Point-Blank Skirmish

[Pierce Tondry]

The stars shone outside the transparisteel window of the Valiant. They shone and shone and shone and yet they could not truly break the emptiness of outer space.

He likened it to the death of morality brought about by the rise of the Empire. The strong, courageous few who stood for right remained suspended in a perilous void that sought always to extend a yawning, cavernous maw and consume whole those tiny morsels on which it fed.

The galaxy could not have provided a more upside-down place for his boots to land. And yet, after turning the Imperial base at Gestron into a smoking wreck, where else existed that a man could disappear to?

And so, here he stood, out of the way in the general mess hall of a Mon Calamari star cruiser. Stoic. Alone. Almost despised, he guessed. His fatigues still bore Imperial insignia. For all anyone around him knew, he was a captive and not an ally. The tracking collar around his neck probably reinforced that perception.

"Sir? I have a message for you. Director Van-Derveld says that you are needed urgently in her private quarters."

Needed urgently. For anyone else, the message might seem an invitation to a nice dinner with a frolic in the sack afterwards. Coming from Ice Bitch Van-Derveld, it meant something somewhere was amiss.

The thought gave him pause. Even now on the same side, the old animosity still reared a grotesque head.

Turning, he regarded the messenger. A young man, fresh-faced stood in ensign's dress. Probably just out of whatever training the Rebellion cobbled together. Young enough that no blood stained his smooth hands; that the faces of right and wrong still looked distinctly different from each other.

"I got here yesterday ensign," he stated in a voice full of scars. "I have no clue where that is."

"Oh!" the ensign seemed to wake up. "Deck 10, room A-15. Security has been instructed to let you through."

A curt nod and his attention departed towards whatever lay in store for him. A nervous question from the ensign brought it back. "S-sir? Is it true what they're saying? That you really destroyed the Geston garrison?"

Hazel eyes fixed his questioner like twin turbolasers, charged to fire. The ensign shrunk while the target of his inquiry said nothing, but through either a kernel of bravery or sheer curiosity the ensign did not retract the question.

"No! My pie!" A sudden yell drew the attention of all. A small, green being slid down a table about twenty yards away on one of the lunch trays. His claw-tipped hands gripped a pie of some kind and looking after him in dismay stood one K. Perris according to the name on the pilot fatigues. Around him, his comrades stood with their own lunches, laughing.

The green man grinned back at his victim, only to miss the sudden end of the table. With an "Aaaaaaaah!" he tumbled to the floor and the purloined pie flew from his hands. Perris ran after it, only to have it land with a gentle splat against the side of his face.

The ensign snickered, turning. "Sir, did you see- sir?"

No one remained there to answer his question. The scene of comic comradery lent itself to a quick disappearance and his nature seized the opportunity. Like a ghost, or perhaps a tome of legend hiding incognito among a library of dusty books, Pierce Tondry slipped from the room and began stalking the future that waited for him.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Tondry, Pierce
Sergeant and CO of Biker Recon Tau Six
Serial number 773486-T
Assignment: Imperial Star Destroyer Stalker

The unit had been deployed to Hoth, contributing to its capture. It also served on Endor, but Tondry was no longer assigned to that unit. In fact, no one knew where the Sergeant had disappeared too. Now Intel had been enlightened by the Imperial Ghost himself. The former Black Operative had abandoned the Empire in a way they would not soon forget. That rumor he had obliterated the entire Geston garrison was true.

It was also true that he had sabotaged a Rebellion facility on Ando - a communication relay station. Not only did he manage to kill the entire crew 0f 17 and force the Rebellion Slicers to create a new encryption key, he had lured a rescue team by sending out a distress call. What they were able to piece together is that he locked down the facility, overrode the computer system so the rescue team was too distracted to notice the Imperial Garrison slowly surrounding them. As far as Intel had managed to dig up, all members of that team had been killed.

And now Grace Van-Derveld had invited this man to her personal quarters. She could imagine the rumor and speculations. The Alliance was prone to whispers and intrigue - and not just the grunts either. Even the upper echelon was prone to whispers, especially a certain Bothan sitting on the Advisory Council. She never desired praise or recognition, and in turn, did not care what others thought of her. As long as she did her job and provided results, they could kiss her ass.

She was sitting on her couch, datapads and paper notes scattered all over the coffee table: The datapad that detailed Tondry was still in hand. She had a feeling that both of them knew each other quite well, at least on paper. She was certain that Tondry had a file stored away in his head, detailing all of Van-Derveld's activities as a wanted terrorist against the Empire.

Soon they would find out just how much of their profiling was accurate.

[Pierce Tondry]

Predictably, the final security checkpoint (two guards outside Grace's quarters) did not let him through without a hassle.

"I'm here to see Van-Derveld," was how it started.

"That's Director Van-Derveld. And maybe she doesn't want to see a scum-sucker like yourself," one of the guards sneered.

"Garrett," his companion warned.

Here we go... "I was specifically asked to come here, so either I was lied to or you're needlessly getting in the way," Pierce stated flatly. "My bet's the latter."

"Oh, there's always a need to get in the way of an Imperial rat," the guard's tone got soft and dangerous. "Gotta keep the vermin out of the house, y'know?"

"Garrett!" his companion barked. "You heard the orders, same as me. Director wants to talk to him. Let him through."

"He's talking good sense Garrett," Pierce said, hoping a calm and even tone would defuse tempers. "Listen to the man."

Garrett's eyes narrowed. He took a step forward, marking the moment when the situation temporarily went to hell.

Garret's partner stepped forward as well, inserting himself in front of Pierce. As he did so, however, he released his grip on the blaster rifle slung from his shoulder. Without hesitation, Pierce grabbed the trigger's handlegrip. With a tug, Pierce pulled the intervening guard off balance and snaked his free arm around the other's neck into a restraining headlock. The hand with the weapon brought it up to point directly at Garrett's face.

BANG!

Pierce only yelled the word, but it certainly had the desired effect. Garrett flinched and fell over himself trying to back away. With slow, deliberate movements Pierce adjusted the rifle's direction until it pointed at his captive's head. "Bang," he said quietly.

Garrett scrambled for his weapon but Pierce re-aimed the rifle at him. "I prefer sniping," he said. "But don't think I can't handle myself in a point-blank skirmish."

Shoving the captive to the floor, Pierce stepped over him to Grace's door. He raised his hand to knock-

- and the door opened to reveal Director Grace Van-Derveld herself aiming a personal blaster at him.

The two of them stared at each other for a brief eternity, her cold, hard eyes locked with his dead, unyielding ones in an unfathomable struggle. Neither flinched, nor looked away, nor backed down from the other.

Pierce broke the silence. "Pierce Tondry, reporting as requested," he identified himself, emphasizing the last words for the benefit of his audience.

Grace did not holster her weapon. "What happened?" she asked him directly.

"A scene from a bad holonovel," Pierce answered. "Though I think next time Garrett here will reconsider how overprotective he was."

Grace's stare finally broke from Pierce's to impale Garrett instead. The toppled guard squirmed, but said nothing.

Grace straightened, holstering her weapon. "Come in," she said, and began walking towards a plush couch. Pierce stepped inside and the door shut behind him.

Barely concentrating on the apartment's finery, Pierce addressed Grace before she could address him. "I'll be honest," he said. "I'm wondering why you haven't thrown me out an airlock yet."

[Grace Van-Derveld]

She hummed, her features considering the question. "I'm quite certain it can be arranged. You're far from popular."

No one trusted Tondry. He had been one of their biggest threats against operations and both Van-Derveld and Belargic, at the time, had classified him on the Rebellion's Most Wanted List - Dead or Alive, though most Rebels were chomping at the bit at the dead part. More realistic operatives, like Van-Derveld, would appreciate the chance to interrogate him. Tondry would have been a challenge. Would have, though. Now he was a Rebel, under protest from High Command. Her retort was if she had to deal with the likes of Kazaar, then Tondry could be allowed a chance to prove himself. That had silenced them. At least for now, but if the former Imp stepped out of line just once, her ass was toasted.

The room was decorated by Dasquian, since Grace's ability for interior design was lacking. Several paintings from various worlds outlined the walls, the desk in the corner display honors and commendations and a picture of the former Director and Van-Derveld at the Weary Traveler cantina on Tatooine. They had been caught in the moment: Grace was sipping her ale and looking off to the side, but Dasquian held his typical bright smile with an arm on the back of Grace's chair, toasting the young farm boy that had snapped it, in hopes for a few credits. He had bought the picture and framed it for a birthday gift. Now it just sat there on her desk as a reminder of once was.

"However, once you relinquished yourself into our custody, were cooperative with your debriefing that could be correlated with evidence supporting your claims, we find ourselves at the present. We have use of your skills, and I know you want to hurt the Imperials for what they did. I can provide you with the first of many chances right now."