Maiden Flight

[Reinhart Thul]

The ship's manifest of the Kuari Princess accounted for a potential of three-thousand, eight-hundred and forty passengers (including organic crew.) Sixty troopers made up the security detail, leaving each man responsible for sixty-four of the liner's passengers – providing every member of the security team was on duty, every hour of the day. There were also at least five-hundred droids, though many of them were programmed only to deal cards or serve drinks.

Reinhart Thul reviewed these details again as he sat in his cabin. To his knowledge, he was the only member of the Imperial Inquisitoriate housed within the primary passenger deck. His ticket had been a gift of sorts from his superiors, though now that he was on board he understood why they had chosen this particular moment to show some sense of generosity.

With a pen, Thul made a mark beside the cabin numbers whose occupants names were familiar. There was at least two Moffs on board, a handful of naval officers and a pair of Imperial Security Bureau agents. There were other high-profile figures too – people involved in sports or entertainment – but lower decks were priced modestly enough to allow the average, working Imperial citizen to buy his way on board. Whether or not they could then afford the price of the many casinos, nightclubs, saunas, shopping arcades and more... that was another matter entirely.

Folding the manifest, Thul tucked the sheaf of paper into the pages of a book and slipped this inside his jacket. There was a packet of unopened cigarras on his bunk-side table, which he also pocketed. His blaster and its holster lay untouched in a secure compartment, where they would remain until at least after dinner. There were numerous restaurants on board, catering to all tastes (though notably only to the Human palate, as there were no alien passengers.) Thul called ahead to one eatery, choosing at random, and reserved a table for two. Within minutes, he was riding a turbolift to the higher decks.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

A Mr. and Mrs. Colen Sithm had already booked one of the larger cabins for their honeymoon. Their luggage had been scanned thoroughly, like anything that had been brought aboard and stored in their room. The manifest had showed that they had checked in already but currently their cabin was empty and quite devoid of any debauchery that would ensure on a newlyweds first night together. Champagne was growing colder by the hour, wondering when it was going to pop open in celebration.


* * *

A large metallic supply crate in storage suddenly cracked opened quietly by deft hands catching it before it fall upon the ground. Slender hands set it against the ground without a sound before a small black hand held device was produced. The green light fixed to it never changed colors.

"We're clear," came a muffled, feminine voice from within as the crate lid was pushed aside. Two well dressed feet appeared that clicked against the floor wearing blue high heels. Long legs soon followed before a matching blue dress that gave way to a bare shoulder appeared. Once she was standing upright, the dress' fabric covered her legs and the holdout blaster and vibro knife that was safely strapped around her thigh. Pulling out the metallic breathing device from her lips, Grace Van-Derveld, Director of Rebel Intelligence, began fixing her hair up that had become disheveled from their transportation. She then went into several stretching exercises to loosen up stiffened muscles that protested painfully from the exertion. "The rest of our equipment should be in the quarters already. We'll just need to keep a low profile until we get there."

It was difficult having someone else be her partner in a mission, and for four hours cramped inside the crate together with one of her other colleagues was a testament to her drive in seeing the Empire crumble. At least being the Director had perks. She got to outline the mission details and pick the male that would be masquerading as her husband - Dashiel Starborn.

[Dashiel Starborn]

Dash unfolded himself from the crate, feeling sensation return slowly to his aching limbs.

“I still don't understand why I had to ride in there too,” he said as he massaged some of the ache from his shoulders – but when he caught a sharp glance from Grace, he lifted his eyebrows in a smile to show that he was only kidding. Should've known better than to joke with the Director... Their journey had been long and uncomfortable, in just about every way. The only mercy was that neither occupant of the crate came from a species liable to stink the place out, though the pair were hardly fresh as daisies as they tried to straightened out their clothing.

Fishing into his pocket, Starborn pulled out a flimsy map of the Kuari Princess. It was inscribed in painfully small, precise lines and lettering. He rotated it ninety degrees in his hands, then flipped it one-eighty, trying to get his bearings.

“We can rendezvous with the others once we've got the lay of the land... or decks, even.” His face twisting in confusion, Dash tilted the floor plan again. “Any idea where we are, Director?”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Coming up alongside Starborn, a hand stopped the young Spy from moving the map yet again by holding one of his forearms firm in her grip. A critical eye examined the map and she released his arm in a matter of seconds.

"If you would." Though it was no question, Grace took the map and aligned it from forward to aft, with the top of the vessel facing upwards. She dangled it once, beckoning Starborn to fetch it in his hands and pointed at the lower decks. "We're here."

She walked away towards the lift exit without another word. It actually made her physically ill to be working alongside Dashiel Starborn. His humor and outlandish difficulties in such simple aspects of their mission reminded her too much of Dasquian. That is why there was no banter, or hints of unspoken humor and understanding passed between them. All of that had died with the man she loved.

Wiping a bead of unshed perspiration from her forehead, Grace inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly as a small wave of nausea passed. Her insides felt twisted and numb, but the Director had enough control that her psychosomatic symptoms would not incapacitate her.

[Dashiel Starborn]

Music designed to be as inoffensive and inobtrusive as possible filled the turbolift, as it travelled with liquid-smoothness upwards into the Kuari Princess. Framed pictures of various attractions the ship had to offer decorated the walls. One advertised the fact that the Max Reebo Band would be playing on board (the extra e covertly alluding to the fact that this was not the same Max Rebo band to have entered Jabba the Hutt.) Another proudly proclaimed the presence of a distinguished theatre troupe on board. A third showed pictures of happy diners enjoying food cooked by smiling chefs.

Closing his eyes, Dash tried to internalise it all. Unlike his cousin Jane, his memory was not flawless. Periodically, he would remind himself of their cover story and the choice selection of anecdote's to be reused and recycled if they were questioned, by security or otherwise. Beside him, Grace remained look about as grim and statuesque as he had ever seen her – yet when the turbolift doors began to his open, her arm slipped into the crook of his and her features smoothed into an impeccable mask of quiet curiosity.

What lay beyond the doorway was a wide, circular chamber whose walls seemed to extended hundreds of feet into the air. There, what must have been hundreds of floors above them, Dash could see a patch of starlight, sparkling in through a domed window. Hundreds of people moved to and fro in front of them, and no one noticed their presence except the attendant who stood beside the turbolift. He leant towards them, courteous as could be, though Dash noted a dim hint of uncertainty in his eyes as he looked them over.

“Can I help you sir, ma'am?”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

She noticed his curiosity and hoped that it was just concern that reflected back, at least for the most part. Such an event as this warranted some suspicious feelings towards the guests.

Grace leaned further into Dashiel, her head nuzzling into her 'husband's' shoulder for comfort and protection as she sighed horribly, "I'm not feeling at all well. You'd think I would have grown some sort of legs in space, but still it makes me dreadfully ill."

By the look on attendant's face, she must have looked as bad as she proclaimed, which was not a lie. Pale and ready to throw up at a moment's notice would move anyone into action.

"Could you please point out the quickest way to our cabin so that I may lay down?" And not vomit all over your precious expensive floors that were immaculately polished until the cleaning droids blew a circuit.

Any doubts of their appearance were forgotten. The attendant fumbled for their tickets and pointed towards the nearest lifts. "Take that lift to floor 4a and turn right. You should be able to find it quickly after that."

Dashiel retrieve their tickets and huddled closer to his wife as she clung closer, muttering amongst themselves, which looked completely innocent. What husband wouldn't be whispering small words of encouragement and concern towards his sick spouse?

[Dashiel Starborn]

Though he acted the part as well as he could, Dash felt his insides squirming. The Director was a professional, he understood that much, but there was a bristling irritation about her that he felt was close to boiling point. It was a mystery to him still why she'd wanted to come on this mission herself, in the first place, but seeing such a seasoned agent in the field was not something he could complain a great deal about. As they moved into the turbolift, Dash leant in close, muttering his 'concerned husband' voice again.

“I can do a little recon alone, if you need some time out.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

With a charming smile that looked fondly upon such attention, Grace placed a hand over his heart and looked up at Dashiel as the doors to the lift closed. Her usual scowl returned, but did not back away in case others boarded the lift. "I'm fine. We stick to the plan. Check in with our gear and split up for retcon."

[Dashiel Starborn]

“Right.”

It had been a shot in the dark, to think that she might want to rest and recuperate, but at least he'd put that possibility out there. They rode the turbo-lift to the fourth floor and took the right hand corridor as they had been instructed, trailing behind a giggling couple who sounded as if they'd already hit the complementary bar pretty hard.

The Director waited until they were out of sight before removing herself from Dash's hold on her, taking the lead as she keyed open the door to the suite they'd been provided. Without any sense of delicacy or embarrassment, she hitched up the edge of her dress and pulled a knife from a sheath that was strapped to her thigh, squeezing the hilt tightly in her fist as she lead the way into the dim room.