Obscured: Something Wicked This Way Comes... [Complete]

[Ysanne Isard]

Somewhere deep down in the bowels of Coruscant, a lone figure sat upon a chair ringed in by controls. The chair was black, high and without any comforts to anyone of any species. It retained a certain elegance in its simplicity, however.

What the chair lost in style, though, its surroundings made up for. It was totally encircled by control consoles - controls to the multitude of view-screens and computer-screens and data-screens that made up the walls of the room the chair was the center of.

The light from the screens was the only illumination in the room, and a dim one at that. But the individual flickering lights shone brightly enough to bathe the center of the room in brightness.

The chair swivelled around to face the brightest source of light, and slowly the person sitting on that chair came into focus.

It was Ysanne Isard, unmistakably.

Her eyes glittered in the dark, and shadow and light danced on her face as she scrutinized one screen after another. It made her features appear somewhat less strict, made her look somewhat more human.

She had been sitting there for over 3 hours, when finally something on one of the screens commanded her attention. A triumphant expression gave away her mood, and she slowly rose from the chair, swung away one side, and stepped down.

As she exited the room, halting for a second to download what she had just seen onto her own datapad, she smiled for the first time that day, and announced to the empty room,

"Well, Moranda... I have you now."

Then she left.

[Moranda Savich]

…Two steps forward, 12 inches up…

Moranda frowned, and paused in mid-step. Now what in space was that supposed to mean? 12 inches up?

She stared at her datapad as if her stare alone could melt it, but the instructions on it failed to change into anything more specific. So far, it had been nice and simple, just directions – left and right, how many steps; but now how was she supposed to move upwards if there was nothing but air in front of her?

Her left knee was starting to tremble under the weight she was putting on it. That wasn’t a good sign – she would have to do something, fast, to change her posture and ease the strain on her bones.

Damnit – if I ever get out of this place, I’ll hunt down and personal kill the fool who invented old age…

If indeed she would ever get out of this alive. Coming here – just coming to Coruscant alone - was a risky thing to do for her; the last time she had bothered to check, the number of warrants out for her head had multiplied by three since two years before that. She wouldn’t be surprised at all, actually, if that damn Isard woman had an entire division set up just to track and hunt down Moranda Savich. It was a flattering idea, sure, but even though playing cat-and-mouse with dodgy looking Intel undercover-agents for years, she was growing mighty tired of the game. Then again, she couldn’t possibly expect the proud head of Intel to be any more lax in her attempts to capture her, especially after getting that note of advice from Moranda about the ineffectiveness of her agents that time. It was probably the reason for the increase in warrants.

That Moranda had come here at all therefore, had to do with an extraordinary meeting she had had recently with a young man whose father she had once crossed paths with. He had ostensibly been looking for a kind of family heirloom he put great value on, but somehow, by the end of their sojourn, had been more intent to hunt down the killer of his father than anything else.

Yes, Jalib Brandl had been easy prey for her. She had fed him a few lies – backed them up with a few half-truths she was fortunate to know about – and as a result he now considered her something of a partner. And while he was off hunting that poor girl – who, in Moranda’s eyes, had done the galaxy a favour ridding it of that tyrannical bastard Adalric – she had decided to “assist” him and go after his initial target. Of course, he didn’t know that she never intended to return it to him once she got it – from his description alone she knew that the sword he was looking for was of great value… and something very much sought after in certain circles.

So she had come to Coruscant, and, with the aid of a note given to her by Jalib, had found a lot more doors opening to her than she would usually have found. It was amazing what the mention of a name could do, really. As such, it hadn’t taken very long to sniff out where this sword was supposed to be – the only trouble that had presented itself then was that the last owner had died rather unexpectedly and his entire collection of antiques had been turned over to the Galactic Museum of Historical Art.

So that was why she was here, now, trying in the dark to get to the damn thing. Getting the plans for the museum had been the easiest part – getting to the object itself was turning out to be more of a problem than she had expected.

Maybe 12 inches up meant she would have to lift her feet 12 inches? That would make sense, if the museum floor was griddled by infra-red light beams – an extra layer of security she hadn’t expected, though. She got out her sensor goggles from the waist-pack – something she should have done much sooner, in any case – and put them on.

And indeed: the floor was criss-crossed in a network of thin red lines, a few inches off the ground. Aided by her new sight, she gingerly made her way across it, towards the next chamber.

From far away, she could hear noises like a soft whispering, but they seemed to drift in from the outside – not from the museum itself. It could not be – there were no security guards stationed here; no one could be here apart from herself. She shook her head – phantom voices. Her hearing must be getting worse, too.

[Ysanne Isard]

The small party of Intel SpecOps agents had entered the building via a much simpler way: the back door. The curator of the museum had been extremely forthcoming – if though a little flustered; once he had realised that the nightmare vision of Ysanne Isard waking him from his sleep was very much the real thing, he had given them complete access over the building, and even offered to be their guide.

That had not been necessary. The team already was familiar with the layout of every room in the museum – and all of the security measures.

Dressed in matte black combat gear that looked a little out of place amongst all the splendour of the objects around them, the twelve team members were walking towards a small door let into the tapestry of one of the biggest rooms in the museum. Behind that door was the control room for security – and now the command center of the team’s leader: Ysanne Isard, of course.

This time, she was determined to be there herself. The Savich woman would not escape; none of the agents would give any less than his very best with Isard there, especially if their lives were on the line. No more excuses – not this time.

She thought back to that day two years ago, when one of her encrypt people had brought her the message Moranda had somehow managed to slip unnoticed into their so-secure communications system. It still managed to raise her ire, even to this day. No – failure on this day would be impossible; and punishable by death.

She now scrutinized each team member as they all filed into the room. Handing out the small comm-gear units to every agent, she spent the next minute fastening her own to her suit and ear. With that in place, the entire team could communicate easily without having to fear being overheard.

Then she addressed them one last time in a low voice.

“So far, you have been briefed on the location and the target we are going to arrest tonight. We have just received word of the reason our target is here – she is after an object in hall 271; a steel sword with silver handle. The reason for her interest in that object is still unclear, but of no importance. What IS important is that we finally catch her.

Some of you have had to do with the target before; you know that she is extremely dangerous, and extremely smart. Those of you who haven’t – you have been briefed on those previous experiences. If the target suspects our presence at all, she will find a way to escape before we even get close enough.

Therefore, we have devised a plan that will bring us close enough before she begins to suspect. Using the natural advantages of the museum, we will…”

The plan wasn’t complicated, and didn’t take too long to explain. But nevertheless she insisted on having each agent repeat it to her once she was done, just in case. Then she assigned each to a specific task, and sent them off.

Activating the controls for the security cameras all over the museum, she sat down in front of the monitor wall, and settled in for the wait – all the while keeping Moranda Savich’s slow progress towards Hall 271 in full view.

[Moranda Savich]

Hall 271 was just ahead – finally. Moranda felt quite excited about it, actually – and more than glad that the instructions had been right. She had begun to worry for the past ten minutes if she was going in the right direction, but apparently, all was indeed correct.

What was rather odd was that the map indicated that there were no security features in this part of the museum, but she would still occasionally come upon a few of the criss-cross beams she had encountered earlier on. She had decided to put it down to the map being a bit older than the last upgrade of the security in this place.

It wasn’t usually like Moranda to be so little careful – indeed, if this had been any other place, a discrepancy between her map and the reality would have rung alarm bells in her mind, but for some reason they didn’t seem to be switched on today. Maybe it was simply because according to all reports she had gathered before this night, break-ins into the museum weren’t anything problematic – a fact that the authorities seemed to be totally oblivious to.

Whatever the reason was, her carelessness hadn’t triggered any alarms in the building so far – things were going well. And as she came to a stop in the gateway to hall 271, her excitement even increased.

There it was: the sword that had once belonged to the Brandl family was now firmly in the hold of a rustically dressed, life-size statue that graced the center of the large hall. A soft light from beneath was caught by the blade and outlined it at the same time, creating an eerie effect that almost made it look like it was one of those lightsabers.

Moranda slowly walked towards it, admiring the excellent craftsmanship that the sword showed to her clearer and clearer with every step she got closer to it. It was truly a great work of art – worth possibly hundreds of thousands of credits…

Finally she stood directly before the blade. Ornate carvings were let into the steel, all the way from the tip to the hilt. The handle itself seemed to be made out of solid gold, with the same intricate carvings – she could dimply make out the shape of a bird in flight as the handle wove its way around the bearer’s hand. And it---

She leaned closer. It was to her as if that same hand had just moved; not much – just a slight tremble – but moved anyway. Only then did it occur to her to take a closer look at the statue holding the sword: a statue that looked just a bit too life-like for her taste. For example, she was sure that it wasn’t supposed to blink, or have a twitching nostril…

Backing away a few steps, she now realised that she had most likely run into more trouble than she could afford. That thought was confirmed when the statue suddenly jumped down from the small pedestal, and swung the sword at her. Moranda turned to flee.

And stopped short once more, as at least a dozen dark shapes detached themselves from the shadows they had been hiding in, and blocked her off from the exit. But it wasn’t just that which made her stop – for over the public speaker system, there came a voice Moranda would have given anything not to have to hear just then.

“Good Evening, Moranda. Glad you agreed to join us – if you would be so nice as to follow my men, they’ll escort you to the party we’re giving in your honour tonight.”

The voice dripped with sarcasm and private triumph, and very clearly belonged to the one woman Moranda had most reason to hate: Ysanne Isard. And she had no doubt in her mind that whatever “party” they had organized for her, it would most likely be her own funeral party.

[Ysanne Isard]

She allowed the slightest hint of a triumphant smirk to disgrace her face, as her eyes followed the slow progress of her team of agents and their prisoner as they made their way back to the temporary command center.

It had been a long time she had been looking forward to this moment. Moranda Savich had been on her list for all too long - now that she had her, she would not get away.

But maybe not quite the way Moranda feared.

Standing up as she heard the men approaching, she was prepared for this meeting - it would advance some of her plans enormously if it would go as she had planned it. How fortunate that Moranda would drop almost into her lap at a time like this.

The black-clad men led her in; Moranda did not seem to have any amount of fight left in her. It wasn't exactly like Isard had envisioned her capture to be, but maybe that was better. A sharp motion of her hand, and Moranda stepped closer - if a little unwillingly. Another motion of her hand, and her men left the room as silently as they had entered it.

"Sit!"

Isard indicated for her captive to take the chair she had been sitting in herself. Moranda complied, still not having uttered a single word.

"I do not think you are foolish enough to believe you can escape. The only way out of here is past me, and before I can allow that to happen, many things will have to be said and done."

Her words did not imply that it was impossible, however, and Moranda's eyebrows rose. But the woman still did not speak.

"I have spent years sending my men out searching for you, always on the verge of hunting you down and catching you, yet now that you are mine to dispose of, I have decided to spare you the punishment I had put in store for you."

She leaned back against one of the monitors, and watched her captive's reaction to her last words.

[Moranda Savich]

By the time her captors had reached whatever place they were bringing her too, Moranda had had her mind made up not to give Isard whatever satisfaction she sought to get from her final capture. And until a moment ago, she had assumed that the one thing Isard had been expecting was for her to play the rebellious prisoner, proud and arrogant and very much defiant. So she had been playing the direct opposite of that, just to deny Isard that triumph.

Only that something about this plan seemed to have gone wrong just then. Contrary to Moranda’s own expectations about the woman, Isard had remained aloof and very much in control of the situation; she hadn’t even given off one single hint of being unsettled by Moranda’s behavior. And if Isard’s calm manner hadn’t been enough of a surprise, then certainly the meaning of her last statement was more than that.

In all her time on the run from that monster of a woman, Moranda had known that whatever lay in store for her when caught would not be pleasant. During the recent years, she hadn’t even entertained any more hopes about surviving capture - death seemed certain, judging by the amount of hatred Isard seemed to hold for her. Maybe, deep down in her heart, she had even been counting on that - no one liked to admit to being a coward, no matter what the circumstance, and Moranda’s weak point had always been pain; interrogation, she could go through, death, she could face… but torture? No, she had no heart for that - maybe her years of deliberately goading Intel and the woman behind it had been nothing but a desperate attempt of getting herself a clean death in the end.

But something was going horribly wrong, and Isard had just said… she had just said that it would not be death. Then what?

For the first time since she had sat down in that chair, Moranda’s eyes showed some kind of emotion behind them. If Isard saw the truth of the matter written in her eyes, she never showed any sign of them - for all Moranda knew, the woman was probably expecting her to kiss her feet for sparing her life, and interpreting the expression in her eyes and face as gratitude.

For the first time, also, she wanted to speak, but found that her throat was dry and her tongue stuck to her gums. Moranda swallowed, tried to work some moistness back into her mouth - under the close scrutiny of Isard across from her, it seemed even more difficult.

She coughed, to clear her throat. Finally the words came, a brittle voice almost too low to hear,

“What do you want from me, Isard?”

And Isard smiled. The woman actually smiled at her, which was something that was the last straw to completely unsettle Moranda. It wasn’t a pretty sight - the woman just didn’t have a face for that kind of distortion - but the mere fact that Isard was even capable of such a thing was almost too much to take.

[Ysanne Isard]

“So you haven’t lost your tongue, after all.”

The smile on her face mutated to something more deadly. Isard’s eyes seemed to bore into those of the woman in front of her.

“How perceptive of you to realise that I indeed want something from you. And I think we both know that you are in no position to deny me your … assistance, if I so wish. Nor is there any room for debate on the terms of this assistance, just in case you have any lingering doubts about that. You will obey my command, whatever and whenever it may be. My every command, Savich.”

The woman’s eyes seemed to flash with defiance, or outrage, but her face showed acceptance of her fate. Fortunate. There wouldn’t be any need for more direct ways of persuasion.

“I am going to let you return to your ship. I am going to allow you to leave Coruscant, and give you access to information sources and a bank account; you will have unhindered passage to or through any planetary system you want to go. You will have more freedom than you have ever experienced in your life.”

Moranda’s eyes widened in astonishment, then changed to something unreadable. It didn’t matter to Isard - whatever plan was shaping in the woman’s mind, it didn’t matter; Moranda Savich could not escape the future Isard had planned for her anymore than she could escape this room without Isard’s help. The future was now finally taking shape, and for Moranda there was no way out. Whenever the thought of letting the woman go now galled Isard, she firmly replaced it with the thought of the outcome of this little venture - and anger turned into glee.

“But your freedom will come at a price: whenever you receive an order from me, you will carry out that order without question. Some of the plans I have for you will be to your satisfaction - some probably won’t; no matter, you shall carry them out, because I wish it so. Failure to do so will result in punishment; and your failures and successes, Savich, will be closely monitored at all times. Never think that you can trust anyone from this moment onward - my arm is long, and you cannot escape from the watching eye you don’t know is on you.”

Isard looked at her to see if her words had taken hold - the woman was sitting still, her eyes closed as if her words had caused her a kind of personal agony.

“You should feel fortunate to get a chance like this - the other choice would have demanded your death. Do you not consider yourself lucky?”

It was an effort at sympathy that came to Isard as an unnatural phenomenon, yet there it was. It probably astounded herself as much as it seemed to shock Moranda, and she quickly hid it by getting up and taking away the restraints that had held the woman in place. Opening the door to the museum again, she gestured for Moranda to leave.

“Now go, Savich, before I have time to reconsider your future.”

[Moranda Savich]

Haven't lost my tongue... gee... as if I ever... - woman, you're annoying me now... and you better get to whatever evil scheme you've come up with for me, before... before...

Somewhere along that thought Moranda realised for the first time that she didn't have anything to hope for anymore. Isard had her, and could do with her now as she pleased. No more escapes, no matter how much she wanted to think so.

The thought didn't really warm her heart any more than Isard's smiles. It spelled disaster, and in more than one way.

Isard's little speech, therefore, shocked Moranda to no small amount. Bad news, folllowed by good... far too fast to take it all in a once. But when she noticed that Isard didn't seem to be joking --is the woman even capable of making a joke, I wonder?-- confusion set in instead. What the heck did the woman want from her - first chasing her down all these years, now letting her go? Giving her money, lifting the warrants on her head; even helping her?

There was something extremely fishy going on, and she had no interest in being at the centre of whatever that was. Unfortunately, if Isard had her way, she wasn't going to have much of a choice in this - not if she liked staying alive.

Moranda was quick-witted, and her years of experience with odd situations had given her a kind of special wisdom when it came to things like this. If Isard was planning something, and it was important enough for her to let go of an enemy if she seemed more usable working for her, then maybe whatever it was would also be important enough for some others around the galaxy to find out about. And that, as Isard's private and totally unknown "wild-card" (for so she understood her role in whatever would happen), would put her into an interesting position.

As the Intel director droned on and on about her luck in escaping her fate, Moranda put on her poker-face once more, and added a touch of obstinate fatalism to it that she hoped wouldn't betray her true state of mind.

When Isard finally ordered her to leave, Moranda did so without another word to the other woman. She threw a hateful look back at her through heavy-lidded eyes, and then slowly made her way out of the museum.

She had learned something precious today. It was probably more than her opponent had thought she would - and that thought made her pause, for it could well be that Isard was playing with her, too, and she was running into another trap - but she HAD learned something. And that something was very valuable to her - might even help save her neck...

...if she could ever find out in time what it was. but she was determined to do so. Nothing could stop her from that.

[Ysanne Isard]

In that small room, still on her own, Ysanne Isard allowed herself a self-satisfied smile as she went over the last few minutes in her mind. It seemed all was going to go according to plan.

The Savich woman had been close before - but never had Isard had the satisfaction to hurt her in any real way. To be able to do so, in such a way, was an immensely gratifying experience to her, and, in view of her plans of the future, only the start of her time of triumph.

The Savich woman would see soon enough that there was no way out anymore - and find out just what it was to be in Isard's debt.

When one of the men of her team looked into the room to check if she was still there a while later, she composed herself to her usual cold demeanour, and simply nodded.

"You know what to do, Thule - keep an eye on her, and wait for my orders."

And with that, she swept past the man, and into the dark corridors of the museum.



<center>To be continued in Fear's Womb: On the Run (http://www.swforums.net/forum/showthread.php?s=&threadid=11086)</center>