Obsolete

[Naomi Lang]

Thirty-five

Gods this shit-hole is boring….

Thirty-Six

….same as yesterday….

Thirty-Seven

….and the day before…

Thirty-Eight

…and the day before that.

Thirty-Nine

How long haveI been here again?

Forty

Fuck, who even gives a shit?

Forty-One

. . .

Forty-Two

. . .

Forty-Three

…

Forty-Four

Three months. Seventeen days. Nine hours. Twenty-seven minutes.

Forty-Five

Sometimes I HATE THIS FUCKING IMPLANT.

Forty-Six

…

Forty-Seven

Haven’t seen Sammy in a long time either.

Forty-Eight

Eh, she is the Director of Counter-Intel I guess.

Forty-Nine

…but damn these other interrogators just aren’t any fun.

Fifty

Heheh, they all just give up.

Fifty-One

…Bored….

Fifty-Two

…Bored….BORED…Boooooooored…Borrrrrrred…BoooOOOrrrR RRDDDdddddddd…

Fifty-Three

HIIIIIISSSSSSSSSS

“Meal’s here, Lang.”

Oh for the love of all that holy, FINALLY

Corporal Andrew Mather. Really nice guy, one of the few people that actually treats me like a human around here. Only, really get a few minutes to talk to him a day. But not really like I can beg or choose, I'll take any social interaction I can these days.

Well, except for the interrogators, but they usually leave with a bigger mind-fuck than me.

"Damnit Andy, made me lose count."

Heheh, I can't help grinning, priceless look on his face. I wave from my upside-down position. Somehow managed to wedge the cot loose and build myself a sort of pull-up bar.....thing.....yeah. Was in the middle of doing hanging sit-ups.

Didn't forget the number at all, just waiting for Andy to show. Heheh, hates it when I call him that.

"What's the grub this afternoon (I think, well, afternoon somewhere I guess, need to calibrate the neural implant)?

"Knicked some left-over braised nerf and some goop of some sort from the mess hall. Though you might want something over the usual slop"

Grabed the bar and lowered myself to the deck and shook some of the sweat from my hair. It was getting a bit long really, but I kinda like it.

"Awww, thanks. You're sweet."

Did keep my distance though, at least three more guards just around the corner and they did get jumpy. Didn't blame them, just doing their job.

"Ugh, maintenance is going to have to repair that......again......Wait, the security camera didn't......How the hell did you route a loop-feed?"

Okay, now I had to chuckle a little at that one. It was like a game between me and the engineers. Everytime they fixed something I broke, I figured out a different way to get around it. They're getting better at it too, but I still have a few tricks left.

"Uh uh, its a secret. Hey, while they're Naomi-proofing the room again you could take me out on a stroll in the prison wing right. Meet all the other prisoners, throw old rations at them. We could make a date of it, what do you think?"

That got him to shake his head alright.

"Enjoy your food."

HISSSSSSSSSSSSSS

I picked up the tray and leaned back against my work-out contraption. Damn this food wasn't half bad even if it was out of a military mess. Really nice guy, that Andy. Cute, too.
<o>
</o>

[Grace Van-Derveld]

It only took 4.6 seconds for the doors to reopen and display one of the two most infamous criminals of the Galactic Empire, Grace Van-Derveld. The now Director of Intelligence was analyzing the Inquisitor in front of her with controlled malice, well aware that this woman knew nothing of Dasquian's whereabouts. She had been locked up during her partner's execution and was ignorant of what was circulating throughout the universe in the ways of news and gossip.

The brunette was clothed simple. Black shirt rolled at the sleeves to just below her shoulder with white pants tucked into flawlessly polished black boots supported by a weapons belt.

Green eyes dimmed by the years of war regarded the prisoner and the unsanctioned food that she was consuming. Ms. Lang has charmed the guards. It was time to rotate them and would implement that as soon as this interrogation was over.

Under the orders of the Advisory Council, specifically Celeste Starborn, it was Van-Derveld's mission to break Ms. Lang. As comfortable as the prisoner had become accustomed to the Rebellion's hospitality, she was not forthcoming in any information. Otherwise, a model prisoner, minus the hacks. It took their Slicers over two weeks to realize that Ms. Lang was not transmitting anything and stopped the repeated jumps into hyperspace just in case she were. Her cybernetics allowed minimal infiltration into the security cameras, air recycling system, and water reclamation. Her odd playfulness gave the Slicers new routines to shut down some of the Inquisitors coding and provided a nice challenge.

That did not prove true to the Counter Intelligence agents assigned to break her. Every single Operative left this room confused and unsure of themselves and with no information to be had. It was sad and pathetic. A disgrace which force them to cave and call the Intelligence branch. Specifically, Grace.

She stood there, relaxed and hands behind her back, waiting and watching for Ms. Lang to speak first. After reviewing all of the surveillance on her interrogations proceedings, it was best to minimize the conversation and give her less to work with. But of course there was the knowledge that most Inquisitors had the ability to distort the Force and use it to their advantage. Grace was not weak minded. Oblivious to her Lupine heritage, the assassination on Miranda Tarkin by her brother, Vega, had enlightened her in her family's ability to use the Force as well. She had been wondering if she had inherited this trait as well ...

[Naomi Lang]

Ugh, barely a few bites into my food and already I completely lose my appetite. Just my luck, Ms. Grace Van-Derveld, sister to or something to that lap-dog of Sevon. Vega or something? Whatever, didn’t matter. How fraking lucky am I? After years the Empire still can’t get their mitts on her and all I have to do is sit in a eight-by-eight room for a quarter year.
Don’t really like that look she has in her eyes; I can’t tell if its weariness, anger, aggravation, disgust, everything just flashes by so fast I can’t get a grip on it.

Body posture is relaxed but alert and in a definite no-nonsense mode. No hint of impatience though, well not with me that I can tell…yet.

Not talking either

Damn, nothing at all, just a blank slate. She’s good….really good. Maaaaan this is going to be interesting, about time they gave me a challenge to work with.

Just wasn’t expecting the sub-director of Intel.

Well, I can’t really think of anything important to say right now. She’ll probably be expecting an insult or something. Hmmm, need a bit time.

I take a bite of the nerf dish, keep my eyes on Van-Derveld trying to think up something clever.

. . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

Still, nothing, a well, might as well be polite. I extend the plate towards her with a half-full mouth.

“Wan sthum?”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

It was interesting to note the lack of verbal repartee that Ms. Lang had been known for. Grace had glimpsed the briefest looks of surprise before the woman mulled over a retort. When the response was polite, Grace was happy that her assessment of her captive was correct thus far.

She ignored the offer, not wishing to play her games, no matter how innocent they may seem. "You have been a most persistent, and loyal, member of the Empire. Some of the crew that guards you downright think you're playful and not much of a threat."

Her eyes narrowed at the sharp continuation of the truth, "We both know different."

The Rebel tapped at the side of her head, indicating the implant. "You've been coy, but it comes down to this. Either start talking to me or we simply remove it."

Under Belargic's reign, he was quick to avoid torture and work with any prisoners if they were on their best behavior. Ms. Lang had been, but that was then, and this was now. The Advisory Council had no problem with Van-Derveld's decision. Removing it would finally stop the discord Lang was causing and give them hands on experimentation to Inquisitorial technology, something that they believe, should have been done a long time ago. As much as she loved Belargic, he was an incorrigible sop at times to the enemy, but a respected sop at that. To live by his morals without compromise was something she could only hope to portray to the men and women serving under her.

[Naomi Lang]

Yup, my appetite was definitely gone, but I kept on munching at it anyway. Don’t want to give her too much to work with. Grace’s face was a well-known one in greater Imperial territory. Wanted posters in half the galaxy practically screamed, Grace Van-Derveld: Wanted for grand conspiracy, acts of terrorism, and espionage against the Empire, this operative of the Rebellion should be considered armed and dangerous yadda yadda dren, tacked up right next to “Big-Boss-Belargic”.<o>

</o> Of course where a few of the good Director’s acts of terror were slightly embellished, Grace’s where not. The woman was practically a frakking demon as far as the Inquisition was concerned. Didn’t mean that some morals didn’t hide under the tough skin.<o></o>

I wonder what she really is like behind the death-glare and tough-talk. Man, I have waaaaaaay too much fun with this. About damn time they gave me a challenge.<o>

</o> “Heh, c’mon Gracie. Even Sammy brought me out to watch your techs pounding away at my suit like Neanderthals……”<o>

</o> Had to stop for a second and lick some the strangly-textured-but-actually-edible goo. I was finding it a bit difficult to eat the stuff without any utensils.<o>

</o> “…..any chance of getting a spoon?”<o>

</o> Just the same old death-glare. Yeah, I didn’t think so<o>.

</o> “You think they can even figure out which end of a scalpel to use let alone figure out how to get this thing out of my head without killing me?"
<o></o>
I tapped the base of my skull just to correct her positioning a bit. I swear, why did everyone think a neural implant replaced half a person’s brain?<o>

</o> “I mean sure I can see what’s kind of going through your noggin there…” I start juggling my hands from one side to another miming a scale with the plate in one hand. “…dead Imp, live Imp…peace and quiet, pain in the ass…airlock fodder, resource drain."
<o></o>
DAMN, almost dropped a chunk of nerf to the ground. I managed to catch it last second though, move might have been a bit fast because Gracie twitched a hand towards her blaster. Faster than average reflexes, not bad. Still nowhere near Nightmare quality.<o>

</o> “Course dead Imp also means Imp that isn’t saying anything. Do not pass go do not collect two hundred credits.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace flashed a smile, a thinly lip and not amused smile that basically said 'I knew you were going to say that'. Ms. Lang was as predictable as ever.

"Your death also means that we can quit feeding your ass and divert resources to more cooperative individuals that actually wish to talk." Perhaps the comment had been more snippy then intended, but Van-Derveld could sling out the insults just as easily.

"We know quite well that the your implant has limited recording capabilities. If you won't talk, I'm sure that we can manage to make it instead. You see..." she rose a finger not attached to her gun hand, disciplining the air as if Ms. Lang was some child who had thrown a spit ball in school instead of a highly trained Inquisitorial Agent, "... there is a Jedi that we have located who is highly attuned to the ways machines work. Makes him an excellent slicer."

Her hand lowered to rest at her side, "Even if you do delete any stored files on it, I'm quite certain he might persuade the circuitry to remember what was erased."

Now it could be argued that the Rebel was making this up, but after speaking with several Jedi, what she proposed was indeed possible. She was rather taken aback at how powerful and versatile the Force truly was.

Grace straightened her head - proper and erect without any hint of remorse for what she said next. "An acceptable loss, your life, in retrieving something useful for our cause."

[Naomi Lang]

Well now this could possibly changes things a little. Jedi, huh? I’m not sure if I really believe her on that one. Eh, whatever it’s just another factor to mess around with, we’ll get there when we get there.

“Oh, yay, Naomi flys into town. Naomi changes clothes and puts on make-up. Naomi flirts with petty gun-runner. Naomi goes to room, changes again, and booby traps everything just in case. Plan goes to hell, Naomi gets her ass kicked and blacks-out. Oooooo, that sounds like a real fun mission recap.”

I chew down the last bit of the meal and play around with some of the gruel-like stuff that’s left. With a snap of my fingers and grin up at the rebel.

“Ohhhh, you just want a first-person view of me changing don’t you, Gracie?”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace sighed and for once, a small shred of emotion came through her layered shield. But it was not anger, nor was it even a touch of amusement. It was actually a small sliver of disappointment. "Are you sure you still wish to continue on like this?"

Reaching up with her gun hand, she held it palm out towards Ms. Lang and slipped the other one into her pocket. A sign that she was not going to cause the woman any harm. "I want you to be absolutely sure."

A small hand held datapad, without any bells and whistles for Lang to play with, was tossed onto her plate of food. It slopped onto the mish mash of food and managed to, quite happily on the Director's part, splash blotches of gruel over Lang's clothing.

"Because we've learned quite a great deal about your 'Project Nightmare'. Not only would the recording be useful, but so would all of the technology. Once we crack it, we can use it against the Empire that has considered you, and everyone associated with your team, a failure..."

She allowed two beats of her calm heart to pass before continuing. "Or you can simply help us willingly, but I think we both know that won't happen. Your loyalties lie elsewhere. You believe in the will of the Empire and I'm merely wasting my breath in even trying to think there is a shred of decency inside you."

Everything that the Rebel Intel had collected about Project Nightmare was right there for Lang to see. It was quite accurate, disturbingly so, especially with the truth of the Inquisitors disbanding members of Project Nightmare.

Grace's gaze returned to being cold and callous. Inside she was arguing with herself if Lang didn't go for this. She did not want to go through with the threat of surgery. Truthfully, there was a Jedi outside ready to negate any abilities that Lang had so they could cart her off to surgery. She didn't want it to come to that.

Come on Lang... Don't be stupid. Work with me!

[Naomi Lang]

What the frack was she talking about? I didn’t even bother paying attention to the bits of food that suddenly coated my clothes, nor did I really go out of my way to hide my change in demeanor. She had my on that one.

Failure? That was a laugh!

My grin faltered into a scowl. I didn’t drop divert my eyes from hers one bit as I picked up the data pad. The file was displayed in the standard Imperial documentary style. Header was interesting enough for me to bite.


Office of the Inquisitoriate Military Records Submission
Encryption Code: Declassified
Public Key: Not Applicable
From: Office of the Inquisitoriate; Primaris Evaluation Division
To: Galactic Empire High Command; Office of Military Records as per Order 098831A-1
Subject: Preformance Evaluation of Project IS33471-9; Codename: “Nightmare”
Classification: Military


"Aw, cute. Which of your slicers drafted this piece of shit up?"

The bright and bubbly show I put on had almost all disappeared by this point.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

She was angry, but Lang was listening. Finally there was a sliver of a relationship blossoming instead of the previous childish crap that had been taped repeatedly over, and over, and over again to ad nauseam.

"If you take close note of the file numbers, it would be difficult to duplicate that without proper intelligence." Grace's lips puckered just lightly out in thought, "Or you could see the document on page 5 detailing a certain Operative and her squad wiping out one of my Intelligent cells on Roon."

All of the humor drained from the Director's face. Nothing but utter contempt oozed from her voice like cold venom. "If you would like, I could go over the highlights. Six Rebel traitors were killed in the line of duty by well placed demolitions on their safe house. For the four that were not killed, and too injured to fight back, the rest of the team were slaughtered into unrecognizable bits and pieces that we had to put back together in order to identify the families of their loss.

Does this ring any bells now, Ms. Lang?" she snarled, actually baring the sides of her teeth like a sand panther before the attack.

[Naomi Lang]

Roon? That was years ago, just after Project Nightmare had been put together. It was one of the first operations that the team had been dispatched to.

She’s not lying either, I don’t have to have any of those freaky adept powers to hear that.

“Right, like I should feel sorry about a sob story from you. Shit happens, people get killed in war. Ever stop to think how many people are killed by your precious little Alliance or all the wannabes you spawn that chuck pipe bombs in schools, transit terminals, restaurants and call it fighting for the ‘greater good’.”

I chucked the plate to the side, the impact on the wall shattered it into pieces.

“Roon was a test, a trial run. And we were sloppy. Wouldn’t be hard even for some idiot stormtrooper to put two-and-two together.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace shrugged and moved onto another document that would cut closer to the bone. "How about something within the last year then? The Moff Spelar of the Kegan sector perhaps?"

She saw the flash of recognition in Naomi's eyes. "Hired mercenaries to do the dirty work and get noticed, while you whisked the Moff and his close advisers away on his way to meet Zanro, of the Desilijic Hutts. Selling secrets of the Empire to the Hutts was a top priority to squash immediately. He was never found again either. You and your Inquisitors saw to that and pinned the destruction of his office and his kidnapping on us."

Crossing her arms, her chin rose stiffly in the air in disgust, "Even though this was not on the record, but the timing was impeccable. One of Moff Tarkin's passionate rivals to be done away with before her coronation. How strange, no?"

[Naomi Lang]

Shit. She was really getting into shadow-areas now. I remember that one: simple, straightforward, and downright routine for us by then. No one saw us, not a soul, at least not one that saw daylight again. No way anyone could have know the Nightmares were involved, the rest of the Empire thought the rebels were at fault, the Alliance thought a rival hutt clan hired mercs to do the job, and the huts sat around wondering what the hell happened.

I scowled and actually opened the file browsed to the damn document. A few minutes of reading later and another document or two later I was almost to freak-out point. No names of the Nightmares or anyone else on the project….but every frakking service ID number was on the mark.

“Bulltshit!”

Project canceled?! What the nine pits of HELL was Black thinking? Failure my ass! Wait, no no no, Valten would have had to give the final notice. Oh hell his signature was plastered at the bottom for all to see.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Van-Derveld watch as Ms. Lang's anger shifted to proper source. The former Nightmare was perplexed and in complete disbelief that the project had been shut down. As fingers flipped quickly across the keypad and eyes devoured the documents, Ms. Lang could only come to one conclusion with the information presented: Grace Van-Derveld was telling the truth. And for the Inquisitors, the Truth was Law. She was beside herself with the realization that her team was a complete failure.

There was nothing to say that wouldn't sound demeaning or a give a sense of false empathy.

[Naomi Lang]

Frack this! I snarled and threw the data pad into a corner. No way they could have canceled the Nightmares. What happened to the rest of them? The Sir probably just went on to his next task like the good robot lap-dog he was. But every one else? Me?



While Project Nightmare maintains a flawless record and the instatement eight members with no causalities over the course of its operation team. It is the conclusion of this Committee that the cost in resources and lack of overall efficiency greatly outweigh the potential gains offered by the widespread use of military mechano-neuro interfacing.<o>

</o>

Damn, right we were flawless. No way they’re leaving me high and dry.

“Heh…failure…” I practically spat the word. “…the Nightmares never failed. We have never botched a single mission. Not one screw-up.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"An effective army not only completes missions successfully, but they do it in a manner that uses the resources available to them without drowning their government in debt. Side projects are notorious for that, even the Rebellion has had similar failings." It was of no consequence to be general about this admission, and perhaps it would help Ms. Lang relate to Van-Derveld. "What you and your lacked was completing your mission in a decisive, and quick, manner. An exorbitant amount of resources were being pumped into your team with little immediate return. To expand your team would only incur more debt. I'm sure Valten has plans for his Inquisitors and need to allocate money and energy spent elsewhere since Tarkin's rise to the throne."

It was an easy calculation. One experimental project with wasted resources or protecting the Empress as she rebuilds the foundation of a strong Empire?

[Naomi Lang]

“Wha…” The look of confusion I wore put visibly put the rebel off. Her reasoning was sound, logical, economical, whatever other ‘-cal’ adjectives I was to distracted to think up. I keep forgetting that most people think like that. All fine and dandy, too bad she was off the mark by a kilometer.
“…no no NO. You don’t get it.”

I sat on the floor, leaning against the half-destroyed cot, and drew my hands across my face in frustration. Was I freaking out just a bit?
Oh Yeah.

“Valten doesn’t think like that! Everything he does has a dozen different purposes and the ones that make sense are never his real goal.”

I drew my knees to my chest. Probably looked pathetic as all hell, but my mind was spinning gears so fast that I couldn’t keep up with it.

“He’d never does something spontaneous either even if it looks like he does. He ties up every fraking loose end anyone could possibly think of before doing something like that”

I jabbed a finger at the strewn datapad.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Van-Derveld merely watched as Ms. Lang was slowly coming to the realization that the truth was in her hands. That Valten considered them obsolete and was probably going to hunt down every member of Project Nightmare to kill them, instead of reassigning them as stated in the document.

So unfortunately, yes. Grace Van-Derveld certainly got it quite well. She was once a part of the great Galactic Empire herself, a soldier who's loyalty was unwavering.

She was actually quite sympathetic to Ms. Lang's plight. One week after leaving the Corulag Academy on her own volition, and only because the repercussions of staying were unbearable, Grace had broken down in anger and wails of a life she felt was not worth living any longer. She had been betrayed by the very ideals that she worshiped.

And now Ms. Lang had been too ...

[Naomi Lang]

Was that pity in her eyes? Miss Vice-Director doesn’t have clue, none of them do. They….

“…don’t understand!”

Shit! What am I missing here! As much as a lapdog as the Sir is he doesn’t abandon missions. He’s too much of a machine to accept anything other than perfection...

“…Helghast wouldn’t accept it and he’s the only one with the balls to openly stand against Valten."

I can’t really differentiate much between thought and speech right now, but I’m still observant enough to know that Gracie hasn’t heard that name before.

I gulped down a deep breath and tried to think clearly; tried to ignore the looks she’s giving me. Pity is the wrong thing right now.

“He wouldn’t scrap a mission…can’t…scrap a mission. Not unless….”

My eyes widened right about then. The suit. The plan. The mission. I’d been had before we even started.

“…it was already part of plan.”

Okay, okay, stay calm. I'm a prisoner on a ship; that one's easy enough. Prison ships always have escorts. Communication is done using short-range recievers. Good, good no risk there.

Sweat started beading on my head.

Where? Uhm...uhm.....deep space...easiest place to hide is in deep space. Easy to hide because no charts out this far. Not enough travellers to update navigation data. Only way not to get lost is use known reference points like......uhhh....holonet satellites because of the amount of data going through. Easy to miss one tiny querry in billions.

Not good, not good. But they only need to update every few days; maybe...frell! Long-range coms needed holonet or it'd take decades to get orders back from any command structure...

My eyes focused on Van-Derveld again.

...or call in an officer for an interrogation.
She must have been saying something because she was snapping fingers in my face.

I sprang up to my feet faster than Grace could react and crossed the distance faster than any normal human could. But I’m not normal, hell, I’m not really even human anymore.

She began to grab for a weapon, but I wasn’t trying to hurt her. My hands found a grip on her shoulders and I was nearly lifting her off the deck.

“When’s the last time any ship in this flotilla made a holonet connection?!”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

A few snaps of Van-Derveld's finger and Ms. Lang was still considerably distracted by the musings of her head. Upon the fourth one, realization dawned on the Inquisitor that a Rebel Officer was still inside the cell.

"Ms. Lang!" she said sharply and was about to inquire further when the woman came at her. She was fast, Grace had to admit. There wasn't any time to pull out her weapon.

"Frell!" Grace fumbled for her weapon but it was clear in the Inquisitors eyes that fear had taken hold of her heart. Frightened hands gripped her shoulders, forcing Van-Derveld to stumble for support.

“When’s the last time any ship in this flotilla made a holonet connection?!”

The urgency in Ms. Lang's voice halted any further progress in removing those hands off her person. "Roughly two standard days ago."

Eyes narrowed, wondering where this was going but Grace began to feel her stomach churn with dread. "Why?"

[Naomi Lang]

“Heheheh.” Lang fell on the ground, she couldn’t help but giggle madly at the irony of the situation. Valten was one damn, clever, bastard.

“Because it only takes half that time for the Inquisition to trace your coordinates."

Naomi's blunt statement elicited several odd looks from the rebels.

"There is a passive virus in your communication systems that attaches itself to outgoing holonet transmissions. They've been watching this flotilla for months."

Lang, still shaking miserably, looked up at the shocked expressions on the rebel’s faces.

“Get it yet? I was supposed to be captured, my job was to get the virus into your system. Things didn't quite go as planned, but your technicians blundered around well enough to do the job for me.

Naomi gulped deeply more scared at the thought of what was tracking them in the void than any feeling of betrayal from the Inquisitoriate.

"But if Valten pulled the plug on Nightmare and you're here at the same time? Well, then we're both obsolete........and everyone on this ship is dead. Two birds with one stone."

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace, if she was any mere mortal, would have blanched and begun to panic with such news being revealed. Lang had been a good soldier for the Empire this entire time, but only under duress of death by her Commander, was she willing to save her own skin.

"Why haven't they attacked sooner?" came her question. There were plenty of high profiled prisoners here. Snooping around for months would have revealed that, personnel on the ships, and a manifest of supply runs with coordinates. "There have been plenty of opportunities."

She found it doubtful that Lang was lying, her fear was palpable and it made her spine shiver with recognition.


* * *

As Grace continued to question the prisoner, Technicians and Slicers were frantically attempting to find the virus and squash it. Sub-routines and countless programs were going off in attempt to even locate the damnable bug as the ship quickly made its way into hyperspace. They couldn't hide there forever, but it would buy them enough time to eliminate the problem and find another home for the Rebellion's prisoners.

[Naomi Lang]

“That’s not going to be enough.”

Naomi felt the telling tingle of the transition from realspace to hyperspace. She was hoping that there’d been enough time. Wishful thinking, a few days was more than enough time the Inquisitoriate needed.

“Attack? Openly?” The former Inquisitorial agent hauled herself up to her feet. “It won’t happen that way, not with the Inquisition.”

Not any sort of answer that Grace would be looking. But Lang was a bit preoccupied with….uhhhhhh….living in the present and near-future instead of wondering why they hadn’t died in the past.

She leveled her eyes on the guards standing between her and the exit. Naomi wanted out and she wanted out NOW.

“Get me to a hardline connection to the ship’s mainframe, NOW. I can kill the virus if you give me enough time.”

Yeah, like that would work.

[Unknown]

The engine room was not hard to find. The ship had a very standard layout, of course no one could not expect much from a prison ship. Even the trek from the garbage bay was not complex, very little personnel as well. With only a guard here and there, it would have been easy for any trained soldier to navigate through the snake-like corridors without being seen by the minimal amount of guards.
<o></o>
The belly of the ship was quiet; one wrong, heavy step could alert the lower deck workers. The small group of six bodies moved silently around a corner and moved like water down the last stretch of the hall to the engine room door. The black armored figure held up a hand, signaling for the others to stop.
<o></o>
Tap…Tap
<o></o>
A black armored gauntlet wrapped against the engine room door; it was a simple technique. The squad of monochromatic soldiers held silent, listening. The clink of technician’s boots could be heard approaching the door. With a hiss, the door opened and it was the man’s biggest mistake. With super human-like speed the black figure had a blade stuck in the poor man’s throat, most definitely severing the man’s voice box in half in the process of killing him. The door shut with a hiss and left there was still silence, as if nothing had happened. The team began the mission at hand and the black figure hid the dead man behind a large blinking structure far from the door.
<o></o>
The five white armored soldiers roamed like mice, each doing a different task. One held fast at the engine room door, listening for any approaching footsteps. The others scanned the room for anything that looked as if it could be something important. The black armored soldier surveyed the room, flashing lights from the control pad in front of two large pillars looked quite promising. The soldier ducked under the large control panel and squeezed between the two pillars. Pulling a vibro-edged short knife from a hip container, the black figure began to cut through any metal plug that looked to have power running through it.
<o></o>
Wom…wom…wom…wom... The black figure smiled beneath its helmet as the familiar sound of a ship exiting hyperspace filling the air. Stage 1 of the mission was complete. The group of soldiers braced as the ship’s engines slowed, there was no doubt that the whole ship was now on alert.
<o></o>
The group moved quickly, they all knew they had little time to move. The black figure pointed at two of the white armored soliders and a mechanical voice came across the groups’ radio comlink. ”With me.”
<o></o>
Turning, the black soldier pointed at the three others. “Find the main deck. Kill everything you see. No fire arms until your destination.”
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Both groups headed toward the engine room door. Hiss… The two groups were off in different directions. The black solider took the lead of the first group as transparent images came across the inside of the helmet visor. Tapping into an implant, the images of the corridors shifted and a red light began to flicker through the faint images, their destination was now determined. The three soldiers traveled swiftly, heading toward the prisoner blocks.
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