he got from the nervous technicians running around and tending to his craft was nothing short of exhilerating. But he was so bored that he...

The Lieutenant's mind stalled. His hands, busily chipping away at a chunk of branch he'd retrieved from a nearby tree with his issue knife, suddenly froze. He had been staring, absent-mindedly, into the wooded approach to the landing platform. For an instant, something had glinted: a bright white flash, like sunlight reflecting off silver or glass. Immediately it was gone. If he'd been sat anywhere else, he wouldn't have seen. But he had, and all of a sudden, his mind leapt into high gear. It hadn't been his imagination, but what else could it be? The wind blowing something through the trees? A wild animal? Maybe. But something didn't feel right in his gut. Casually, he flicked his knife away and, after a slow count to ten, slid off the wing he'd been perched on, and disappeared behind the fuselage of his Gunboat.

Landing in a crouch, he waited a moment before straightening up, pausing for another to correct the hang of his uniform. Eventually, he took a few smart steps forward. "Sergeant," he called eventually, addressing one of the Stormtroopers that had come down from the Wihuff with Moff Tarkin. "I require your assistance."

* * *

"Give me those!" Krais hissed, snatching the electrobinoculars from the hands of one of his Troopers. The man in question, little more than a child, and a new recruit for this mission, looked at him a little stunned. Krais shook the binoculars at him, and gestured skyward. "You're pointing them into the sun," he said softly but harshly, somehow managing to instill the same feeling of dread into the young Trooper as a Drill Sergeant would screaming at the top of his lungs. "You'll probably burn your eyes out, and even if you don't..." He flipped the device round, pointing the binoculars at the Trooper. "Do you have any idea how reflective this surface is? Are you trying to give away our position?"

"Sir..." the Trooper tried to say, but the Sergeant cut him off, thrusting the binoculars back into his arms, and letting out a frustrated grunt, and some mutter about 'sending kids where they didn't belong'. Without another word, he set off into the trees, gesturing for his team to follow. If they had revealed their position, staying put was the worst thing they could do. They needed to move. Find a better place to observe from.

Keeping as low as he could, careful to keep as much foliage between him and the landing site as a visual shield, but at the same time trying to get as good a glimpse as possible, Sergeant Viego stalked through the forest, four of SpecForce's 'finest' in tow. They weren't a bad bunch, to be fair. But it seemed that their previous commanders had been a little lax. That was something the Sergeant had been trying to undo over the last few months; the last few missions. He felt it was working. But annoyingly, the well-trained members of his team kept getting themselves shot, and were replaced with inexperienced soldiers, like Private Clutz over there. Krais certainly had his work cut out for him.

A branch snapped ahead. Krais froze, hand rising to halt his team. He caught a glimpse of something white through the trees. Stormtrooper! His eyes scanned their surroundings, seeking out an escape route. The Stormie had been heading east - away from BlasTech. If they cut west, they could bypass...

As Krais turned, gesturing for his team to follow, the barrel of a Blaster Carbine appeared from the trees, the Stormtrooper behind it levelling the weapon at his chest. He raised his gun, but his eyes caught a glimpse of more soldiers around them. His shoulders sumped, a tired breath squeezed from his lungs. He relaxed his grip on his own weapon, allowing the Stormtrooper to deprive him of it. A hand rose, cradling his head, covering his ear as if trying to block out the gravity of his situation. "Son of a sith," he muttered, feeling the pistol hostered to his hip being removed.

"Hands where I can see them," a voice instructed from behind. "And turn around. Slowly."

Krais turned, eyes coming to rest on the annoyingly self-satisfied expression of Lieutenant Tahmores, standing behind him with his pistol aimed at him. The spittin' kid hadn't even bothered to pull his own pistol. Arrogant piece of...

A hand snapped forward, seemingly out of nowhere, catching Krais solidly to the face, and bringing him to the ground, the world fading into black around him. Slowly, Aiden drew a gloved hand back to his sigh, regarding the terrorist scum lying in front of him with interest for a few moments. His eyes flicked to the nearest pair of Stormtroopers. "Bring him," he instructed, straightening his flight suit. "And the others," he added to the rest of his troop. His eyes turned to the Stormtrooper Sergeant, and lingered where he supposed his eyes were, hidden behind the one-way blackness of his armoured helmet. The two exchanged a nod, and then the Stormtrooper turned, issuing orders to his men.

Aiden smiled to himself. The Moff will be pleased.

[Miranda Tarkin]

It had taken fifteen minutes to process the first of the ID badges and during that time, Krayng offered everyone refreshments. Tea, coffee, juices and various bagels and pastries had already been laid out in the VIP visitors lounge, as several of the Moff's men were still having their retinal scans taken to gain access for clearance.

Dr. Strazin and Krayng had huddled into the corner to talk. Miranda would bet that the Vice President was not at all thrilled that his eye candy had taken a lot of the Moff's focus away from him. It was his own fault really for trying so hard. Strazin was being genuine while he tried to showboat.

She had been left to share a cup of tea with Lukas Jellian, who was far more familiar in having such a high level Imperial around. Their conversation was far more relaxed. "... so we're looking at another month before the next Destroyer is operational." He grinned. "Right on schedule, Moff Tarkin." Jellian paused to wet his parched throat with some water. "A lot of the resources cannibalized from Endor has increased production." He knew it was a sore subject for Tarkin, the loss at Endor, but it was also rumored that it was her idea to use the remains of the Death Star to repair the fleet.

"That is excellent knews. I'm really looking forward to see the shipyards tomorrow. Would it be possible to board the ship?" Her smile was whimiscal with her request. It wasn't too often one could get to be inside a Star Destroyer before it was finished and it gave her fond memories of touring a ship with her father in the past.

Jellian smiled, "I see no reason why not."

As he spoke, two private security officers entered and b-lined right for Krayng.

"We have several decks that are functional with life support."

Their gait betrayed urgency. Something was wrong and Jellian was sensing it too by how distracted the Moff had become.

"Mostly the command decks ..."

Miranda's eyes strayed back and was going to thank Jellian when his eyes narrowed to something behind her. She turned around and was greeted by two Stormtroopers who saluted her. "Moff Tarkin. We're sorry to disturb you, but ... " He stopped there and looked back and forth, stopping on Jellian.

"It's all right. Report." Everyone in this room currently knew why they were here.

"We caught several Rebel Spies."

Jellian gasped. "What?!"

"He was seen off the grounds, hiding in the woods. Lieutenant Tahmores' team apprehended the traitors."

And she was assured that there were no Rebel influences here on Druckenwell. Pah! "Where are the prisoners now?" She snapped, and as if on cue, Krayng had walked over to answer her.

"He's in one of the Imperial holding cells here. I ..." He held his hands out at a lost as to how this happened. "... I'm sorry, Moff Tarkin. I can't under- ..."

"Nor would you." she replied icily and looked back towards the Stormtrooper. "Have your men found anything else? There has to be more of them."

"We've set up a search parameter and have found nothing yet. We're also looking into air traffic and control for the last three days. His radio clicked off for a moment as he thought about his next words. Ma'am. We believe that you might be a target. No one knew you were here. It can't be coincidence that the planet was infiltrated."

"Perhaps," she hummed. It wasn't as if this surprise inspection were a top secret mission and they hadn't rooted out that spy yet. There could have been a chance that this was another attempt to discredit her.

We suggest flying back up to your ship until the situation down here is controlled.

The idea of running away and hiding on the Star Destroyer made her laugh. "I do not fear them. I am a Tarkin. We do not hide from our enemies." Her eyes grew dark and serious. "Take me to them now."

The Stormtrooper bowed his head in respect. Once the Moff's mind was made up, it would be foolish to question her. The last one to do so was still cleaning the refresher stalls back on Doldur. Yes, Ma'am.

[Tristan Tahmores]

"Son of a sith."

Tristan froze, the words echoing through his mind for a whole second after they'd emerged from his comlink. He frowned, wondering why Sergeant Viego was sending that particular message. But sounds in the background cut him off.

"Hands where I can see them. And turn around. Slowly."

A different voice: one that sounded far too familiar for Tristan's liking. But static chewed at the edges of the words, the quality of transmissions on their comlinks to disguise the true identities of the team. He couldn't quite recognise the voice. Perhaps someone he'd served with, back when he was a Scout Trooper.

The comm suddenly went dead. Tristan's mouth narrowed into a line. "You guys hear that?" he asked, shooting glances at his team. They nodded. Tristan sighed. "Means we're rumbled."

"We have to rescue them," one of the troopers interjected.

Tristan fixed him with a look. "I know," he muttered, testily. His brow creased, thoughts racing through his mind. "Nova-Two-Niner," he called, pressing the 'talk' stud on his earpiece. "I take it you got that last."

"That's affirmative, Fly-Niner," the voice of Corporal Redman replied. "We're twenty minutes out from the El Zee. What's your status?"

Ah. Yes. Tristan should probably have told him about his little excursion, shouldn't he? "Retracing Nova-One's steps," he said with a grimace.

"Negative, Fly-Niner. Return to..."

"Frell that," Tristan muttered, yanking the comlink from his ear, and jamming a finger at the 'talk' button. One of the Biker Scouts raised an eyebrow at him. "Now I don't know what he was going to say," Tristan explained with a shrug.

The Biker's mouth twitched into a smile. He reached up, and pulled out his own earpiece. Slowly, the rest of the team did the same. Tristan responded to the Biker's smile with a nod. "Okay then," he said, turning back towards the forest, and gesturing for his team to follow.

I have a bad feeling about this, a voice in Tristan's head warned.

"Me too," Tristan muttered back.

[Aiden Tahmores]

Aiden perched on the edge of the security console, flexing his hand slowly inside his glove. He smiled at it, admiring his knuckles, eyes flicking over to the holding cell in front of him where the subject of their recent handiwork lay, hopefully concious and nursing a nasty bruise.

Aiden wondered if it had been overkill, but it had been a snap reaction. As the Rebel had turned, he'd seen the hand on the side of his face, discreetly pressing into his ear - a hidden comlink, he'd assumed. His gut had been right, as the Stormtroopers had discovered on closer inspection of the team leader, and his soldiers. No doubt the Rebel had managed to get a vague warning of the situation out to his comrades, but the punch had been an effective way of stopping him from giving too much away.

And besides, punches were usually non-lethal. Well, most of the time. But it had provided a useful alternative to shooting him. He doubted the Rebel would have a pistol in his holster set to stun.

With a sigh and a stretch, Aiden slid down onto his feet, pacing slowly across the hall. He'd sent the Sergeant to inform the Moff. Perhaps he should have gone personally. Then he could gloat. But no, that didn't seem right. It was too blatant. Better to leave the Moff to praise him of her own accord. It'd stick in her mind better that way. Modesty was always more endearing than arrogance.

Aiden leaned heavily on the security console, eyes narrowing as he flicked the display over to the relevant holding cell. The leader had regained consciousness. That was a shame. And he seemed to be in less pain than Aiden would have hoped. That was annoying. The Lieutenant toyed with the idea of going in to do a better job. After all, it was nothing better than these "Rebels" deserved.

A look of disgust crossed Aiden's features. Rebels? Freedom fighters? Criminals. Terrorists. That was more like it. There was nothing noble about their cause: no heroism in their subversive tactics. True, there might have been corruption in the upper echelons of the Empire before, but the Battle of Endor had seen that corruption thoroughly removed. He supposed he should thank the Rebellion for that - some good from one of their actions. But with that corruption removed, the Empire was healed. And with people like Moff Tarkin deciding the galaxy's fate, continuing their campaign against the Empire was nothing short of terrorism.

Hate boiled in Aiden's stomach, directed squarely at the five souls shown on the screen before him. The Rebels represented everything that was wrong in the galaxy: corruption, subversion, lawlessness. Things that he would do anything in his power to wipe out. And he would give his life to do so, if he had to. He would give his life for that noble cause, just as his friends and classmates had done, only to die at the hands of the Rebels.

The sound of the door opening ended his mental debate. A quick glance recognised the Sergeant - or more specifically, a particular smear on said Sergeant's armour - as well as a few of the dignatories from BlasTech. And the Moff herself. Aiden's body tensed at that, coming smartly to attention. He bowed his head slightly in respect. "Ma'am."

[Miranda Tarkin]

She was somewhat confused by the Imperial that addressed her. By his uniform, he was part of her fighter escort. "Lieutenant Tahmores?"

Another nod.

This was interesting. Miranda had not expected one of her elite fighter pilots to show such ... initiative. "What are the status of our prisoners?"

[Aiden Tahmores]

"They're...conscious," Aiden replied, careful with his words. He'd wanted to say 'alive', but he wasn't sure how the Moff would take to that. Better to err on the side of caution. After all, Moff Tarkin's father was known for his doctrine of using the fear of force, and not the force itself. This latest member of his line might not take too kindly to his application of the latter.

Tarkin had moved next to him, and was peering attentively at the video feed from the cell. "The leader proved...resistant," Aiden said quickly, again careful with his words, deciding it was best to explain away the injured rebel before the Moff noticed. "I was unfortunately required to use force while attempting to detain him."

[Miranda Tarkin]

All four of them were still alive. Good. They could be questioned as to the rest of their numbers, location of their ships and their purpose in coming here.

"At times, force is necessary and they're Rebels. They deserve far worse." She smiled at Tahmores, a confident smile that most of her men were accustomed to when she was please. "However, they need to be questioned and it's good you've identified the leader. Have they provided any intel, or are they resisting as usual?"

The Rebellion often created proud people who were not quick to divulge information. If they proved difficult, they were opening up the path of torture and death. There were four of them after all. Plenty of room to work with

[Aiden Tahmores]

"I presumed you'd like to question them yourself, ma'am," Aiden said slowly, wondering if perhaps he'd made the wrong choice. Should he have shown more initiative, and dragged out some information to give the Moff?

No, he'd done the right thing. He was a pilot after all - best to leave that sort of thing to those better qualified. He wasn't completely empty-handed, however.

"I took the liberty," he said, retrieving a datapad from the workstation, "Of having the comlinks used by the Rebels analysed. Unfortunately, we couldn't discern much information from it, but I was able to find..." He passed her the device, gesturing towards an alpha-numeric string displayed on the screen. "The frequency they were communicating on."

While the Moff read through the information he'd provided, he continued to speak. "The Rebels appear to no longer be transmitting on this frequency, but no doubt they're monitoring it, just in case one of our captives manages to make contact again." He paused again, not sure whether he was being too presumptuous in suggesting a course of action. "Rebels are known for their illogical yet predictable actions at times," he began, deciding to make his suggestion anyway. "Perhaps we could attempt to draw them into a trap?"

[Miranda Tarkin]

She smiled at his enthusiasm. "In due time, Lieutenant. In order to make a believable trap, we'll have to gain some information from our prisoners. Names, ranks, and the like. So tell me ..."

Miranda stepped closer to the displays and slowly sized up each of the four prisoners. "Which one is the leader?"

[Aiden Tahmores]

Aiden fought the urge to blush, somehow managing to suppress the heat threatening at his cheeks. Details. Of course. He should have thought of that. He should probably have tried to find out some of that information himself. But he was a pilot. He didn't care who he was shooting at: just what colour they appeared on his radar.

Aiden coughed into his hand a little nervously at the Moff's question. "That would be the one with the broken nose, Ma'am," he said, gesturing to let Miranda lead the way to the cell as the Stormtrooper Sergeant rushed to unseal the door.

[Miranda Tarkin]

Holding Cell 6 was the third door on the right. She gestured towards the door with her neck. "Open it."

The nearest guard keyed in a code on the display panel and it opened. She, Tahmores and two Stormtroopers walked inside ... as well as Krayng. Miranda turned on her heels with a snap. "Where do you think you're going?"

She was angry, rightfully so, but he had to try and salvage this incident. "I wanted to assist in the interrogation. He was found on BlasTech property and ..."

"I don't care what you want, Mr. Krayng. This is an Imperial investigation which supersedes civilian law." Her hands swiftly clasped behind her back. For someone short of stature, Miranda Tarkin made up for it in presence. Her dark eyes were ready to cast judgment upon the Vice President and their were three loyal soldiers ready to pull the trigger if she but command it. She was sick of his presence and wanted his idiocy gone from her sight. "Now, you may have your leave, or must I have you escorted out?"

Krayng was visibly shaken and took a step back after seeing one of the Stormtroopers tighten his grip on his blaster rifle. "No, Madame Tarkin. I'll see myself out." He nodded, "Thank you."

He hesitated, wondering if they were going to shoot him anyway. But he regained enough composure to to backpedal out of the holding cell with a smidge of dignity intact.

[Aiden Tahmores]

Aiden couldn't help a slight smile as the civilian disappeared from the cell, thoroughly chastised by the Moff. A number of derogatory pilot terms crept into his mind to describe Krayng at that moment: fortunately, his better judgement prevented him from voicing any of them.

Stepping into the cell in Tarkin's wake, Aiden's eyes quickly scanned the cell for anything suspicious. No one looked threatening. No one looked like they were concealing any devices that might help them escape. Not that it mattered: surveillance would prevent any attempts from getting too far before they were detected. And the Rebels had been stripped of any potentially useful information. But still. Better safe than sorry.

"On your feet," Aiden instructed, the words escaping his mouth before he had a chance to think about them. "Name, rank," he barked, squaring off in front of the Rebel leader, his nose a rather interesting mix of red and purple, knocked at an ever so slightly askew angle. From the way the Rebel stood, and breathed only through his mouth in ever so slightly rattled breaths, it seemed to be causing him a great deal of discomfort. Aiden killed a smile before it could form.

"Krais Viego," the Rebel replied, trying hard to suppress the rehursed precision of a seasoned veteran from his voice. "I'm afraid I'm just a harmless passer-by: don't have much of a..."

Aiden reached up, a single finger from his gloved hand applying gentle pressure to the bridge of the Rebel's nose. Viego's eyes flicked to the side, settling on the readied Blaster Carbine of the nearest Stormtrooper. He strained, trying to ignore the steadily increasing pain, but eventually jerked his head away. "Sergeant," he muttered through his teeth, hand rising protectively to his nose. "Rebel Alliance."

A forced gracious smile formed on Aiden's lips, and he bowed his head in a sarcastic thank-you. Turning his attention to the Moff, he held out an arm to direct her attention in the right direction. "May I introduce Sergeant Krais Viego, of the Rebel Alliance." His eyes flicked back to the Rebel for a moment. "Special Forces, I presume?" Krais didn't respond. Aiden's smile returned.

[Miranda Tarkin]

Miranda refused to play games with this Sergeant Viego. She wanted to flush out the rest of the Rebels and needed immediate results.

She directed her inquiry towards Tahmores, but her attention was focused on the Rebel Spy. "Lieutenant. Bring one of the prisoners in here."

Her eyes were cold and impersonal, betraying little except the obvious disgust that Viego's presence created.

[Tristan Tahmores]

Tristan's heart was pounding, but he didn't want to let it show on his face. They'd spent nearly an hour circling the perimeter, evading the patrols of the Stormtroopers quite obviously looking for them. The Sergeant wouldn't have given anything away on purpose - that he was sure of. But the Imperials obviously weren't buying his cover story. That was reasonable, he supposed: if the Empire was crediting the Rebels with at least a vague understanding of tactics, they'd know that they wouldn't be performing any kind of operation with a team of just fouir men, without at least minimal back-up.

Tristan crouched low, eyes scanning through the trees. His team was a man heavy - five, instead of four. That was both a curse, and a blessing. An extra pair of boots on the ground made them easier to track, but the extra pair of eyes, and extra set of fingers on a Blaster Carbine would hopefully make them harder to kill.

And it means I can do this, Tristan thought to himself, switching his position in the tree. Fourty minutes ago, a shuttle had landed, deployed from the Star Destroyer currently in orbit. Reinforcements, Tristan had assumed, and he'd been right: soon after, the whine of repulsorlift drives echoed through the forest, as Scout Troopers shot around searching for them. That made things harder: their enemy was now faster, and harder to evade. When it came down to high-tailing it out of here, there wasn't much chance of them being able to out-run them.

Which is why Tristan was doing this. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and what he was about to do was pretty desperate. Bobbing slowly below him was a Speederbike, its occupant - one of the Empire's finest - crouching down beside it, somewhat confused. On the ground beneath him was a sequence of symbols - words, written in basic. They spelled out a simple message. Look up.

Eventually the Scout Trooper did. That would be his last mistake, for as he did, Tristan jumped...

* * *

"I knew saying yes was a bad idea," the Lance Corporal muttered, slouched unhappily in the pilot's seat. An hour ago - more or less - Corporal Tahmores had asked if any of the Troopers knew how to pilot a Lambda-class shuttle. Foolishly, Lance Corporal Kelso Constanza had confessed to being able. And now here he was, sat on his own while everyone else went off and had all the fun.

Well, not everyone else. The Squad's Medic was around, somewhere. And Corporal Tahmores' droid was there. He knew it was there, mainly because it kept staring at him, with its cold, emotionless eyes. The fact that the droid was emotionless precluded any malicious intent being associated with the stare, but still. It was frelling creepy.

"Do you have to do that?" Constanza asked, finally loosing his temper with the droid. Jack whistled something that Kelso guessed meant something along the lines of 'Who, me?'. "Yeah, you," he grunted back. "Just...look out the window."

With something that sounded like the droidspeak equivalent of a sigh, the droid's dome slowly turned, aiming itself out of the forward viewport. With a grunt, Constanza folded his arms across his chest, and wondered just how long Corporal Tahmores had meant when he said "Back in a few minutes."

"Kelso," a voice called from behind him, making him start.

The legs that had been idly propped up on the flight console snapped downwards, and he spun in his chair, relieved to find only the Squad's Medic standing behind him. However, there was tension in her voice, and in her expression. "What is it?" he asked.

A figure pushed past her, depositing himself in the shuttle's cockpit. The figure was Corporal Redman, the Squad's second-in-command. And he did not look happy. "Where's Tahmores?" he asked, a growl in his voice.

Kelso winced. "Ah. Yeah. Well, I can explain that..."

* * *

The whine of the speederbike dropped to a low hum as it came to a standstill in the clearing. After a moment's pause and a glance behind him, the Scout Trooper mounted on it grabbed his helmet, and pulled it free. A good thing too: had the Rebel Trooper hidden through the branches ahead not recognised the face underneath, that face would have looked entirely different. Something along the lines of a smouldering black hole.

"Corporal," the Trooper said, relieved, stepping into the clearing, and lowering his Carbine. He frowned. "Nice outfit. Where'd you get it?"

"Someone leant it to me," Tristan replied casually, swinging his leg over the back of the speederbike, and hopping down onto the ground. He stared for a moment at the Trooper's skeptical look. "Indefinately," he added, brushing the subject aside.

The Trooper chuckled, but Tristan could tell something was wrong. That became abundantly clear as he spotted the tense looks on the faces of the other three Troopers as they emerged from their respective hiding places. Tristan turned to the first, addressing him with a questioning look. "Redman," the Trooper answered simply.

"Ah," Tristan replied, just as simply.

The Trooper stood for a moment, not sure what to say. "What are your orders, Corporal?" he asked, eventually.

Tristan frowned for a moment, carefully positioning his left foot on the speederbike, ready to mount it once again. "Tell the Corporal that there's a Lambda-class shuttle sitting on the Landing Pad outside the BlasTech facility. It'd probably make escaping a lot easier if he were inside it."

"Where are you going?" the Trooper asked, as Tristan settled the helmet back onto his head.

Tristan overemphasised his shrug to make it more visible from within the armour. "To scout around," he replied, and without another word, revved the speederbike into action, and disappeared through the trees.

[Aiden Tahmores]

Aiden wasn't sure which was worse: what the Moff was doing to her prisoner - Krais Viego - or the sounds that his fellow Rebels were being forced to endure. The cells were far from soundproof, and even if they had been, they probably wouldn't have done much to cut out the screams.

That was the advantage of being a pilot. Your enemies just died. You fought against fighters, not against people. And in space, no one can hear you scream, radio transmissions not withstanding. Pilots dealt out death from a reasonable distance: they never witnessed suffering at such close range.

But then, Krais Viego was a Rebel. It wasn't like he deserved any better.

Stepping around the corner from the Security Terminal, past the visible barrier that the Moff had selected to hide her methods, Aiden gripped his hands firmly behind his back. What progress had the Moff made? How close were the Rebels to being discovered? And how on Coruscant did she make a grown man scream like that?

[Miranda Tarkin]

The Rebel male that was brought in earlier proved little help in persuading the Sergeant to relinquish information regarding the rest of his team. In fact, his subordinate urged him to not divulge any information no matter what they did to him. That response earned him a blaster bolt to the head by the Moff herself.

Viego was enraged and spat in her face, claiming such tactics were typical of a frelling Moff whore. Miranda's response was not of your 'typical Moff whore'. No. She did not blink or so any signs of anger while wiping away the saliva from her cheek. She merely smiled at the Rebel and ordered them to bring in the female. That got a reaction and with wide eyes, Viego started to loose his composure.

As she was led in by Troopers, she was cleary frazzled from capture and it probably took all of her willpower to not vomit as she watched her dead comrade be carried out by Stormtroopers. They dumped her onto the chair and strapped her in, the stench of ozone, blood and burnt flesh lingering in the air.

"Now, Viego. You realize I am serious when you are responsible for the deaths of your friends." The Moff stopped behind the woman and squeezed her shoulder as if she were a long lost friend offering comfort. "Tell me what I want to know and I'll stop."

The woman was shivering with fright but managed to shake her head no towards her CO. His eyes were conflicted, but the Sergeant said nothing.

"Very well," Miranda stepped back slapped the butt of the blaster pistol across the womans head. A large gash sliced across the side as the blood started to trickle forth and soak her blonde hair. Viego opened his mouth to speak but hesitated. Progress. She should have brought in the female first. That was her mistake, over looking the frailty of her own gender as seen through male eyes.

Specialist Gatryn, one of the Imperials stationed here who was assisting the Moff in the interrogations, stepped forward and grabbed the womans hand. Fingers were then broken and Miranda could see the Rebel's control slipping further. It was only a matter of seconds before he broke.

She sighed and stroked Viego's cheek. He tried to shy away but Miranda grabbed him by the hair and forced his eyes forward as Gatryn pulled out a vibroknife. "She suffers needlessly. And for what? Your friends? We know they're out there and it's only a matter of time before they're caught. Your cooperation will allow them to live if you just tell me why you are here on Druckenwell."

Viego's breathing had become quick and shallow. His face was perspiring profusely as mind told him to keep silent! But his heart was breaking as the Imperial bent down on the floor and grabbed the womans leg.

Miranda's nostrils flared in disgust and shoved Viego's head away. "Do it."

Aiden had walked around the barrier just in time to see an Operative, who was not part of his detachment, shove a vibroknife straight into the kneecap of the Rebel Spy. The pain was clearly excruciating as the screams of the woman indicated.

The Moff was wiping off the Sergeant's sweat from her hands when she noticed Tahmores. "Is there a problem, Lieutenant?"

[Aiden Tahmores]

Aiden's skin turned pale, the chilling scream of the Rebel woman sending a shivver down his spine. He fought the urge to shudder visibly, shoving such thoughts deep inside, bottling them up, never to be seen or heard of again. Is there a problem, Lieutenant? His hands spasmed towards fists. Yes, there frelling well is. But he kept that silent too, managing to merely shake his head.

Then his eyes fell onto the body deposited casually in the corner, a blaster hole burned through the skull. Aiden felt a pang of remorse. Though the lives he extinguished from his cockpit were those of terrorists, and though he wished death to them all, there was some honour in death in a dogfight, or a firefight. It was a matter of skill, and the superior combattant - usually - won. Your life was in your own hands, and if death came upon you, it was at your own failing. But here? Here your life became meaningless: became nothing more than a means to an end. And though Aiden had known this would happen, he hadn't expected his reaction to be quite what it was.

The woman tied to the chair was in agony: Aiden could see in her eyes that it had transcended beyond mere pain. She feared for her life - rightfully so - and she pleaded wordlessly for a release from her suffering. But there was nothing Aiden could do, and the look of sorrow he returned told her as much. This is the consequence of your actions, his mind whispered. If only you'd known this before you came.

"No, Moff Tarkin," he said eventually, eyes falling away from the captive woman, not rising to meet his superior. "No problem."

[Miranda Tarkin]

She could see it in his eyes, the sympathy. Tahmores didn't have the stomach for this. But then again, why would he? He was only a fighter pilot.

"Retrieve the information pertaining to the Rebel Forces from Major Teichman and implement the capture plan we discussed earlier." She turned her back on him as she threw the towel aside. "Dismissed."

[Aiden Tahmores]

Aiden's jaw set, disappointed to have been so casually ordered away. But it had been an order, and Aiden wasn't one to disobey. Despite her opposite-facing, he bowed his head respectfully. With a click of sole on floor, span on his heel, disappearing smartly from sight with only the sound of his footsteps lingering behind him.

The capture plan we discussed earlier, Aiden thought to himself, allowing the details to churn over in his mind. Much would need to be set in place, and it needed to be done quickly, to preempt any rescue attempt by the Rebels. "Sergeant," he called, voice clipped between breaths as he jogged up the ramp that led down to the detention level.

"Lieutenant?" the Stormtrooper responded, voice punctuated by clicks as it emerged from the helmet speakers.

Aiden drew closer, leaning in to whisper into the Stormtrooper's ear. "Gather your Troopers together, Sergeant," he instructed, keeping his voice low. "And do it quickly. We don't have much time."

"Where, sir?" the Stormtrooper asked, voice formal, posture straightening at the prospect of something to do.

Aiden's answer was a short nod. "Assemble in the aft of the Moff's shuttle," he replied. "I'll explain when you arrive."

The Stormtrooper stepped back, his head nodding in a brief salute, before disappearing at a swift walk into the maze of the facility's corridors. Aiden blew out a breath, and looked down the ramp behind him, mind lingering on what transpired below. But he only indulged himself for a moment: there were much more important things to do, and not enough time to do them.

[Tristan Tahmores]

Lance Constanza sat quietly, thoroughly chastened for his support of Tahmores' rogue action. Redman quietly seethed, but Kelso could tell that he was more annoyed at not being able to act himself. And then it had happened.

It began with a wharbled exclaimation from Tristan's droid, Jack. A message had been detected on a Nova Squad frequency. It turned out to be an ultimatum: Moff Tarkin demanding the immediate surrender of all remaining Rebel forces on Druckenwell, lest the captives be executed, slowly, and painfully. Kelso could see the pain in his eyes, but it only grew worse.

Moments later, Jack intercepted a communication on an Imperial frequency: the Wihuff was to prepare its detention facilities for four Rebel prisoners, and to prepare a more sizeable Imperial force to assist with the search efforts. 'More sizeable' in the Imperial dictionary tended to mean more guns, more stormtroopers, and maybe a handful of Imperial walkers, just for fun.

"What are your orders, Corporal?" Constanza finally said, eyes settling on the Squad's 2iC. The question was even simpler than it sounded: do we save our people, or do we escape while we still can?

Redman replied eventually, his long, contemplative silence ended. "We move," he said at last, nodding to the rest of his team, crowded around him. "Constanza," he instructed first: "Prepare the Socorro for take-off. We'll probably need air support, and if that Lambda of Tahmores' turns sour, we're gonna need a ride out of here."

Kelso nodded. "Just holler, and I'll be there."

An appreciative nod came in reply; Redman turned to the rest of his group. "We need to rendezvous with the Rescue Team, and coordinate our efforts with them. Doctor?" He glanced at the medic. "We're gonna need you on this too." He paused, eyes taking in the group. "There isn't much time: if we're going to stand a chance of rescue at all, we need to do it now, and we need to do it fast."

Another pause, as the Corporal searched for something motivating. Ultimately, he fell back on an old classic: "Lets go to work."

* * *

Tristan nodded back in response to the gesture made by one of the BlasTech security detail as he strode across the private landing pad, Speederbike abandoned closer to the gates. He continued walking, occasionally adjusting his direction to dodge around the shuttles and transports littering the area, until shadows reached out from the side of one of the smaller hanger buildings. He crouched, ducking out of sight, and wrenched the helmet from his head.

Hair plastered to his scalp by sweat, Tristan ran fingers through his fringe, brushing it aside to clear his eyes, and began a less restricted sweep of his surroundings. While good for pearing through trees, and picking out details while racing along on the back of a Speederbike, the visual enhancements in the visor of a Scout Trooper's helmet wasn't designed for inspecting things close-up.

From what he'd seen on the way in, the facility was relatively unguarded, standard security proceedures not withstanding. Those were geared more at preventing any one individual from sneaking in - security checks, electrified fences, laser tripwires, and so forth. They weren't designed to defend against people as determined to enter as an armed Squad of SpecForce Troopers, and with enough intelligence, they'd be little more than a minor obstacle. And, Force bless their arrogant little souls, the senior Imperials hadn't established much of a ground force: it seemed that Moff Tarkin's personal guard was all that supplemented BlasTech security, with the recently deployed Scout Troopers busy patrolling the space surrounding the facility.

The sound of footsteps grabbed Tristan's attention. He pulled the helmet back on quickly, and began a slow walk towards the footsteps, intending to pass them, and infiltrate the facility through whatever door they'd just left by. But something grabbed his attention as they rounded the corner: an officer, flanked by two Stormtroopers, himself clad in a tailored full-body flight suit. Only, the flight suit lacked a helmet, revealing a face that made Tristan pale inside his armour.

Aiden?

[Miranda Tarkin]

Viego had easily crumbled after Tahmores left. He begged for Miranda to stop torturing the female Rebel. He started spatting out his orders without having to be prompted. It was just a standard recon of their defenses on Druckenwell and the status of their shipyards. They hadn't expected Moff Tarkin to be present in system.

She had glanced at Gatryn with a small nod, and the Specialist grabbed the woman by the hair and yanked it back. Viego screamed for him to stop. His looked up at Miranda with wide eyes full of fear. Fear that the Moff was going to kill her anyway. It was merely a ploy to see if he was telling the truth, and he was. She could tell. Miranda could always tell. She heard the fear in his voice, saw the way his eyes dilated and

The Moff raised her hand. "Hold." Gatryn stopped the knife just against the woman's neck. It hadn't even broke skin yet. "Take her back to her cell and await orders."

Gatryn let go of her neck and started to unfasten the restraints. "Yes, Madame Tarkin."

Viego lowered his head and thanked her as he tried to catch his breath. "No, Viego." She patted his back with a thin smile of appreciation. "Thank you."

With one last squeeze of her hand, the Moff left the cell. As soon as it closed behind her, she gave out her orders. "Sergeant Viego is to be arrested and brought back with us to Doldur. The rest of the Rebels are to be executed in the hour as an example to what we do with traitors."

[Tristan Tahmores]

The rest of the Rebels are to be executed in the hour as an example to what we do with traitors.

Frell.

Tristan stayed still for an achingly-long moment, hidden from sight in one of the hollow spaces within the building's walls that allowed easy access for repairs on its circuitry, without the annoying and ugly process of removing wall panels, and exposing the bare cables. That moment seemed epic, but through sheer force of will, Tristan remained still until the Moff, and her Stormtrooper escort had cleared the room.

Moving carefully, Tristan retraced his steps, moving away from the cells into one of the access shafts, deep enough into the maze of tunnels to avoid being overheard. He reached down, fumbling in a pocket for a comlink, and held it close to his mouth, speaking softly as he clicked it on. "Jack," he instructed, after keying in the secure frequency that he and his droid had selected before he'd left, "Relay this message to Corporal Redman..."

* * *

"...will be transported to the Star Destroyer in orbit. We have less than an hour."

"That confirms the message we intercepted," Kelso Constanza muttered, eyes focussed on the comm screen.

"Not quite," the Medic disagreed, earning a frown from the Lance Corporal. "The message we intercepted instructed the Wihuff to prepare cells for all four captives. Moff Tarkin is only taking the Sergeant with her."

"Maybe she changed her mind?" Kelso offered, lamely, a strange hopeful lilt creeping into his voice.

"Maybe," the Medic replied, but she wasn't convinced. Her attention turned to the R3 droid settled beside her. "Can you establish a secure comlink to Corporal Redman?"

Jack whistled in reply.

* * *

Redman crouched, peering through the foliage at the path they'd just walked down. Most of the two teams he'd assumed control of - his own, plus the rescue team Tahmores had pieced together - had established a perimeter, while two of his men busily worked at disabling the security alarms on one of the air vent hatches. It seemed cliché, but time and again something simple like this was left unguarded, and allowed a team - or teams - to enter, almost undetected.

A hand tapped his shoulder, causing him to turn; one of the duo working on the hatch gestured that they had succeeded. Redman nodded a congratulation, before turning his attention to the rest of his men, and reminding them all of the plan. It was simple...relatively. Redman and his team would secure the Lambda-class waiting on the platform outside the facility, while Tahmores' team would secure the exit for Tahmores and the Rebels to escape. It was a simple plan, and logic said it would work. But why did his gut tell him that it wouldn't?

He pushed his doubts aside, and signalled for his team to move out. Then, leading the way, Corporal Redman crouched his way into the vent.

[Miranda Tarkin]

With the prisoners bound by wrists and ankles, an escort of Stormtroopers and private Imperial security detail followed behind Moff Tarkin. Viego couldn't bare to make eye contact with the other two Rebels. His silence had gotten one of them killed and another one so horribly tortured that she was being carried out by a medlift. Everyone knew the risks involved in going against the Empire but the reality of the death and misery it caused tore at a man's heart. Viego was surprised that all of them were being taking to the Wilhuff. Was it luck that the Moff needed them for something, or was it just a small reprieve before the the next blaster bolt to the back of the head?

"Moff Tarkin?!"

Miranda did not pause in her stride as her entire entourage continued marching down the hallway. A momentary lapse in control caused her eyes to roll and ignored the bellowing of Dokin Krayng's voice. "Is our transport ready and secured outside, Lieutenant?"

The Stormtrooper nodded. Yes, Moff. We've also cleared a path straight to the landing pad and put up checkpoints incase the Rebels try something

"Moff Tarkin!"

His voice was getting closer. So were his footsteps.

"Be on alert after we leave the building. I have a suspicion that if they're going to try something, it'll be soon." Miranda's gut feeling never proved wrong. It was always uncanny how she could predict patterns of behavior and rule out lies, much to the betterment of the Empire.

Finally Krayng rounded the group and breathlessly tried to regain his strength before a Stormtrooper manhandled him away from the Moff with his rifle. You are not authorized to be here. Back away.

"I will most certainly NOT!" He fired back and straightened his jacket. "You can't leave a detachment of troops here! Only a small group to maintain function in R&D are allowed. Keeping a company of troops goes against our contract with the Empire!"

With a deep breath, Miranda snapped her head to attention and turned around. "And it is within that same contract under article 14.a paragraph 3 that If Imperial resources are compromised during times of war, the appointed Governor of the region can enlist military aid to however they see fit. In case you had forgotten, we are at war with the Rebellion. And until those Rebels are found and our assets stabilized here on Drunkenwell, they will stay. I believe it is in your best interest to cooperate, or I shall find someone who shall."

A snap of her heels and they were off again, leaving a despondent Krayng to think over what little options were left. He never had heard of that article that the Moff had spouted but it didn't surprise him that there was fine print that had been overlooked.

He turned around in a huff and saw his personnel staring at him in different states of shock and wonder. No one was moving. Most of them were scared at what was going to happened next.

"Well? What are you all waiting for?!" His nostrils flared at being thoroughly embarrassed in front of them all. "Get back to work!"