Spies, Liars and Love

[Dasquian Belargic]

In an anonymous city on Courkrus, two equally anonymous figures made their way towards a small spaceport.

“Another day, another planet saved thanks to our valiant efforts.”

“Must you always be so blithe about everything?”

“Well, one of us has to be... you've got that brooding down to a fine art, so the duty falls to me.”

Grace Van-Derveld sighed and shook her head. For being the so-called Director of an entire department of the Rebel Alliance, Dasquian Belargic seemed to view life from a surprisingly whimsical point of view, one that his longtime – and long-suffering – partner in crime could neither understand nor share. They had traveled to the Auril Sector with the relatively simple intention of securing some contacts within a local pirate faction, but the whole affair had escalated, as it often seemed to do around the pair, into something much greater than that. With all their loose-ends tied up, and the job for the day done, they were now planning to head back to headquarters for some well-earned rest. That was the plan, at least...

As they walked through the busy area surrounding the spaceport, Dasquian became vaguely aware that they were being watched. Whoever was doing the watching either wanted them to know they were under surveillance, or was simply too much of an amateur to realize that they were doing a very bad job of tailing the duo. “I think you've picked up some admirers,” he said, nodding casually towards a pair of notably shifty looking men following a short distance behind.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace took a moments pause to adjust the scarf that was around her neck and glanced at the two men. She turned and smiled sweetly like a lover would and brushed back some of her partner's hair in adoration. "Are you sure they aren't admiring you?"

Dasquian flashed one of his infamous smirks. "Well, no one can resist my shapely derrière."

She sighed. There were few times when he wasn't silly. Her partner had been like that since the day they first met. It was an admirable trait, one in which Grace secretly envied. For her, it was difficult to imagine being so care free with oneself since it required the person to be open and secure with their own feelings. That was something she just could not bring herself to do.

"Well," she entwined her arm around his and the two of them began to stroll down the street, "How about we introduce ourselves proper like with other parts of your anatomy. Say, a fist or foot?"

[Dasquian Belargic]

“Such a pacifist!”

As they passed by a rather large shop window, Dasquian casually glanced to the side – not looking at the merchandise displayed within, but rather at the image reflected in the glass of the two men following them. From their edgy movements and suspicious eyes, he would have guessed that they were not professionals of any kind. In fact, if he had been pressed to pin down their occupation Belargic would have said that they were just your average joes. This made their interest in the pair of Rebels all the more unusual however – unless they actually were hoping to get a closer look at Grace.

“I repeat, this information just in...” The sound of an important news bulletin caught Dasquian's attention. He turned to where the sound was coming from, to see a large holoscreen suspended above the center of the plaza they were crossing.

“We have received survelliance footage of armed and dangerous terrorists, sighted on Courkrus. The Galactic Empire will offer substantial reward to anyone who can apprehend the following individuals...”


http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v210/tehwofl/holonet.jpg (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v210/tehwofl/holonet.jpg%5B/center)


As the image flashed onto the screen, Dasquian turned to Grace with a smile, as if to say 'this is going to be interesting'.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace's narrowing gaze betrayed a bit of mirth at the image, despite the seriousness of the situation. "They could of at least found a better picture. I look horrid."

She glanced her partner up and down with a bemused smirk. "You they got right. We should just give these poor souls the slip. They're probably just concerned citizens. The safe house isn't too far is it?"

The Agent hadn't been on Courkrus before, but Dasquian had. He was more familiar with the layout of safe houses and Rebel Sympathizers, having first contact with many of their allies.

[Dasquian Belargic]

“I'm not sure that it would be accurate to call any house on this planet safe anymore,” Dasquian countered, as he noted more than one pair of eyes finding their way towards the pair of undercover agents. With as much composure and repose as he could muster, Belargic curved an ushering arm around his partners waist, his voice nothing but a whisper.

“I think, perhaps, we have outstayed our welcome.”

Though his words had been near silent and surely heard by no one but Grace, it seemed they served as a trigger for the chaos that was to follow. A shout went up, an accusing finger pointed towards the pair. Another finger followed, as a ripple of sudden awareness and anger swept through the spaceport. The words 'substantial reward' had inspired in them all a sudden compelling urge to serve justice. It would only be a matter of moments before blaster-fire filled the air.

“Bugger.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

She frowned, growing despondent in the realization that the two of them may end up hurting innocent citizens. If not for the Empire's propaganda, it wouldn't have come to this. They were the worse scum, calculating acceptable losses if they decided to fight back or knowing that they would wish to avoid a confrontation, hoping they were surrender.

"Bloody bastards," she said, her words laced in ice and thick with disgust.

The pair increased their stride and rounded the corner quickly, hoping to gain some distance between them and the steadily increasing mob behind them.

"Are there not several alleys up ahead?" Grace asked as her eyes darted around for the first signs of an overt aggressive move.

It came from behind.

"GET THEM!!!"

Blaster fire erupted all around them, forcing them to take cover. Grace dove behind a patio table, being showered by the burnt fabric that was torn from the umbrella overhead. The chairs deflected many of the blaster bolts but they weren't going to hold forever.

She kicked the table over and removed the scarf around her neck, ripping out the concealed blaster from underneath. The Rebel had to be careful and fired several wide warning shots to try and scare off some of them. Some scattered, a few ran off not wanting to get killed, the majority were still pressing forward and continued to open fire.

After the next wave stopped, she poked her head out and saw that Dasquian were all right. Her eyes snapped front and center, frantically trying to find a way to by them an opening so they could run away.

Her eyes widened at opportunity and leveled her blaster at the canopy hanging over the front of the group. It took three shots to make it come loose and fall to the ground, harmlessly covering the gun toting citizens.

[Dasquian Belargic]

Angered cries were muffled as the canopy collapsed on top of the civilians, rendering them trapped by unharmed – save for a bruise here and there. By then, Dasquian had drawn a side-arm of his own but had yet to fire; he hoped that would remain the case. In the panic, he broke away at Grace's side and they darted down a winding alley. He had no idea where it lead, but soon found out – as they were confronted with what could only be the back of a restaurant. There was a dumpster full of slops and left-overs, a fish-head poking out here and there.

Wrinkling his nose, Belargic smirked. “Nice!”

The back-door opened and a porter, bringing out more garbage, looked at the pair with a mixture of confusion and anger.

Dasquian could hear voices and footsteps approaching.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"Oh for the love of ... " Grace grabbed Dasquian by the arm and jerked him forward, pushing past the porter. They entered the kitchen and it smelled of a mom and pop greasy diner. A waitress almost dropped her tray in shock in seeing the two Rebel spies running through. Several of the cooks had stopped cutting vegetables and meats in mid-chop. None of them looked angry. Perhaps they hadn't heard the news yet. There wasn't a holovid present.

"They went inside!" The porter had seen the news apparently.

The Agent rolled her eyes and stopped running, grabbed a pot, and threw it out the door, beaning a citizen squarely in the face.

[Dasquian Belargic]

Dasquian side-stepped as a pot went soaring by, hardly surprised to see Grace's choice of weapon – put any common kitchen appliance in her hand and she was lethal! Bent backwards over one of the kitchen counters, he spied a pan lid and twisted it into his fingertips just in time to repel something that had been thrown at his head, the lid a makeshift shield. A wampa-sized man with a huge beard came barreling towards Dasquian, knocking plates and dishes flying everywhere. The Rebel's eyes moved here and there, quickly searching for some way to disable the man without resorting to dunking his head in a vat of soup. Eyes falling at last on the lid still held in his hand, Dasquian turned the disk on its side and threw it like a frisbee – right into the big oafs neck. The man clutched at his chest and coughed, doubling over, his massive body a vexing obstruction for the others giving pursuit.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

And as the citizens tripped and fell on top of one another, Grace and Dasquian made quickly their escape out of the kitchen. They ducked into the hallway, widening the gap between them and the angry mob. Grace figured they had only a minute or two to disappear before the local authorities came. She had overheard that one waitress calling in their location ...

Maintenance, supply rooms and offices were the only exits to be found. There was no direct route back outside. They were trapped.

"Frell it." Grace kicked down the door to one of the offices, not bothering to check if it was unlock. Luck was with them. No one was inside. It was a small room cluttered with papers and books amidst several datapads. The owner even had their own private refresher.

None of that really matter to her, except for the viewscreen behind the desk. She slammed her hand against the side panel and it began to open slowly. "Ladies first," Grace said as she motioned for Dasquian to leave with a wry smile.

[Dasquian Belargic]

“Oh, but...”

Dasquian cast a longing glance at the refresher. When he caught Grace's response, he grinned. She gave the viewscreen edge an extra hard push and it swung open into the street. Dasquian lifted one foot out of the building, though hesitated with the second as he saw two men charging towards him. Caught off guard, he ducked behind the durable transpari-steel of the viewscreen to avoid a blaster shot. The point which stood in between him and the energy bolt was now scorched black.

Now with both feet out in the open, he found his attackers at close hand. One darted around towards him, but Dasquian side-stepped under the window before he could land a punch. The other came at him from behind. Dasquian caught his fist and, twisting, hurled him into the open window pane. His body crashed against the transparent surface, sending the window swinging back towards his accomplice, knocking him off his feet – effectively dispatching both men.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

In the chaos, a third attacker had come into the room and was barreling straight for Grace. There was little room to maneuver since her partner was in trouble. She was pinned between the rumble to her left, a wall to her right, and a file cabinet behind her.

Big burly hands came at her, ready to pound her into the floor. But Grace was quick enough to duck away as his fists slammed into the cabinet. She winced when she noticed the dent.

Grabbing the nearest thing that could be used as a weapon, she grabbed the desk light and cracked it against the back of his head. He smacked against the wall and slouched to the ground unconscious, just as another body flipped onto the desk, causing it to collapsed under his dead weight.

She looked at her partner with thin lips as the window came to a halt behind him. "Had to be flashy, didn't you."

[Dasquian Belargic]

“Flashy?” Both eyebrows lifted and Dasquian glanced pointedly towards the lamp in Grace's hand.

“I learned from the best.”

Out of the window, they were back on the move again. It appeared that the the Rebels attempts to shake off their pursuers had been mostly successful, as the street seemed fairly quiet. There was no time to relax, however. They needed to get to the 'port and their ship as soon as possible. Although they weren't having any trouble dispatching the hot-headed locals, it was only a matter of time before a more intellectually sound plan to catch them was formulated.

Dasquian paused a moment, trying to get his bearings. He looked to the right and saw, in the distance, a shuttle banking up into the air. That was their destination. As they set off, he began to mutter.

“Where are the bazaars when you need them? What I'd give for a half-decent market, with some clothing stall to steal disguise from... Honestly, everywhere else we go, you can't take a step without walking into some peddler trying to palm off their 'priceless Corellian silk headscarves'.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace's partner was speaking out loud her very own thoughts. The needed a simple disguise to slip into the spaceport to not arouse suspicions. As the Rebel looked around to gain her bearings, she recalled that there was a small market a street over. Yet her attention was diverted elsewhere ...

Without a word, Grace slowed down and approached two Niktos with a friendly smile. "Greetings. May I have a word with you about a proposition?"

The two of them exchanged an odd look between them, wondering what this human could possibly be talking about.

She nodded towards their speeder bike and rolled her datachit in her hand. Then their eyes lit up. Niktos were notorious for being shady characters and would do almost anything for an easy credit.

... Dasquian was not aware that he was running, or talking, by himself when Grace pulled up alongside him. She got his attention by revving up the engine. "Get on."

[Dasquian Belargic]

“Oh!”

Dasquian slid onto the speeder behind Grace and with a rev of the engine they were off. From the back seat, he gave directions, finding that his time serving as a field scout served him well in quickly mapping out the city streets. With the bike to carry them, they made up lost ground in no time. As they neared a residential area, Dasquian nudged Grace.

“Time for a detour,” he said, eyes lighting up. The street they turned into was narrow and lined with two-story buildings, between whose windows their stretch long washing lines, full of freshly cleaned clothes.

“What do you think? If you keep the bike steady enough, I'll be able to stand on the back and grab something!”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace's eyes narrowed at the clothes lines passing over them and grumbled under her breath. "And you say I'm flashy."

But she had to concede that her partner was right. They still needed a quick change of clothes to enter the space port after they dumped the speeder. It would be far too hot to hold onto after the clothing thievery they were embarking on.

"All right. Hang on." She pulled back on the handles slowly and eased the speeder upwards, cutting back on the engines. A fall from two stories and going 120 km/h would not be pretty. "Try to not fall. The paperwork's a nightmare."

All jesting aside, Grace hoped that Dasquian's agility was on game today. There was just much that could go wrong with this that it wasn't funny.

[Dasquian Belargic]

Grace had a good handle on the bike and it drifted upwards easily, albeit cautiously. As she manoeuvred the speeder, Dasquian began the delicate process of getting to his feet. Balanced on his toes, with his hands on Grace's shoulders, he steadied himself for a moment before letting go.

They passed by open windows and through one such opening Dasquian saw a family sitting down for a meal together. They had not noticed the man rising outside of their kitchen window nor had they heard, above the noise of their tele-screen, the whirr of the speeder engines. Dasquian tensed, at last tearing his eyes away from them as a piece of fabric began to cover his vision.

Looking up, he saw that they were right under one of the clothes lines. There wasn't any time to pick any choose, so he plucked the closest things within reach – a couple of desert-style robes – and gave Grace a tap on the shoulder.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Lowering the speeder down to a safer distance above the ground, Grace took a seconds pause to look behind her. Dasquian was holding up the robes like newly reeled in fishes.

She snorted a chuckle but it was drowned out by the hover engines. Her partner quickly changed as Grace scouted out a nice quiet area behind the control tower to park the speeder. There she quickly dressed and the two of them started their way inside the spaceport.

"I really hope this works. If we're made here, we'll have a lot more to worry about then unarmed citizens."

[Dasquian Belargic]

What they were experiencing, in that moment, was the calm before the storm.


Shaking off a crowd off civilians wasn't difficult, but it was a quiet town – the local security forces would be mobilized and on their trail soon, if they hadn't been dispatched already. Dasquian wasn't eager to underestimate whoever was following them and so made sure that their pace was fairly brisk as they approached the spaceport.


Security was mercifully lax. They had docked inside a multi-ship hangar and managed to slip inside without drawing too much attention. Dasquian hung back a few feet behind Grace, on the off chance that 'port security were keeping an eye out for an unfamiliar couple. Once they neared their ship, Dasquian picked up the pace, glancing back over his shoulder as he brought the boarding ramp down.


“Get her prepped and ready to go as fast as you can...” he muttered, looking back towards Grace.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Without a word, Grace darted inside and ran down the corridor to the cockpit. As soon as the door opened to gain access, she had hopped into the pilot's chair and started the pre-flight calculations.

"We should be ready to go in a minute," she said, yelling down the corridor. "I don't see any sign of security, and if they let us go, their might be an Imperial welcome around orbit."

[Dasquian Belargic]

“If it's not Imps, it'll be pirates... I've got a feeling that we aren't getting off this dustball without a fight.”

Instead of following Grace into the cockpit, Dasquian made quick work of climbing the ladder into the ships gun turret bay. He swung the blaster cannon to bear and pulled the targeting system down in front of his eyes, checking the system was fully functional. Keying in activation codes, he felt the ship shudder as the engines fired up to take off. With the punch of a button, he opened the communication channel with the cockpit.

“Ready when you are.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

As the clouds faded away and opened up the blackness of space, Grace groaned at what awaited them around orbit. "How about Pirates and Imperials!" she spat and executed defensive measures to avoid the barrage of blaster fire that erupted from the Pirate ships.

The sensors lit up with two cruisers deploying fighters. The grid looked to be crawling with Arkarian ants! They were poorly outnumbered and she still needed time, as well as space, to jump into lightspeed.

[Dasquian Belargic]

“You're trying to make this difficult for me, aren't you?”

It would have taken a vaapad with at least twenty tentacles to target the crowd of ships that was showing up on the ships radar. Without a hope in hell of taking down the cruisers – the Doppleganger was lucky but not that lucky – Dasquian's focused his attention on the smaller ships, the star fighters swarming across the sky.

As Dasquian locked onto one 'fighter strafing by, Grace suddenly banked the ship to the side, the momentum of the roll sending the gun turret swinging with it and Dasquian's sure-shot careening off into empty space.

“Not a problem,” he muttered, as he hauled the gun back in the opposite direction, the targeting computer beeping furiously as it sights became fixed on one of the pirate vessels. The energy bolt clipped the ships starboard engine and it veered out of control, sailing past the Doppleganger only a few feet from collision.

“Are you flying blindfold again? I thought I told you to save that for downtime!”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"All you have to do is fire the guns! I have to manage sensors, shields and fly without getting us killed!" Grace dropped the Doppleganger low and veered hard to port, apparently accelerating closer to the Imperial cruiser.

That was when a transmission broke through their comlink. Enemy vessel. Dis bein' th' Captain o'th' Star Rat. Now. You best be givin' up befer me o'th' Imps blow you outta th' sky. Ye do realize tha' yer all worth a lot dead, o'alive?

Grace was busy trying to jam the the sensors when the Imperials broke in. Cease your unauthorized actions and leave the area immediately. The Galactic Empire has jurisdiction now and will no longer need your services.

Grace rolled her eyes and flew straight for the Imperial Cruiser. At that close range, the Imps sensors will have a hard time locking on to them, and she'd only have to worry about those fighters for awhile. If the Pirates were smart, they would back off their main ship cannons and only have their fighters engage.

Of course, if they did get pissed and opened fired, Grace wouldn't mind it in the least. They would be doing them a favor by distracting the Imperials.

The console blared at her. They were ready to jump.

"I still need an opening to jump!" The forward cannons exploded into life, cutting a swath before them. She tagged two ships on their wings, causing them to spiral into one another and explode on impact. "You can join me any time now!"

[Dasquian Belargic]

“I'm working on it!”

The gun turret veered to the side again, as Dasquian let loose another valley of blaster shots, successfully taking down another Imperial starfighter. The area surrounding the hull of the cruiser was alive with laser fire, as ships criss-crossed and weaved around one another. Trying to determine friend from foe in that chaos was almost impossible.

With a curse, Dasquian sprung up away from the gun turret and was scrambling back up into the cockpit, where he dropped down with a thump into the co-pilots chair. The main viewport somehow managed to look even more hectic and chaotic than the scanner readings.

“Worse than bloody rush-hour on Coruscant,” Dasquian sighed, shaking his head. Grace shot him a look that was all too familiar and he smiled in reply, though she didn't seem to appreciate the humour. He sat forwards, looking over the navigation console as Grace taxed herself with the nigh-impossible task of avoiding being blown to space-dust.

“This is going to be a blind jump, isn't it?”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"Just be glad Pirate greed is working in our favor!"

The comm had gone silent after five seconds after the Imperials decreed this their capture. In the next second, the Pirates had turned on the Imps and it was mass chaos. Now with a much larger enemy to deal with, their resources had become split, allowing the Doppleganger the twenty seconds of wiggle room needed to jump.

"And by the way ... ", she said, clearing her throat as a hand was placed on the hyperspace lever, " ... yes it is!"

She skipped against the Imperials deflector shield into the clear and hit the hyperdrives. The stars dissolved quickly into streaks of light as they punched a hole into hyperspace and into safety.

[Dasquian Belargic]

A blind jump was better than no jump at all, but Dasquian knew the time to breath a sigh of relief had yet to come. Not when the possibility loomed that they could drop out of hyperspace and into the middle of an Imperial blockade. Suddenly remembering what he was wearing, Dasquian pulled off the make-shift disguise they'd pilfered on their way to the starport, and sagged back against his chair.

“Were there any communications whilst we were gone?”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace scrolled through the databanks and shrugged. "Couple of queries from Command. Probably wondering where the hell we are. Our contact on Bespin touched base. Oh. Waitaminute. What's this?"

She chuckled out of surprise and shook her head in amazement. "Well I'll be a Bantha's Aunt. Whill Shoashian's alive! And before you ask, yes, his ID code checks out. Here."

The Agent sliced the code and that familiar squeakily voice crackled over the comm. This is Agent Shoashian requesting any available assistance in getting my carcass off this hellhole before I'm recaptured by the crazy psychobitch that runs this place. Location is encrypted and will recon pick up point every 12 standard hours. Shoashian out.

Whill had been undercover inside Imperial borders, stealing Navy Intelligence in order for the Alliance to keep their roving base of operations in space one step ahead of the enemy. Whill's communications suddenly had stopped and thinking the worse, Intel had sent a small reconnaissance team to track down their missing soldier, but the trail went dry and they assumed the worse. That Agent Shoashian had been killed, his identity as a mole being found out.

[Dasquian Belargic]

“Shoashian?!” The disbelief and, indeed, respect was clear in Dasquian's voice. “That dark horse... we were all certain he'd kicked the bucket.”

Agents who the Alliance classified as 'Vacuum' level, deep-cover operatives, always ran the risk of an untimely death at the hands of the enemy. Their jobs were the most dangerous but they were also frequently the most rewarding, as the information they could provide would lead to key and decisive victories against the Empire.

Whill Shoashian had provided a strong tip or two in his time, but he was getting on in life now – it seemed a shame to think that after so many years dedicated service, his life should be ended. It was, of course, an inevitability he had accepted upon taking a 'vacuum' position within the Empire, but Dasquian had never been so cold-hearted that he would write off a man's life without at least some effort to try and win it back.

“So, where do the coordinates point?”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

It took longer to decrypt the coordinates, but Grace was able to access after jogging the memory for the older code. "Definitely Vjun. About 25 kilometers away from the Château Malreaux."

She pursed her lips. This wasn't going to be easy. "Now we know who the pyschobitch is."

The computer pulled up a file on the Tagge siblings. Gallus used to be the quiet pretty boy that kept his nose clean and out of trouble, until he became betrothed to the newly appointed Empress of the Galactic Empire, Miranda Tarkin. Sanya had been named as the Empress' Liaison to COMPNOR, specifically holding position in their propaganda machine.

"This is not going to be easy. We're crashing the Tarkin-in-laws estate," she said, stroking her chin with the side of a finger. "Imperial patrols are going to be swarming the area, but admittedly, Whill's pick up point does have a lot to be said. It's near the rain forest ..."

Which meant lots of acid rain that Vjun was famous for.

[Dasquian Belargic]

Dasquian simply stared at the computer screen in front of him for a moment. The Tagge family were big business. There was barely a corner in the galaxy that remained untouched by TaggeCo and all of its child companies. Getting into bed with Miranda Tarkin had given them an even greater amount of publicity. When Grace had said there would be Imperial patrols swarming the area, she wasn't exaggerating. It would be nothing short of suicide to try and infiltrate Vjun.

...but they would do it. It was their job, their duty. Holding his brow in one hand, Dasquian rifled through all the tricks and lies he had accumulated in his mind, all the game plans he had yet to use. Extracting a hostage from an Imperial world was no mean feat. Ordinarily, extensive pre-planning and preparation would go into such a mission – but they were already in the Auril Sector and time was of the essence.

Lifting his eyes to meet Grace's, Dasquian gave a small sigh.

“Are you happy doing this now?”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"Well, there are two ways to look at this," she said with a shrug of her hand. "By the time we get there, it'll be close to the time that Shoashian will be looking for a rescue. It's just a matter of timing and avoiding the patrols."

She called up a map of the area. "There's a mountain range nearby. My guess is that Whill is holding up in there during downtime. With the cave network, he could hide there for weeks, months really if he can find enough food. We can use that to our advantage in avoiding patrols if needed. And hell, the vids are predicting only a 25% chance of rain."

The brief flicker of humor of Grace disappeared as quickly as it came. "However, this isn't like Prakith. I had time to gather Intel and obtain fake papers so I could infiltrate Imperial Space. We'd be going in alone, which is nothing knew honestly, but we'd be going in blinder then usual. Ops has very little Intel on this sector of space, and the chances of success are limited at best."

She looked up at Dasquian with a wry smile, "So no Dasq. I'm not happy about doing this now, but it's either now, or we risk Whill being recaptured again in the two weeks it takes to send out a rescue team. And that's if the higher ups authorize it in the first place."

[Dasquian Belargic]

Vjun was a desolate place and Dasquian couldn't help but feel that Grace was over-estimating just how long Shoashian would be able to survive on the run, on a world where acid rain made plant life a rarity and uncovered travel near impossible. Vjun wasn't like so many of the other Imperial worlds they had infiltrated. What life existed there was confined to small, tightly-packed areas. There would be no well-meaning locals to offer Whill a place to stay, only miles and miles of lifeless desert.

“I guess that settles it, then... destination: Vjun.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

The Doppleganger exited hyperspace and Grace began to plot the next set of coordinates with a solemn stare. "Get to changing our transponder codes. Bad enough that this ship's been flagged as belonging to a couple of fugitives, but if we can get past the check point, we won't need to be planet side for that long before they realize who we really are."

[Dasquian Belargic]

It wasn't a case of if they would be detected, but rather when. The Doppleganger had gone through more paint-jobs and identity changes than just about any other ship at the Alliance's disposal, but there was nothing at the Rebels disposal that could completely cloak it from suspicion. The best they could do was create enough confusion to give them time to make planet-fall. After that, there was no telling what would happen.

It seemed possible, if not likely, that the ship would have to be abandoned altogether. Dasquian did a quick mental check, to be certain that there was nothing on board that would incriminate the Alliance should the Doppleganger be seized. At the same time, his fingertips moved over the ships control panel, altering the signal which the ship transmitted. Ordinarily, Command would have supplied some cover plan and given them the signal of an Imperial-friendly craft of no real importance, but Dasquian didn't have those kinds of codes to hand, not when the Empire refreshed them so often.

Without looking up, he asked, “Have you ever been to Vjun before?”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"No, but it's wonderful of you to spread my galactic horizons and take me to new places," she replied surly. "I mean, acid rain is so romantic. No wonder the women can't help but swoon in your presence."

With the new coordinates set, and with the go ahead from Dasquain that everything was updated in the computers as it could possibly be, Grace took the Doppleganger into hyperspace, basically making a u-turn in space since Vjun was in the same sector. It would just take far less time to get to Vjun then the sublight engines, which would put them past the pick up time.

"Please tell me the dropsuits we have are in good condition and can withstand the rain?"

[Dasquian Belargic]

“Honestly, or not honestly? The best we can do is try to find an area with light cloud cover and hope a storm doesn't blow our way.”

Dasquian met Grace's eyes for a moment, offering a humourless smirk and slight shrug of his shoulders. The ship hadn't been prepped for anything beyond the Courkus mission. There was the usual selection of gear on board, but nothing specifically tailored towards any one climate. Scratching the back of his neck, Dasquian flexed and rolled his shoulders; they still ached from an earlier fall. His body felt tired and in need of some much deserved rest, but more worrying was his mind. It had to be sharp and clear as crystal. They would be exitting hyperspace within a matter of minutes.

“You have any brightgum (http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Brightgum)? I could do with a kick right now,” he said, rubbing the corner of one eye.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"No, and you should know better then to use that stuff," said Grace with an upturn nose. As much as she could understand the benefits of commercialized stimulants, the Rebel didn't want to risk becoming addicted to them. Brightgum was truly harmless, but she rather rely on good old fashion coffee and come down from a caffeine rush then infecting her body with that kind of chemical substance and possibly rely on it in the future without getting proper sleep. A needless fear perhaps, but with her past, Grace was very particular about her body.

"I could always slap you in the face," she said as her voice returned airy. "Have the same kinda kick, hmm?"

With a smirk, Grace pulled back the controls and they exited hyperspace, cutting to sublight engines at 3/4 power. As they closed in on Vjun, the Rebel could make out the acrid yellow clouds that threatened the lush green landscape below it. There was storm on the southern end of the planet, but that was not their destination, thankfully.

"Sensors indicate no ships in the area. If we approach Château Malreaux from the other side of the planet, we might avoid tripping any sensors. The place is lifeless except for the Château. Using that as a focal point, they probably have movable check points and small bases due to the rain. This isn't a huge military operation we're flying into. But that doesn't mean a ship won't be coming this way soon."

[Dasquian Belargic]

Vjun had little to offer. It was not particularly well positioned for military strategy, lacked any resources of worth and had a climate that made habitation, and tourism, unlikely. No one really wanted to go there, and Dasquian supposed that was exactly why Sanya Tagge – and Darth Vader before her – had chosen it as a place of retreat. Its isolation gave them freedom to live as they pleased, a useful luxury when one was in the habit of kidnap and torture.

The Doppleganger touched down a number of clicks away from the Chateau. As Dasquian had suspected, the rest of the planet seemed uninhabited. The barren, desert landed looked like some vista from a new, alien world. It was, undoubtedly, a place to traverse with caution.

“How far are we from the rendezvous point?” Dasquian asked, as he checked the energy cells on the blaster he was carrying. Shoashian had specified that they should meet him near a rain-forest, but they had landed in the shadow of a bare hill, to conceal their ships location. The rest of the journey would have to be made on foot.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Instead of relying on the heavy drop suits for possible protection from the rain, and at present, the amber clouds were not threatening rain, Dasquian and Grace had opted for military beige to help camouflage them into the terrain. As they move closer to the rain forest, they could still use the mountain range as cover.

"About 6.4 kilometers from our present location. If we hustle, we can make it to the pick up locale about 10 standard minutes ahead of schedule." She slapped a fresh energy pack into her rifle and checked her side arm. "We won't need much to carry, so we'll probably shave off another 15 from that."

[Dasquian Belargic]

Leaving the Doppleganger, the Rebels found the land outside still and silent, save for the wind moving through the valleys and hills. It was a far cry from the over-crowding of Courkus, though not necessarily a welcome change. There, the crowds and noise had helped to hide there presence. On Vjun, for all they were camouflaged, they were essentially out in the open.

Sliding his blaster into its shoulder holster, Dasquian gazed off into the distance, where the rainforest was. “It might be best if we came at the meeting point from different directions. Whill could have been followed... we don't want to risk walking into an ambush. I'll go ahead on, you approach from the flank. Agreed?”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"Agreed," she said, pulling back her hair into a ponytail and covering the top of her head with a bandanna. "Maintain radio silence until we reach our target. I want to avoid everything and everyone as much as possible."

Grace pushed up a pair of mirrorshades over the bridge of her nose and gave Dasquian a faint smile, "Here's hoping we don't melt."

* * *

As predicted, the perimeter surrounding the Château was mostly centered around the estate. There were small check points of usually three soldiers or less, and they were fanned out over great distances. Walking patrols were even fewer, but they started to gain in numbers as she precariously marched closer to her intended destination. She wondered how Dasquian was faring. The direction she chose had more cover with the rolling dunes and of the winds that swirled the sand into the air, making visibly difficult.

When the ground went from sand to rock, Grace knew she was close and retreated underneath the shadow of a mountain cliff that covered her presence until it opened up in a ravine below. A small river flowed from the entrance of the rain forest below.

Finding some cover against a deep indentation within the slate color rock, Grace waited until she saw the signal from her partner. There was still 20 minutes before Whill made his appearance, if he were still free.

[Dasquian Belargic]

Dasquian had followed the counters of the ravine, moving along the rivers sloped banks with careful steps. From time to time, he would glance down into the acid-water that crept along beside him, though for the most part his attention was focused on keeping watch on the path ahead and behind. The rain forest lay up ahead, surprisingly thick in spite of its surroundings; the trees must have evolved to thrive on the acid rain, rather than wilt under it. The hint of a shadow against a rock surface, above and to the right, told Dasquian that he was not alone. Grace was in position and watching.

Somewhere up ahead, there was a nice. Dasquian's hand went for his blaster immediately, his fingertip pressed gently to the trigger. Again, the noise – it was something like a groan. He glanced towards Grace for a moment and then, without giving her the signal to move, edged forwards a few paces. Where the river emerged from the forest, there was something dark sprawled on the ground. Closer still, and Dasquian could tell it was a body – Shoashian's! He groaned again, in agony, and clutched at his side.

The Rebel quickened his pace slightly, keeping his centre of gravity low, his eyes darting left and right to make certain that the area was clear.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Van-Derveld slung her rifle into position and knelt down, using a weathered slab to set up a sniper position and magnified Dasquian's position on the scope. She panned over the rain forest and magnified further, looking for any unwarranted movement and found none. She swept over the ravine and still found no signs of life, not even native fauna, if there were any.

Everything looked on the up and up, but the Rebel couldn't shake the bad feeling about this mission. It started she reached the ravine. Grace chalked it up to mission jitters, especially since they couldn't plan this rescue out properly and were winging it.

She hoped it was nothing and watched as Dasquian continued to creep closer to Shoashian.

[Dasquian Belargic]

Shoashian rolled stiffly onto his side and, his eyes squeezed half shut in pain, he squinted at the figure that was approaching him. Dasquian moved, still, without a sound. He might well have been nothing more than a very vivid figment of the injured man's mind.

“Belargic... Belargic, is that you?”

The Rebel did not reply, but instead pressed one finger tip his lips to signal that Whill should be quiet. If Shoashian was as badly injured as he appeared to be, that meant he had probably been wounded during his escape – which logically lead to the conclusion that someone (or something) might still be hunting him. It would only be a matter of time before the predator caught his scent and trail again.

Creeping closer, Dasquian lowered himself onto one knew beside his fellow rebel. Whill smiled to see him, though the expression could as easily have been a grimace. Perhaps it was a mixture of both. With care, Dasquian began to examine Whill to see where he had been injured and how severely.

“I knew you'd come, boss. I knew you would... never leave a man behind, eh?” he wheezed, and chuckled through a spluttering of coughs. The little bit of humour made Dasquian look up with a smile, and set one hand gently down onto Whill's shoulder. It was a relief to know that he was still alive.

“You're not getting off the job this easily, old man,” the Director countered, though his smile turned to concern as he looked down to see Shoashian fumbling clumsily inside of his jacket.

“Don't move, you might have fractur-!”

Suddenly, Whill had a gun, and it was pointed at Dasquian. It was just a side-arm, small enough to conceal beneath his jacket but still large enough to do serious damage, and the barrel was pointing up at the left of Dasquian's chest. He had moved too quickly, unexpectedly.

“Don't move,” hissed Shoashian through gritted teeth.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace scowled at what she just witnessed. This was no act on Shoashian's part, that bloody traitor! She had seen that look in his eyes far too many other times then the Rebel would care to admit. Sometimes, deep cover agents became too ingrained to their role that they became the fake persona they were portraying, sympathizing with the organization they were infiltrating or enjoying the power and prestige that was bestowed upon them.

Shoashian had turned on them and used Belargic's good natured spirit in protecting his Agents against him.

And now he was going to come back with them whether he liked it or not, though the thought of shooting him in the head dead did cross her mind. One bolt to the knee would cripple him, then her partner could take care of the rest.

She was ready to pull the trigger when out of her peripherals she saw movement through the scope. The forest covered the exact numbers, but there was a lot of movement. Grace counted at least five distinct figures.

"Dasq! Get out of there NOW!" she said, breaking radio silence and fired at Shoashian. It was a direct hit. She briefly saw Dasquian move into action, but she had switched her rifle to automatic and laid down a barrage of cover fire into the forest. "At least five hostiles in the forest!"

[Dasquian Belargic]

A shot from behind hit Shoashian in the shoulder, and as Whill body jerked backwards from the impact, fear and reflex caused him to squeeze down on the trigger of his blaster. Three shots fire as Dasquian staggered backwards, just in time to hear Grace's voice all garbled by static in his ear. Two of Shoashian's shots missed, but the third – but some fluke – grazed Dasquian on his side, sending a burst of pain across his ribs.

“Quick! I've got him!”

Whill tried to fire again, but Dasquian was quicker on the draw. Though the old man had been faking some of his injuries, it was clear that not all of his grimaces had been an act. He was in bad shape, and handled his blaster like an amateur. Putting a blaster bolt between his eyes was painfully easy.

It had been a long time since he had killed someone; longer still since that someone had been a former ally. For an instant, Dasquian froze, his blaster still pointed at Whill Shoashian's now motionless body, smoke rising from the charred flesh on his brow. His lifeless eyes were wide now, staring right back up at Dasquian.

It was the sound of branches being shoved aside and twigs snapping that brought the Rebel out of his brief daze, his gaze lifting to the forest and the white figures stalking towards him...

[Grace Van-Derveld]

There were seven Stormtroopers that emerged from the forest carrying light repeaters aimed at Dasquian. One had leather epaulets adorning his shoulders and was signaling orders to his men. He was assuredly the squad leader, but there were too few men here for a complete Imperial squad. That could only mean that the other members of this squad had broken off and were trying to out flank her.

She open fired again, kicking up the acidic water before the Stormtroopers and nailed one squarely in the chest, another viciously in the head. Grace hoped that this would give Dasquian enough cover to try and begin his retreat. Considering that the Empire were being deceitful, it wouldn't be too far of a stretch that they wanted their prey alive. And Shoashian's shot fired was blue. His blaster had been set to stun. Perhaps that could have meant that their former ally was merely playing along and had convincingly duped the Rebels into thinking he was a turn coat, but they would never know. Dasquian had killed him and she knew how difficult that was for her partner. Often it was her that dealt out death, so he could continue to live without too much blood on his hands. He was always the optimist, she the realist; always complimenting each others flaws and strengths.

Quickly getting to her feet, she hurriedly began to climb up the ravine for higher group. This would afford her more space to defend herself and allow a better position to cover Dasquian's escape.

[Dasquian Belargic]

It was as if someone had detonated a handful of grenades on the river bed. The spray of gunfire sent jets of water leaping, sizzling, into the air. Dasquian staggered backwards, narrowly avoiding a shot to the shoulder from one of the Stormtroopers. Though Grace had the lay of the land on her side, the ravine wasn't going to work in Dasquian's favour – the valley walls were steep and bare, whilst the banks of the river contained little to provide cover. Another volley of blaster shots screaming past his head, Dasquian fell to his knees behind a large boulder, his eyes darting up to the point where he could see Grace's gunfire coming from. Pressing a fingertip to his earpiece, Dasquian winced for a moment at the burst of noise in his ears, and then spoke, hoping that his voice carried above the sound of the gun fight.

“I'm blaster fodder down here.. I need you to be my eyes.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace rolled for cover and fell flat on her belly. She magnified the area surrounding Dasquian and frowned. He was pinned down and the Stormtroopers were closing in. The other half of the Squad had yet to make their appearance. They would both have to move fast.

"On my mark run east towards 4 o'clock," she barked, lining up a shot. There was a narrow ledge that led up towards the surface that could provide some cover for an escape.

It didn't take long for a bobbing white helmet fell into her crosshairs. "MARK!"

She open fired and the Stormtrooper fell over dead into the water. Another barrage of heavy fire ripped through the river once more. Momentarily distracted, she watched her partner scramble towards higher ground.

There she is! Hands up Rebel Scum!

"Frak," murmured Grace. The bastards had managed to sneak up behind her, and by the sounds of it, they were only 20 meters away and closing. Or more astutely, had always been behind her since this was a well played trap.

Come on! Hands up and get up slowly!

The Rebel heard three more blasters level out and sighed. She had lost sight of Dasquian and had no idea how he was faring. All she could hear was blaster fire echoing down the ravine. At least he wasn't capture yet. They wouldn't be firing still if they had caught him.

"All right," she finally said as eyes fell into a tight concentration. Grace knew it was suicide having 7 to 1 odds not in her favor. They had the higher ground now and she was a sitting chooba.

But since when did Grace Van-Derveld ever back down without a fight? She'd rather die then give them the satisfaction of hearing her say 'I surrender'.

Grace rolled to her side and opened fired, singeing the air with ozone and melted plastoid as two Stormtroopers dropped from the surprise attack, the others momentarily stunned at what just happened. She grabbed an ion grenade from her weapons belt and managed to lob it over to the group, but her position and the numbers against her was too much. The grenade managed to go off at the same time they opened fired. Stormtroopers lost vision and their targeting systems went offline. However, the damage had already been done. Grace had taken stun bolts to the chest, abdomen and leg. She was knocked out unconscious, barely breathing due to the shock sustained to her body.

[Dasquian Belargic]

“MARK!”

On Grace's command, Dasquian broke free of his cover, sprinting towards the ravine wall. Frantically, his eyes searched for a sign of what his partner might have seen in that slope, what it could offer him – a ledge! The height would give Dasquian a much needed advantage and so he hauled himself up as quickly as possible, taking advantage of the confusion at the forests edge, where Whill Shoashian's body had been all but forgotten.

With the added cover of the ledge, he bobbed up and down, firing quick, wide shots. It was almost impossible to tell if any of them had hit their mark, with no break in return fire. Quickly he looked left then right, trying to determine if there was anywhere to go – but without knowing the positions of the Stormtroopers, any escape was near suicide.

“Where to now, Grace? They've got me pinned.”

Somewhere near by, there was a whoomph! as a grenade exploded.

“Grace?”

The rate of blaster fire slowed, as a handful of weapons ceased their barrage.

“Grace?”

tinktinktink... – eyes down, too late to avoid what was coming, as a small metallic sphere bounced into the ditch that was Dasquian's sanctuary – WHOOMPH!

Darkness.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

When consciousness started to light the very edges of awareness, Grace realized that she was very sore and stiff. Her mind was still cloudy from the stun blasts and it was hard to open her eyes. Even her eyelids felt like they were being weighted down with durasteel blocks. She attempted to flex her limbs to try and gain some feeling back, but Grace heard a clink of metal against metal. Her arms and legs were bound to the chair that she sat in.

By how numb her rear felt, it had to have been hours in this position, and as more realization came, she noticed a plastic odor tickling her nose.

"Hmrphh!" Her eyes snapped open wide with her inability to speak due to the reinforced black tape covering her mouth. Gaining her wits about her, the Rebel settled down and saw she was in an old library from the lack of care seen. Two decade old dust covered the shelves, furniture and tapestries inside. A uniformed Imperial sat three meters away, taking notes impassively as two Stormtroopers guarded the only exit out of this room.

Her mind wandered to that of Dasquian and a wave of guilt passed over her. All though equally at fault, they never should have came. Their arrogance and sense of duty had gotten them captured ... again. They had escaped their fair share of impossible situations, but the brunette had a sinking suspicion this wouldn't as easy ...

[Sanya Tagge]

The door to the library swung, creaking, open. The Stormtroopers on guard didn't so much as flinch as a figure strode between them, her eyes levelled down at a datapad held in one hand. She wore form-fitting white, so stark and pristine against the archaic, mouldering library.

“Clements,” she said, her voice as crisp and sharp as her attire. The officer in uniform had already paused his note taking and stood to attention, offering a salute. The blonde glanced up for a moment, nodding before her eyes shifted towards the white bantha in the room. “Status?”

“The prisoner is.. awake, Madame Minister.”

The library was fitted with a reading desk. The minister sat down behind it, laying the datapad she carried onto its polished worktop. She sat with her hands folded on the table in front of her, a humourless smile on her lips. “I can see that, Clements. Something a little more specific, if you can?”

If Clements was at all flustered by this remark, he didn't show it. His posture remained rigid, his eyes focused upon some indefinite point in the mid-distance. “The after-effects of concussion blasts seem to have worn off, and all physical signs indicate she is compos mentis...”

As the officer spoke, rattling off details of various health checks of no interest, Sanya Tagge looked across the room at her guest. Almost imperceptibly, her eyes narrowed as she studied Grace Van-Derveld. It was one thing to see her image in the holo-vid archives of ImpIntel, but quite another to see the villain in the flesh. Clearing his throat, Clements glanced between the two women.

“If you'd like to begin the questioning, Minister Tagge...”

“Yes. Take that... tape off. I want to hear what she has to say for herself.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Clements walked over and ripped off the tape without any remorse. Grace's eyes watered from the pain, but did not cry out. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of showing even the glimmer of weakness.

After moving her jaw to and fro, up and down, she licked her lips and made a face. The sealant used tasted so bitter on her tongue.

"Well," she said, smacking her lips one last time, "I would like to know one thing."

Grace looked up at Clements while he leered in her direction. "Any idea if you'd happen to pick up my mirrorshades?"

The Officer's brows narrowed in surprise at the question. Grace looked deadly serious towards Tagge. "They were my favorite pair and if it wouldn't be too much trouble, can I have them back if you do have them?"

[Sanya Tagge]

Clements looked to his superior, expectantly, like a child waiting on his parents approval. Gently, the pale blonde shook her head, and the officer returned to his chair and his minute taking. Tapping a fingertip against the data-pad in front of her, Sanya glanced back up to her prisoner and clucked her tongue in a disapproving tut.

“Twelve accounts of court-martial for insubordination... the years haven't changed you at all, have they, cadet?”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"Actually, it was thirteen counts technically," she corrected. "The fight I had with Cadet Berqus never made it onto my permanent record since his family would have been shamed to admit that their dear boy got beat up by a girl."

Grace smirked pleasantly. Tagge was not stupid, but the newly appointed Minister did not do her homework as well as she thought. These small pointless jabs had hardened the Assistant Director a long, long time ago.

[Sanya Tagge]

Sanya allowed both eyebrows to raise, as she continued to skim through the lines of text contained within the data-file on Grace Van-Derveld. The profile combined details of her family history, military career and, later, her known dalliances with the Rebel Alliance, culminating in the recent sighting on Courkus.

“Yes, you were quite the pioneer, I'm sure.. breaking down Imperial preconceptions of gender inequality, paving the way for the ascension of women like myself and the Empress Tarkin,” Sanya observed, in a dry tone of voice and then, with a wistful little sigh, added, “I suppose all great causes do require a few martyrs.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"Ah yes martyrdom," replied Grace with a feigned fondness as she thought about the past, "I'm glad that it was my brutal assault and rape upon my person that could elevate the likes of you and Miranda to such heights, instead of my superior intellect; allowing me to square off with men far stronger then me, and come out the victor."

The Rebel nodded. "An astute observation. How foolish of me to ever have left the Empire."

[Sanya Tagge]

One of the Stormtroopers made a move to step forwards, but Sanya held up a hand. There was no need to resort to brutality – not yet, at least. If Grace Van-Derveld's buttons were going to be pushed, it certainly wasn't with a bloody fist. Her eyes shifted towards Clements, as Sanya spoke as if the captured Rebel was no longer in the room.

“Have you ever heard such misandry? If I didn't know better,” she paused here, tapping at another of the buttons on her datapad, as she shook her head in disbelief, “I'd say she was a homosexual, in addition to being a self-confessed traitor against the Empire... scandalous. Have you ever heard of such deviance?”

Simply speaking the words brought a sour expression to Sanya's expression. There were few things Imperial Command disliked so much as women doing what women were not supposed to do – which hinged primarily upon females remaining subordinate to their male counterparts. Miranda Tarkin's coronation had empowered a scant few women, but it would be some time before her reign effected any true change of opinion in that regard.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"You certainly earned your promotion, Sanya," she said, speaking plainly with no regards to how rude it was to call her by her first name. "Wonderful leaps in logic to a foregone conclusion without any shred of proof."

Grace's face grew into a disconcerting smirk. "Or are you so quip with your comebacks because you are merely projecting?"

[Sanya Tagge]

There was a long pause in which, though Sanya did not reply, her eyes never left her prisoner. With a gesture, she pushed the now powered-down datapad away and reclined in her chair.

“You know, once upon a time, we might have been friends, Grace. We weren't so different, you and I. We both came from houses of importance, who thrust upon us the trials and tests of the Empire from an early age... but that's where the similarity ends.

“I am a law-abiding Imperial citizen, who devotes her every waking moment to maintaining the noble articles set down in the Declaration of a New Order. You, on the other hand, are a terrorist, who spends her days playing second-fiddle to the simpering, bastard son of a pirate, the two of you leaving chaos and misery in your wake, wherever you go.”

Sanya paused, reclining further. The leather upholstery of her chair groaned faintly beneath her weight. Head canting back, she looked down her nose at Grace. “My hands are clean, Agent Van-Derveld. It's yours that are soaked in blood.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace fell quiet at the classless remark about Dasquian. She merely had a moments worry as to the fate of her partner. Sanya hadn't given away anything about his condition and wanted it to stay that way, which was why they had been separated in the first place. The Imperials knew exactly how dangerous they were together.

"Order? You mean Declaration of Fear," she corrected the Minister once more. "To live in fear and be subjugated by the laws of one man or woman was not how our ancestors wanted this galaxy to thrive. Especially founded by a man who orchestrated a war in order to portray himself a hero and place false blame against the true Order, the Jedi Order, as the machinations of evil. My hands might be dirty, but I rather they be dirty in trying to restore the true Republic instead of a hezmana-kissing citizen that got her job because her brother is sleeping with the Empress."

[Sanya Tagge]

“Fear is a by-product of guilt. If you feel fear, it is because you have transgressed the laws which bind our society in a state of peace and prosperity.”

The statement was made so matter of factly that it was impossible to think that Sanya did not hold it as gospel truth. She was in the business of lying, certainly, but there were some truths that even she believed in her heart of hearts. The perfection of the Empire as a governing body was one of them.

“As for the Jedi Order, there is no place for their kind in this era. Civilization requires order and uniformity, not the study of.. mystical currents or other such archaic nonsense. If the Jedi had understood this, they might have been spared, but they would not cease their heresy..”

As a pause lulled into the conversation, Clements seized the moment to interject.

“Madame... word from Coruscant. Your prison transport is en route, with an estimated journey time of one hour.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace's interjection had to wait and the Rebel was not surprised at the news Clements reported. Vjun was too desolate of a sector for a proper punishment. She and Dasquian had caused a lot of trouble over the years and the Empire would surely love to parade them around in the Core. It would buy them some time to escape.

Being captured by the Imperials, even high ranking ones, were not new to the duo. She remembered a particular time on Daluba, that their scouting party had been taken into custody. With a well timed palming of the Imperial Officer's war crest (she had felt so suddenly faint all of a sudden), Grace had managed to pick her locks, overpower the guards in the transport, and free Dasquian. After that it was a textbook commandeering of their AT-PT, neutralizing the other other land transports, and rescue the rest of their surviving team.

"Make sure we get the luxury suite. I hate sleeping on a lumpy mattress."

[Sanya Tagge]

“We? No, Agent Van-Derveld.. you aren't going anywhere.”

Sanya smiled her cool smile, enjoying the sense of satisfaction which came with being more in the know than the so-called Intelligence Director of the Rebel Alliance. For Grace, her time at Château Malreaux had only just begun.

“Clements.. have some of the men prepare the basement. I'd like to see Agent Van-Derveld relocated and secured for holding before I leave for the Core.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

To say that Grace was surprised was putting it mildly. The Rebel Spy was shocked and that fact wasn't hidden.

"You're not turning me in?" This made little sense to her. She was just as valuable as Belargic individually. Turning both of them in would make Tagge an indisputable hero in the eyes of Imperial citizens. What game was playing?

And what of Dasquian?! Her mind began to race with uncharacteristic panic. If he made it to Coruscant in Imperial custody, it would be near impossible to rescue him. She had to find a way to free herself and send word to Command if they transferred him off Vjun.

[Sanya Tagge]

“Grace, Grace, Grace...” Sanya sighed as she slowly rose out of her seat and began to pace towards where Van-Derveld was cuffed. “Of course I'm going to turn you in eventually.”

The white-clad Imperial came to a halt some five feet in front of her prisoner, one hand resting her hip. Looking down at her captive, she pursed her lips together into a faux-sympathetic smile. “Don't worry about your... partner in crime. There's enough Renatyl (http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Renatyl) in his system to ensure that he'll barely feel what they're going to do to him. At least for the first day or so, anyway.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Finally, Grace's cool exterior fell into one of utter loathing and hatred with death in her eyes. She made no motion to even attempt something so futile as to reach for Tagge, her arms and legs were bound.

"And what makes me so interesting to you that you would delay my proper incarceration and keep me hidden?" Her eyes narrowed as she turned this odd twist of events over in her mind. "Keeping such secrets can be dangerous, especially keeping them from your dear Empress."

[Sanya Tagge]

There was a hint of glee behind Sanya's eyes as she watched Grace frantically trying to piece together what was going on. Cracks were beginning to appear in the Rebels previously inscrutably exterior. Bluffing was a skill she had doubtlessly honed to an art, but sometimes fate dealt hands so unexpected that even the most stoic of men and women could not help but perspire anxiously.

“My, you are presumptuous, aren't you? Such an undesirable trait for someone in your profession..”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace snorted and smirked. "No call it woman's intuition. You're hiding something."

Her smirk turned into a full-fledged knowing smile. "And you are afraid of her finding out."

[Sanya Tagge]

Tilting her head back slightly, Sanya inhaled before she spoke, as if the breath would cleanse her of whatever taint Van-Dervelds presence had infected her with.

“I feel nothing but love and pride for my Empress.”

A pause then, in which she simply looked down into the Rebel's eyes. For an instant, anger bubbled beneath the surface of her, and then it was gone, dismissed with the practiced efficiency of someone who knows all too well the value of concealing the truth.

“Now... you must excuse me, Agent. As amusing as your little paranoid theories are, I have other matters to attend to.”

Her gaze shifted up, suddenly, to the men at the door.

“I want her in one piece when I return, understood?”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

She had struck a nerve, but the Agent learned nothing concrete. However, it did give Grace a perverse sense of satisfaction.

But it quickly subsided, her thoughts straying to Belargic and what he was enduring right now. Most assuredly, they had started torturing him just for fun while Tagge had been in here, having polite conversation with Grace.

One of the Stormtroopers looked down at Tagge and nodded. "Yes, Madame Minister."

Sighing, Grace accepted that she would have to sit quiet until she could create an opportunity for escape during the transfer. She'd have to hope that if any gods did exist, they would take pity on her and allow for that before the hour was up. Right now she was useless, a tangled mess of clasped limbs with no leverage.

[Sanya Tagge]

Crossing the distance between herself and the rooms exit, Sanya paused for a moment to exchange a few hushed words with the men on guard there. Whatever was said was muttered too quietly to be heard by Grace, even in the eerie stillness of the library. With the unknown briefing given, Sanya glanced back over her shoulder for one last glimpse at her captive audience. "I hope you enjoy your stay in the château, Grace. I'll be back for you soon."

And with that parting farewell, she was gone, the door swinging closed hard behind her. The two Stormtroopers standing at the doorway looked at one another and exchanged nods. One strode away from the door, whilst the other tapped one gloved finger to his helmet. "Control, this is TK-187. Requesting additional assistance for the relocation of prisoner ident two. Copy?"

There was a moments silence, before the radio inside the 'troopers helmet crackled in reply: "This is Command. Request noted and processed. Assistance is en route. Command out."

His hand falling back to his rifle, '187 watched as his counterpart approached their charge, his own blaster pointed squarely at the womans head. "Minister Tagge said one piece, right? She never said anything about what state that piece should be in."

"Don't push your luck," 187 said, his voice sharp. "We're here to guard, not interogate."

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace didn't blink. The blaster pointed at her head was uncomfortable, but the Stormtrooper wouldn't do much of anything else. The wrath of Minister Tagge was thick. No one wanted to risk being transferred to some listening post on the edge of Wild Space and go mad with boredom.

She rolled her eyes up at the one holding the gun. "I must say, I'm not sure if I should be honored that you guys think you need more back up, or that you don't think you can handle little ol' me."

[Sanya Tagge]

"I could handle you with one hand tied behind my back, Rebel," the second Stormtrooper countered. Behind his helmet, 187 sighed and for a moment his jaw became hard set as he reminded himself that he had a job to do. They were supposed to be creating an impression of unity and solidarity in front of the prisoner, and already TK-229 was undermining that. That's what you get for plucking 'em right out of the Academy, I guess, he thought.

"We make a point to never underestimate our prisoners," 187 said, before 229 could speak again. '229 glanced back at his counterpart, and '187 gave a subtle nod, indicating that they should both return to their posts beside the door.

"Right," 229 agreed, as he made a leisurely turn, his helmeted eyes still fixed on Grace. "Scum like you will go to any lengths to escape judgement. Who knows what dren you'd pull, given the chance."

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace gave a polite smile, "We all can't escape the time when our judgement draws near."

Inside she was seething as the guards walked away. These Stormtroopers actually had a brain, well one did, and her simple plan of getting under that hothead's skin and trying for the key cuffs would be put on hold. Of course, depending on how big an entourage 187 wanted for her, she might be stuck. With too many men guarding her and Dasquian drugged, the chance of escape and attempting to free him began to diminished as each minute passed.

And it frightened Grace to no end ...

Of all of the dumb messes they had found themselves in, this was the worst. All the what ifs and should ofs went through her head as they do when you have time to stew on why the mission failed. The only real mistake they made was not informing Command of their slight detour, but they had their reasons. Strategy and logic often outweighed the importance of one man's life. But Dasquian and Grace were willing to risk their own in order to save just one.

One life or a billion. It was the same to them. And it was that idealistic flaw that was exploited and found themselves where they were. As much as it hurt Grace to realize that, she wouldn't have done anything differently.

Well, that was entirely true. It went without saying that everyone knew that Belargic and Van-Derveld had a deeply rooted respect and friendship with one another. What few understood what that meant for Grace. She trusted only one person implicitly to let her guard down and be herself. He could see through the tough exterior and whittled away at it month by month, year by year, until he earned Grace's trust fully. She never thanked Dasquian for that, and she made a promise that when they busted out of here, that she would.

[Sanya Tagge]

With TK-229's arrogance reigned in, he and '187 stood in silence, awaiting the arrival of their back up. Though his helmet was turned firmly forwards, looking to some indistinct point in the opposite side of the library, his eyes were on Grace Van-Derveld.

Since his assignment to the private guard of Minister Tagge, he had seen little in the way of combat or any action at all, for that matter. In all his time as a member of the Imperial Legion, he had never so much as seen a member of the Rebellion in the flesh. For a time, he had even wondered if the Alliance existed at all - and yet there she was, one of the so-called ringerleaders, in the flesh. It was a strange thing to be confronted with the enemy, with no orders to simply blast her to space dust.

A sudden double-knock at the door rocked 187 out of his thoughts, and he quickly stepped aside to make way for the armoured soldiers who filed into the library.

"What's the 411?" one of them asked, his helmet turning towards the prisoner for a moment.

"We're taking her down to the basement," 229 replied. "Minister Tagge wants her locked up there until she returns from Coruscant."

"The basement?" one of the others said, his voice sounding unsure. "Are you sure we've got clearance?"

'187 nodded, glancing back towards Grace. "We're good to go. We'll have to watch her the whole time Minister Tagge is gone - and no funny business. Minister Tagge wants her alive, so no venting on her, alright?"

The group nodded, some of them more grudgingly than others.

"So, who wants to help me get her out of that chair?" 229 asked, grinning behind his helmet.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Her brows rose in surrender and sagged against the chair and however clever the one Stormtrooper may have seen, he had little idea of how cunning his captured prey was.

But he would learn.

[Sanya Tagge]

There were eight Stormtroopers in total. Typically, four at most or two at the least would handle a single prisoner. For more high security felons, however, a larger detail was needed. If nothing else, duties on Vjun were not plentiful. When the chance to actually do something arose, other than patrol the perimeter of the Tagge estate, the 'troopers were more than happy to get to work.

Since '229 had shown himself to be a little temperamental, TK-187 took charge. It wasn't really in his nature, but Minister Tagge had left the job to both him and TK-229, so he wanted to make sure it was done properly.

“You, hold her arms in place. You loosen the cuffs. You two, stand on guard – keep your guns on her arms and legs. Make sure your weapons are configured to a non-lethal setting. Everyone else, box her in.”

One by one, the soldiers confirmed their orders. The Stormtrooper who had been tasked with keeping Grace's arms in place once she was released stepped behind the chain she was chained too. As the code was entered to remove her cuffs, the 'troopers readied themselves, fully expecting some kind of hopeless attempt at rebellion.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace cleared her throat, causing one of the Stormtroopers to get twitchy with his rifle, but all the Rebel did was stand as commanded. It felt good to stand, minus the tingling of pins and needles that spread along her butt cheeks where the blood had returned. The grip on her arms wasn't too terribly tight. It afforded her enough room to roll her shoulders and then her neck.

"Much better," she said pleasantly and looked up over her shoulder to the Trooper behind her. "Thank you."

She could have caused a scene, but they were expecting that, obviously. To give into what they feared would cause them to tighten security. And if she had started a scuffle inside the library with such tight quarters, Grace was sure to be shot down unconscious again and wake up with Belargic gone. It was a calculated risk, but Grace would have to play the model prisoner and hope that security would lax around her soon...

[Sanya Tagge]

Happy that his prisoner was secure and ready for relocation, TK-187 nodded to the men around him.

“Alright, let's go.”

The muzzle of a rifle was shoved between Grace's shoulder blades, nudging her forwards. She began to walk, yet she had only taken a few steps before another command was given.

“Wait a minute.. one of you, put a blindfold on her.”

The 'troopers looked between one another, exchanging a few shrugs. Blindfolds weren't exactly part of the standard issue Stormtrooper equipment. Mildly irritated at the lack of initiative, '187 took the matter into his own hands and – with a krrrrrip! – tore off a piece of one of the dust-sheets that protected. It wasn't ideal, but it was the best they had to work with. For some reason, '187 didn't like the idea of Van-Derveld seeing the rest of the Minister's personal residence.

“Ok,” he said, nodding in approval once the make-shift blindfold had been knotted into place, plunging Grace's vision into darkness.

“Move out.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace sneezed. And then she sneezed again and again and again.

"Ya coulda dusted it ah ... ah .. Ah-choo!!!" The make shift blind fold quiver from the forceful sneeze. She sniffed, her eyes watering and finally completed her sentence. "Dusted it off."

[Dasquian Belargic]

"Ya coulda dusted it ah ... ah .. Ah-""AGH!"

A strike to the back of the head sent him tumbling forwards, out of his chair. With his hands bound, there was no way to avoid the fall. Something in his nose crunched and a trickle of red wound its way towards, and down through, the cracks in the floorboards...

[Grace Van-Derveld]

The escort into the lower levels went in silence. Not even the Stormtroopers afforded any idle chatter. With their mind set on their mission and possible unruliness from their prisoner, it afford Grace little chance of escape. It went without incident and again, Grace behaved.

Gun against her back still, they removed the handcuffs. Grace had little time to react as Tk-187 cracked the butt of the rifle into her shoulder blades.

"UGH!" Her legs gave out and the Rebel fell to the ground belly first, her arms banging against the cold unforgiving concrete. The door to the cell creaked closed and was locked. Now alone, she pushed herself up to her knees and took off the bloody awful blindfold before sneezing again.

The cell was nothing special with the same old disgusting fresher in the corner and mattress that had at least six defunct springs with no blanket or pillow. "This is a fine mess you've got yourself into, Van-Derveld," she said to no one, and if the Stormtroopers were still outside and heard it, who bloody well cares.

The only exit was the way she came. It had a 4 by 8 slide bar to check on the prisoner and no observable locking mechanism. Unless they opened the door on the other side, she was stuck here.

A look of panic crossed her face, one that she allowed since she was facing away from the door. She had to think of something fast to get out of here before the prison ship came, and if her internal clock was right (and it normally was), they had maybe 45 standard minutes before it landed.

[Dasquian Belargic]

<dl><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;">“I'll ask you again.. where's your base of operations?”</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;"> The voice was modulated, unmistakably by the helmet of an Imperial Stormtrooper. If Dasquian had been in a more lucid state of mind, he might have made note of the accent the 'trooper spoke in, or the hoarse coughing that interrupted the soldiers demands from time to time – but his mind was elsewhere. It felt as if his brain had been melted down, poured back into its skull, and was now still in the process of re-setting. </dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;"> Another voice, this one softer. “Don't you think we should leave this to the others?”</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;"> The hand that had seized the collar of Dasquian shirt and was holding his upper body off the ground let go, and the Rebel's shoulders hit the floorboards beneath them with a thud. “Are you kidding? Think of all the time we'd save – and the prestige – if we got the info out of him ourselves.”</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;"> “I'm just sayin', they have people who are trained to do this kind of thing... professionals.”</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;"> As his eyes opened, Dasquian saw the shape of two white figures standing above him. Their hollow black eyes stared back down at him, their featureless faces emotionless, fixed into a permanent stare.</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;"> “You know,” he managed, the act of speaking such a difficult thing when the breath had been knocked out of him. “You.. you should listen to him. Ama-... amateurs like you, don't crack nuts like me.”</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;"> With a snarl, one of the white faces dropped towards him, and the back of a gloved hand connected with his cheek. “I didn't ask for your opinion, dren for brains.”</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;"> The pain of the hit stung and tingled, but whatever they had drugged him with was enough to ensure that he didn't feel the full brunt of the Stormtroopers anger. After all, knocking him unconscious would be counter-productive to probing him for information. </dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;"> “Roger.. that, captain,” he managed, as he rolled slowly onto his back once again. “But you know.. if you want to get anything out of me, you're.. you're gonna have to hit harder than that. My grandmother threw a better punch than-” SMACK!</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;"> The longer he could keep them angry and occupied, the longer they'd stay away from Grace.</dd></dl>

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Upon hearing a faint muffled conversation and a several grunts, Grace hopped to her feet and placed a curious ear to the wall of the cell.

"... y grandmother threw a better punch than-"

SMACK!

Her head shot back as if hit herself. "Dasq!" she whispered and glad that she had come along quietly. He was so close. She just needed a weapon and a good story to get the guards in here ...

The slide bar was still closed and she couldn't hear anything outside. Not even the faintest sound of plaster armor rubbing together as they shifted their weight. She went over to the side of the cot and looked for any opening, finding one at the head of the bed. Stuffing her hand inside, Grace found a defunct spring and pulled it out. It may have out lived its use for comfort, but it could easily be twisted around and made into an impromptu stabbing weapon. There were quite enough kinks in a Stromtrooper's armor that she could shove this shank into ...

[Dasquian Belargic]

<dl><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;">The sounds of interrogation continued for some time, though the voices in the adjoining cell did not rise so loud again. Without a chronometer or any source of light, it was impossible for Grace to accurately comprehend the passage of time, save for the knowledge that each passing moment brought an the Coruscanti prison transport closer to Vjun. After a time of waiting, poised and ready to strike out at whoever should appear in her cell's doorway with the improvised shiv, the Rebel heard a heavy thud, of metal upon metal. Something was going on outside the cells. </dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;"> “This is it?” asked one voice.</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;"> “This is him,” answered another, recognizable as one of the men who had been inside Dasquian's sell.</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;"> “He's in some state,” the first voice observed. “We would have brought a gurney, if we'd known he couldn't walk.”</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;"> “He was... unfortunately uncooperative with our requests. We had no other choice.”</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;"> Someone made an incredulous mhmm and then, after a moments silence, spoke again.</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;"> “Alright, Get him out to the landing pad - and try not to cause any more damage on the way out. The sooner we're rid of him, the better.”</dd></dl>

[Grace Van-Derveld]

With weapon in hand, Grace pawed along the wall, listening in on the conversation across the hall. The Stormtroopers chatter slowly came closer until they were practically on top of her cell. With a heavy heart, she placed the palm of her hand against the cold cell door as Dasquian was inevitably dragged away.

The silence was deafening and her hand tightened around the shank. Knuckles turned white as eyes snapped opened. The Rebel heard the faintest of boot falls in the distance.

She scrambled to the cot and took a seat, the shank grip firmly held in place and the length of the jagged spring hidden under a sleeve. "Come on you bastards, come for me. I know you want to," she muttered under her breath, hoping that the lonely nights here would make these Stormtroopers predictable.

The slide bar snapped opened and the black visor of a Trooper helmet stared at her. Seeing that she was a safe distance away, he slapped it closed and unlocked the door. Grace allowed herself a small smirk before falling into the wide eyed confused prisoner.

"Sanya wants to see me already?" she asked innocently as the two Stormtroopers walked inside the cell.

"It's Minister Tagge you ungrateful scum," said one of them. The voice wasn't familiar to her. "We're just here to teach you a lesson like we did your friend."

"Except this won't be quite the same kinda lesson, Rebel." They both laughed and the one Stormtrooper trained a gun on her. "Now hands where I can see them, get up and put them against the wall."

Her eyes narrowed but complied. Arms up at a 90 degree angle, her weapon logged between the fabric of her clothing and elbow, she took up position as ordered.

"Not so tough are you now, eh Van-Derveld?" Gloved hands were placed against her sides and kneaded their way down towards her hips, her thighs. She recoiled, trying to fight off his expected advances and sandwiched her against the wall as predicted. "Keep struggling and we'll make what happened on Corulag seem like a picnic!"

She pressed her lips together and nodded. "As you wish."

Her arm circled down towards her captors leg and with gravity as her friend, the shank returned to her hand, and she stabbed the Stormtrooper's knee.

"GRAAHH!!!"

His hold on Grace was released and the Rebel grabbed his blaster rifle from behind. She managed to duck the blaster bolt that his companion shot off and used her attacker as a shield. He went down and Grace returned the favor by shooting the other Stormtrooper squarely in the chest. Two more Stormtroopers filed in and were blown away without mercy. Finding her legs, Grace went to the cell door with gun trained. It was all clear on either side, meaning that Grace's good prisoner routine had lax the guards around her. Most of them had gone to secure Dasquian on the prison transport.

Grace ran down the hallway in the direction she had last heard them and retraced her footsteps. Idiotic Stormtroopers might have blinded her, but she had been consciously counting her steps and memorizing the turns to her inevitable freedom. She would just need to find one computer to access and find the location of the landing pad ... and then free her partner ...

[Dasquian Belargic]

<meta http-equiv="CONTENT-TYPE" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><title></title><meta name="GENERATOR" content="OpenOffice.org 3.0 (Win32)"><style type="text/css"> <!-- @page { margin: 2cm } P { margin-bottom: 0.21cm } --> </style> <dl><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;">Elsewhere, Dasquian stumbled through the corridors of Château Malreaux, urged onwards by the repeated jabbing of rifle against his back. Two flights of stairs had brought him back onto the level that contained the library Grace was previously held in, yet he had only a dim awareness of his surroundings – the low light and claustrophobic, narrow corridors only deepening the dizzy haze that fogged his mind. Like a nerf being herded with an electric prod, he was jostled back and forth between the soldiers that made up his escort, as they shoved him with elbows or the muzzles of their weapons. </dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;"> Somewhere in the Château, there was a screech of blaster fire and after a pause, four of the Stormtroopers in Dasquian's escort broke away from the group, jogging back in the direction they had come from, to meet up with other soldiers who had broken away from their posts to investigate the disturbance, their radios already buzzing with questions of 'Who?' and 'Where?'</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;"> On another channel, a message intended for Dasquian's guides crackled through.</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;"> “Armored transport Timely is entering planetary atmosphere. Landing in ten minutes, repeat: ten minutes. Stand by.”</dd></dl>

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Clink ... clink .... clinkclinkclink

BOOM!

A huge explosion rocked the castle. Large blocks of custom carved stone cracked over the doorway behind Van-Derveld as the thermal detonator was triggered. She had managed to override the coding sequence and use it herself. Since it were only a standard issued Stormtrooper grenade in which the blast radius was 5 meters, it provided enough damage to cover her retreat as the patrol behind her was cut off from her, buried alive, or dead.

She sprinted down the corridor and kicked open an access panel to the ventilation system. Visiting Vjun briefly, one needn't worry about poisoning their lungs but for those that made a home here, they needed a very expensive and sophisticated scrubbing system to purify the air from the toxins that build up due to the acid rain. It was this network that Grace would use to get to the docking bay faster. As long as the schematics she procured into the datapad at her hip were current. The Château was always in a state of repair and upkeep.

Winding her way through the network, she eventually stopped and peered through the grating with thin eyes since it was hard to adjust to the new lighting.

Grace stifled a gasp when she spotted Dasquian being prodded like nerfs and jostled around as sport between several of the Stormtroopers. They were almost near the landing pad outside the docking bay!

Quickly assessing the area, there were two Imperial class shuttles and a yacht (belonging to one of the Tagges naturally). There were two Stormtroopers guarding the landing ramp, the small group around Dasquian and the regular patrol around the landing pad. Several technicians were going about their business.

There was little time to formulate a plan so Grace dove into the fire, quite literally. She made no pretense of her presence as she kicked down the grate and jumped onto the cargo crates, lighting the area up like Winter Fete. Three Stormtroopers went down by the surprise and attempted to retaliate. Several bolts hit the crates and scarred the metal sheeting as Grace dove behind the pile for cover.

"Stand down you idiots! There're mines in some of those crates!!! You'll get us all killed!!! Spread out and flank her!!"

"Is that right?" Grace glanced up and saw Vehicle Mines painted on the side of one of the boxes. Pulling off the shouldered DLT-20A she borrowed, she made a few adjustments to the power packs and jammed the rifle between two crates. Blaster in hand, she crawled to the side and randomly opened fire to cover her escape. She felt the heat of return fire and heard it zing past by her right before all hell broke loose. It was impossible to clear the blast radius entirely. The power cells overheated and caused enough movement for the mines to trigger.

She was caught in its wake and slammed against the side of a refueling mount.

[Sanya Tagge]

<dl><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;">The explosions around the landing pad sent tremors through the Timely. On board the armored transport, sitting in the passenger area just outside of the cockpit, Sanya Tagge felt only a shudder of the blast. Her eyes lifted, to the guards at the door. “What's going on out there?”</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;"> The Stormtroopers shifted awkwardly before answering. “I'm sure it's nothing Minister Tagge... just some routine detonations.”</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;"> Sanya was on her feet in an instant. “Don't you lie to me,” she countered, her voice like a whip-crack as she shoved the offending (and unresisting) guard backwards with the heel of her palm. “Don't you dare.”</dd></dl>

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace's vision was blurred from the haze of smoke, and her head was fuzzy from the impact. There were Troopers barking orders amidst the wreckage. Civilian personnel were running away in a mad panic, while others were trying to put out the fire.

Limbs felt like rubber as she got to her feet, but her mind cleared with renewed vigor as she saw the Stormtroopers pushing Dasquian just onto the landing ramp.

"DASQUIAN!!! NO!!!" She unloaded on his captors without mercy, taking out several of several of them before they scattered for cover. One of them pushed Dasquian up the ramp as another Stormtrooper grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out of view. "No!! Dammit no!!!

Before she could get any closer, the gunman on her previously had cut off that route with blaster fire of their own. She had to make a made scramble behind the landing gear of the shuttle to find cover.

"Frelling frellers!!!" she hissed, watching the landing ramp start to close and returned fire.

[Sanya Tagge]

<dl><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;">The door to the Timely's cockpit became blocked, as two Stormtroopers placed themselves between it and Sanya. “Out of my way, I want to see what's going on out there!” She tried to shove the 'trooper again, but this time his stance remained rock-solid. </dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;"> “The situation is under control, Madame Minister,” came the Stormtroopers voice, in a practiced monotone. “The prisoner is on board, and we will be departing Vjun momentarily. Please, return to your seat, Minister.”</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;"> At that moment, there was another shudder – this time not caused by a mine, but rather but the crafts engines roaring to life as the take-off sequence began. In a matter of minutes, the firefight at the launch-pad would be forgotten, as the Timely soared up and out of the planet's atmosphere...</dd></dl>

[Grace Van-Derveld]

A bolt hit the hull of the shuttle and sizzled away part of the armor plating. "Blood frelling hell!" Grace returned fire while her mind raced. Dasquian was still attainable as long as they didn't hit hyperspace. Then it would be too late. She'd just needed a ship.

As if a light suddenly blinked into life, she turned around long enough to see that the landing ramp to the shuttle was down.

"It can't be this easy." But who was she to argue? Bolts zipped back and forth between her and the Stormtroopers, who were picking up the pace once they realized what the Rebel was attempting to do.

"GET HER YOU IDIOTS!!! BEFORE SHE ESCAPES!!!" The Trooper barked orders and waved his men into action, cursing the Technicians that were loading the cargo bay and leaving the landing ramp down before running off in a panic!

One Stormtrooper managed to make it to the ramp as it began to close and hopping onto the edge of it with surprising agility, but there was a very pissed off, and determined, Grace at the top of the ramp.

"I don't think so," she said and pulled the trigger.

A straight shot to the Troopers head send him flailing backwards and falling to the ground.

Pushing past the passengers seats, Grace pulled her longs legs over the pilot's chair and keyed in take off sequence, locking her targeting system on to the Timely and raising the shields. Her fingers danced against the console, cursing how long it was taking the engines to power up. Finally the repulsor engines whined into lift and the strength of them knocked the rest of her pursuers off their feet. Once she cleared the docking bay, the Lower Wings folded under and she went after Dasquian with sublight engines at maximum velocity.

[Dasquian Belargic]

<meta http-equiv="CONTENT-TYPE" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><title></title><meta name="GENERATOR" content="OpenOffice.org 3.0 (Win32)"><style type="text/css"> <!-- @page { margin: 2cm } P { margin-bottom: 0.21cm } --> </style> <dl><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;">Outside the holding cells on-board the Timely, the communication links of the men on guard crackled with conversation. “Repeat, shuttle on your tail... co-ordinates inputed and ready for jump.”</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;"> Dasquian lay on his back, looking up at the roof of the tiny box of a room he'd been thrown into, whose too-bright light made his eyes sting. Though he ached and throbbed all over, he found himself smiling, that almost delirious smile of a man on the edge. </dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;"> She was coming for him. </dd></dl>

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace had found herself thanking the Force that Sanya didn't have all of her defenses in place or blasting out of the Château would have been far more difficult.

The Timely had just reached space and that was when Grace opened fired, targeting the engines with the twin blaster cannons. If she could cripple the ship enough, it would be a simple snatch and grab with the tractor beam. It would be too risky otherwise to make a jump into hyperspace with their precious Minister on board.

She diverted power from laser cannons to the engines, trying to catch up while still trying to get that ship dead in space. "Come on. Come on..."

[Dasquian Belargic]

<meta http-equiv="CONTENT-TYPE" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><title></title><meta name="GENERATOR" content="OpenOffice.org 3.0 (Win32)"><style type="text/css"> <!-- @page { margin: 2cm } P { margin-bottom: 0.21cm } --> </style> <dl><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;">Another tremor shook the Timely and sent Dasquian lurching across the cell-floor, ending up all but pressed flush against the door. Outside, the Stormtroopers radio chatter continued loud and constant, as messages were relayed throughout the ship itself, and up from the remainder of the garrison on Vjun.</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;"> “She's gaining on us, captain.”</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;"> “There's no way that shuttle can over-take us,” came the confident reply. </dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;">
</dd><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;"> “We just need to stay out of range... a second... longer...”</dd></dl>

[Grace Van-Derveld]

The Timely was damaged but not to the extend that Grace would have liked it. Considering the size of the ship, the shuttles tractor beam wouldn't be strong enough unless that engine was crippled. But time was running out. They were going to make the jump soon per standard Imperial Protocol.

"Frell it!" She slammed a fist on the console and activated the tractor beam ...

[Dasquian Belargic]

<dl><dd style="margin-left: 0cm; text-align: left;">The tractor beam sought the Timely, but whatever damage had been done to the ships engines was not enough to slow it measurably. Its march was unrelenting and with The hull of the prison transport began to stretch right before her eyes and then, in a blink of light... it was gone. In its place, all that remained was darkness and the void of space.</dd></dl>

[Grace Van-Derveld]

She sat there, mouth agape and hand still on top of the tractor beam controls. Grace didn't realize that her lower lip quivered with unspoken sorrow, everything about her felt numb in the split second the Timely disappeared. When Dasquian was gone ...

The shuttle lurched rocked forward under the barrage of fighter blasts. Grace had to steady herself against the console or risk her head being bashed into it. Looking at the sensors, the Château managed to scramble three TIE fighters. In this piece of junk, she'd be captured or killed in no time at all. Maneuverability aside, Squints had a lot more fire power then the Lambda. She'd have to regroup with the Rebellion and coordinate a rescue mission later.

Rerouting power to the rear deflectors, Grace keyed in coordinates for a micro jump out of this system and disappeared into the blackness of space ...

[Dasquian Belargic]

Continued in Upon Pillars of Salt, Pillars of Sand (http://www.sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?t=18808)