There's Got to be Something Better

[Zelenka Lassiter]

Hope.

Hope was something that Zelenka had always held on to. Hope that one day Ord Vaug would just be a bad memory. Hope that she would be able to reminisce and laugh about the years spent staring at plain grey walls while sharing drinks and stories with those she could remember considering friends within the Alliance.

What a waste. Hope was nothing more than a well constructed lie you continued to tell yourself so you didn't fall prey to the reality of a bleak situation. It was fine for the short term, of course. But years spent in a penitentiary with seemingly no end in sight with a life-sentence that was supposed to have ended with a prison break a long time ago certainly had dropped the pretense of being "short term". So hope failed. It didn't fly away, fleeing of it's own volition, escaping to find itself someone who had more interesting in maintaining it. It had been squashed, crushed, broken down and stripped away, it's remnants bleached out until there wasn't even a hint it had existed in the first place.

With hope gone all that was left was routine, going through the motions as if you were more droid than person, more machine than from a supposedly vibrant race who always seemed to find the good, the fun in just about everything. Institutionalized was a term she had heard thrown around on occasion by other inmates. It had seemed like a myth to think that eventually a person would ever get to a place where the walls and force-fields would be considered more normal than any sort of thought of what was occurring in the rest of the Galaxy. But even myths often had some sort of basis in actuality.

There was something almost comforting in it all. She knew when she was going to go to sleep, when she was going to wake up, when she was going to eat meals, when the guards would walk by, when shifts would change, when she would be let out of her cell, when she wouldn't, when the lights went out and the whole thing started all over again. Which made anything out of the ordinary stand out like a sudden splotch of color on a blank canvas. Things like the footsteps she could hear slowly becoming louder as they proceeded down the cell block. They weren't scheduled, they were foreign. Worse was that as she reached out she couldn't sense any heightened anxiety from the few guards that were close enough whose emotions she could pick up on. Anything that fell into that category was never anything good as far as experience had taught her.

Slowly her head lifted off he pathetic excuse for a pillow, eyes moving from the ceiling as she sat up and looked out at the hallway that was just beyond the occasional ripple effect that stood as warning that the force field keeping her separated from it and its limited freedom was still in effect. Whatever was approaching was worth her attention, no matter the reasons or personal significance it may or may not hold. It was something different and that meant interesting.

[Nychus Antirr]

Generally speaking, employees of the Galactic Empire were by and large idiots.

More specifically speaking, the employees of the Galactic Empire who were tasked with maintaining security at the penal facility on Ord Vaug were incompetent and outdated, not even skilled enough for such a menial task on such a forgotten backwater. Garbage collection was far more their speed, and even then they should not be entrusted with such a critical task without a considerable amount of supervision and scrutiny to make sure they didn't do anything stupid, like accidentally pour trash down a laundry chute rather than a garbage one.

In their defense, Nychus Antirr had arrived on Ord Vaug with the specific intention of deceiving them, and that was a task for which he was particularly suited. It had all begun when a starship officially registered to the Imperial Sector Rangers had touched down unannounced, being piloted by a Nikto of all things. Hailing from a world within Hutt Space, such races were exceptionally uncommon amid the institutionalised racism of the Galactic Empire, and so he had been instantly regarded with the kind of suspicion his situation required. Challenging him as if he were some kind of imposter, they had confronted him for authorisation codes and identification, which as per protocol they had run through their security system. To their surprise, the computer had responded with a full dossier on Nychus Antirr, Sector Ranger; decorated, distinguished, and most definitely of the Nikto persuasion. As they were required to, the Humans were utterly consumed by their accidental prejudice in the face of an apparent superior, and had instantly switched from openly confrontational to practically prostrating themselves to appease his every request.

Of course, none of them bothered to read which sector Nychus Antirr was a ranger of. Even if they had, he doubted they had the geographical knowledge to realise that it was among the many sectors ceded to the Alliance of Free Planets under the terms of their new treaty. In the highly unlikely event that they had, it would have been easy enough to bluff some story about a reassignment that hadn't yet made it into the records; after all, his ship and his identity code were all entirely legitimate. Even a DNA screen would have corroborated his story.

The only risk was if someone had the initiative to contact Central Command for confirmation: if anyone had done that, he'd have to kill them. Such an act would have drawn far too much attention, and Nychus wasn't quite done capitalising on the fact that the Empire had forgotten about him just yet.

As it was, the plan had worked flawlessly, and in their desire to make amends for being a space racist, the guards had been all too willing to buy into the idea that his prisoner transfer was legitimate, agreeing to release her now and worry about processing the paperwork later. With any luck, he'd be lightyears away before the proverbial detritus hit the proverbial fan.

He came to a halt in front of the cell that the guards had indicated, and clasped the datapad with the access codes behind his back. That concession had been pushing it, and honestly he didn't expect his bluff to succeed: but apparently, pointing out that she was an Alliance Agent and that everything she said was classified was exactly what the guards needed to hear, to make them feel like they were playing a tiny part in the war effort.

Nychus' tongue clicked in the back of his throat, both at the absent guards, and at the prisoner. His eyes casually scrutinised the perimeter of the pale pink forcefield that kept her safely contained. "The worst part of all this," he mused with a sigh, "Is that they put you in a cell that clashes so badly with your skin."

[Zelenka Lassiter]

It wasn't strange for someone to pause in front of her limited view of the world when passing, though the guards had been warned against interaction of any kind with the Zeltron woman. There was just something they apparently couldn't help in themselves even if the warning nowadays served as only that. Enough of her race as well as a decent helping of troublesome Falleen had proven to be enough of a thorn in the Empire's hide that they had developed a chemical that blocked the whole pheromone production process. It wasn't something you'd want to take willingly but when added to your daily food rations there wasn't exactly much of a choice in the matter. At least once she had built up enough of it within her system they had the decency to reward her compliance with continuing to live by removing her from solitary confinement to the more general populated area. Which really simply meant that her view had gone from a tiny window of light to an entire blank wall that occasionally had someone walk by and stop for a moment to glance in her direction.

But that was all it typically was, a pause, a quick once-over to satisfy curiosity or mentally file away some sort of imagery she could only begin to imagine their use for and then they would be on their way. Humans. That was the other factor, all guards were humans here. All in all - a non-human, one as visually striking as a Nikto, that had not only stopped but actually spoken with her? Well, it was quite enough to convince herself that it was worth slowly sitting up and repositioning herself until she fully faced the new individual, her elbows propped up on her knees as fingertips delicately touched and hovered just under an amused smirk that only got wider with a delicate canting of her head.

"Yes, well I suppose the Empire hasn't quite taken the concepts of what a good interior designer can do and applied it. Have you seen the inside of their ships? Simply dreadful. One would think that cold steel was the only thing imaginable to them." She paused before her eyes finished wandering over the newcomer, drinking in details that most would find insignificant, before resuming speaking in the even tones that were anything but spirited. "Well, that and the multitude of colors caused by the fiery explosion of entire planets. Tell me, have they found a few more canvases to create such spectacles in my time here? We don't get much news, I'm afraid."

[Nychus Antirr]

A chuckle sounded in Nychus' throat, far more tuneful than one might have imagined, all things considered. His voice tumbled out almost as a purr; in the absence of an edge or anger, it was practically playful, as if even the most sombre of situations were somehow all part of an elaborate game.

"Actually, it's your side decimating planets this time around," he countered, the fingers of one hand idly drumming against the impact casing of the datapad. "Or at least, threatening to. Some sort of hyperspace ballistic missile that could sweep away the entire ecosystem of Kashyyyk and turn it into a barren husk like Triton in the blink of an eye. Impressive, I suppose, if you're into that sort of thing."

He paused, his head cocking to the side in silent thought. "The Empire has them as well now, of course. Caused quite a stir: forced them to agree to sit down with your side and draw up a Treaty, agree on borders. They're not even a Rebellion any more; going by Alliance of Free Planets these days. The galactic civil war is over: peace in our time, all thanks to mutually assured destruction." An empty smile tugged at his lips. "Hooray."

His gaze dropped and he frowned, not out of any particular need to stop looking at the Zeltron prisoner, but more because he found her appearance and the duracrete floor about equally disinteresting. He was sure she was attractive enough, if you were into that sort of thing: that was the reputation of Zeltrons, at least. Personally he felt the whole pheromone thing was a biological cheat; but even if his species' neurochemistry weren't immune, he doubted she'd have anything to offer that would hold his interest. Too pink. Too smooth.

He forced his eyes back in her direction out of necessity. "They've even started prisoner exchanges; swapping enemy agents and political captives like trading cards. Turns out the Empire had some pretty remarkable prisoners tucked away somewhere: I could've sworn we'd executed some of them, but apparently that wasn't as much of an obstacle as you'd expect." He paused for a beat, a twitch of his brow, a narrowing of his eyes, and a hint of a smile mustered to hammer his next words home. "Not you though. I'm not sure anyone remembers you're even here. Either that, or the Alliance doesn't have any prisoners that are low enough value to trade for you."

Another chuckle escaped. "I guess you'll have to hope that the Empire offers a prisoner exchange discount sale next time Life Day rolls around."

[Zelenka Lassiter]

The "Hmm.." that left her carried the full weight of an unspoken Now isn't that interesting, the fact she had remained patiently silent until he had finished however gave no indication on whether it was word of the Treaty or his mocking of her predicament that had brought about the sound. Cold gaze that contrasted with the half smile still playing on her lips lingered for a few seconds more on the Nikto before she slowly let it drift away, the rest of her head turning along with the motion, to watch the edge of the force field dance against the place where it met wall.

She was familiar with this dance, knew the steps that were being taken, how it could play out but knew it could still bring about the occasional unexpected dip that could leave a person breathless. There was no game here, just intricate movements between two individuals that most would be too stupid to perceive, there were no rules to break, no expected forms of cheating to get the upper hand, strategy in what they were doing was more primal and required far more artful maneuvers. And all without moving a single muscle, well, aside from those required to speak and control infinitesimal facial expressions.

"Well, I suppose it's a good thing I've made peace with long-term arrangements." The words tumbled dryly from her, settling in the space between them like so many fragments of dust the aged filtration system within the penitentiary couldn't be bothered with clearing. It was such a speck that she had settled on watching for an instant before her eyes suddenly snapped back to her visitor. "Of course, that's assuming that you still represent a side in this new galactic order. Sorting out the Ranger Corps isn't exactly on the top ten list of to-do items amidst governmental reorganization, is it? Must leave all sorts of opportunities open."

[Nychus Antirr]

Nychus' cragged features split into an ever broader grin. He liked this one. Her incarceration had hardly been short, and yet instead of allowing her spirit to be quashed into a few smouldering ashes by the Galactic Empire, she had apparently found a way to smuggle away a can of rocket fuel to splash the fire into a flickering inferno when she required. There was resilience there, which Nychus might have expected from a Nikto, or some other rugged race born on a hellish backwater; but it was a novelty seeing it tumble from something as pink and pampered as a Zeltron.

"Opportunities?" he teased with a mischievous smirk, his posture shifting so that the datapad could drum against his knuckles in front of him, rather than behind. His eyes twinkled with devious intent, finally seeing fit to grace Zelenka with his full attention rather than the distracted half she'd provided before. She'd earned it: as a woman she was about as interesting to him as landspeeder floor mats; but then, he wasn't here collecting vehicle accessories, was he? "Oh, you have no idea."

"I have a business proposition for you, Miss Lassiter," he said at last, finally abandoning his allusions and speaking plain. "How would you like to get off this rock?"

[Zelenka Lassiter]

Zelenka's eyes slid away from the Ranger, or former Ranger - whichever the case was - and a chuckle that was aborted before it could fully form crept from her lips. It overstayed its welcome as it echoed hollowly off the empty walls of her surroundings, perfectly reflecting in an obnoxious manner her entire feeling on his question.

"Well, that depends." A long slow breath was taken as if she were weighing her next words, but there was something in the way she carried herself, that refusal to have shoulders that slumped, the spine that was only curved as if although appearing at ease she was still quite ready to strike out should the need arise, those spoke of something else. More mental wagers being made as she sized up her opponent. "On what exactly your proposal entails. You'll have to forgive me but I've long since learned a lesson about entering into agreements simply for the concept of an ideal future."

The Zeltron woman shifted where she sat, leaning forward just a little further as she brought her gaze back around to focus entirely on the Nikto. "But please, do go on. I have all sorts of time available."

[Nychus Antirr]

Something at the periphery of his vision caught Nychus' attention; movement at the extreme end of the corridor where his escorts were supposed to be dutifully waiting out of range of his classified business. A harried, muttered conversation between the escort and a compatriot; a shift in body language; hostile.

Subtly he shifted his hands, slow enough to avoid notice from his observers, his digits tapping against a control sleeve wrapped around his wrist. Images cycled across the holoscreen he wore over one eye: direct feeds from the security cameras he had covertly sliced into upon arrival. The feed from the barracks was the most telling visual: Stormtroopers, sluggish and mind-numbed by the boredom of their monotonous assignment, rushing frantically to equipment to ready themselves for the only flicker of action that Ord Vaug might see all century.

Damn that administrator; it was the only explanation. In his eagerness to make up for his earlier failings, he must have rushed the query on Nychus' credentials, and so unwoven the Nikto's elaborate deception. So much work, such finesse, undone because one lowly and useless Imperial couldn't even be relied upon to be consistently incompetent.

Frustration gripped Nychus. His strides were with purpose as he advanced down the corridor, oversized blaster pistol snatched from his holster to deliver two devastating and fatal blasts centre-mass on the unfortunate guards. The unnecessarily overcharged blaster spat forth two pulses of intense red that carved deep, charred craters into the chests of the men whose mere presence earned his ire. Overkill, yes, but immensely satisfying.

He stepped over their still smoking remains to the controls that would unseal the door; intentionally fumbled an attempt at an override. Protocols triggered, reacting to what the prison computer perceived as a breach of containment; a siren wailed into existence as Ord Vaug entered lockdown. Nychus stepped back as the blast doors swept closed with unsafe swiftness; the satisfying clunk of every other secure door in the facility doing the same reverberated through the duracrete.

He stooped for one of the guards' blasters, strode back through the prison block, and allowed his blaster one more craterous discharge. Sparks plumed in a few seconds of protest from where the keypad had been, before the forcefield buckled and died, it's connection to the power grid severed.

"You may have all the time in the world," Nychus uttered in reply at last, extending his appropriated blaster towards the Zeltron prisoner, "But I sadly do not, and would very much like to make it off this planet alive. Perhaps you'd be willing to discuss my proposal on the move?"

[Zelenka Lassiter]

She hadn't moved save for an eyebrow that had arched upon the Nikto's return, the barest hint of a bemused expression that fell away all too quickly. Zelenka rolled her head from one shoulder to the next, eyes fluttering in the slightest to accompany a series of bright crackles that accompanied the motion. When she finally reached out to take the blaster, the motion was slow, not out of caution but more in a general languished manner that only continued as she stood, stretching her arms over her head to the sound of a few more satisfying pops down her spine. The alarms resounding through the prison were only acknowledged once she was ready to and even then nothing more than a small smile as she thought of all the chaos that was erupting throughout the building.

"Yes," Zelenka finally admitted. "I suppose it's best you don't overstay your welcome, after all."

The steps from her cell couldn't have been more casual, as if she was walking into the VIP area of some posh nightclub rather than the empty lifeless halls of an Imperial Prison. A disdainful glance was cast towards the blast doors before they turned on to the former Ranger.

"Nice touch. Not quite sure how that will help in your plans of actually making it out of here. I would have opted to wait for the lock down until we were off this rock myself, but I suppose everyone has their own style."

[Nychus Antirr]

"I'm sure you would have," Nychus replied, his voice almost an amused purr, laced with hidden meaning. He might not have been the benefactor behind this operation, but he was it's architect, and for all the Ranger's suave and swagger, he was not the sort to go into a situation blind. He'd read the interrogation transcripts. Studied the psychological profiles. He'd pulled what he could off Imperial counterintelligence databases, while his logins were still valid. He had crawled inside the Zeltron's head, poked around, projected the possibilities. He knew, near enough, the escape attempt that she would engineer with the resources he had available. He had a best guess of what she would do, where she would go, how she would get there. This plan, this operation he had constructed, was as far removed from that as he could muster.

That was the entire point.

Anything he could have discerned, the Empire was also capable of determining. They had droids for such things. Complicated computer algorithms. Prisoners like Lassiter, enemy agents, weren't merely shoved into the first hole that the Imperial Security Bureau could find: the Empire chose it's venues for incarceration with far more care than was ever evident. They calculated flight risks. They estimated the potential worth of a prisoner to the Alliance, to the Hutts, to the criminal underworld. They factored in biology, and physiology, sending Nautolians and Mon Calamari to the most arid deserts; sending Twi'leks and Mustafarians to the most frozen wastelands; Wookiees to the plantless subterranean caverns of Kessel. Those who relished open space were condemned to underground claustrophobia; those who thrived in warrens and hives were trapped in above ground wastelands. Anything, everything to maximise their discomfort, to keep them off balance, to make the mere act of staying alive a continued effort in breaking their spirits.

The Imperial Security Bureau had placed Lassiter here because it was the perfect prison for a woman of her disposition and tactics. That was why it took a man like Nychus to break her out.

"Do you know what the best thing about seeming respectable is, Miss Lassiter?" he asked, casually strolling between the still sealed cells to the opposite end of the detention block, away from the blast doors. Reaching behind him, be plucked an unassuming module from the back of his armour plated belt; a few twists and sections opened, clamps affixing the device to the reinforced duracrete of the wall as he reached it. Retracted arms extended; he pulled on each, spreading them out across the drab grey-brown surface, the four limbs marking a radius just large enough for a Nikto-sized humanoid.

He turned and walked calmly back towards her, gently taking her by the elbow to encourage her back into her cell. He heard the distinctive crackle of a plasma cutter being applied to the blast doors, efforts to unseal them manually already abandoned. The thick hide of his lips curled into a smile.

"Nobody ever bothers to check your stuff."

A single command on the control sleeve around his wrist, and the duracrete wall erupted, shattered chunks of fractured 'crete and twisted metal scattering in all directions as the chemical explosive tore it's way through. Nychus barely even waited a moment for the dust to settle, approaching the breach at a swift march, stepping through into the utility tunnel beyond with surprising grace, hesitating only to flash Lassiter a grin of satisfaction as he beckoned for her to follow.

The holo-projection of the control sleeve fluctuated, camera footage from the Archangel displayed for his perusal. A few control strokes, and the forward launcher discharged, a proton torpedo sailing towards the prison's fortified walls, bursting yet another gaping wound into Ord Vaug's defenses, and reputation. The sensors overlayed the damage onto a blueprint of the facility; Nychus noted their relative position, and turned away from the damage, checking the charge on his blaster before leading the way away from his apparent intended escape route.

"There's a time and a place for quiet and subtle," he conceded, "But today calls for making it too loud for our guard friends to be able to think."