Corellia: Status Quo

[Ecidae Mandrill]

Abandoned.

Ecidae Mandrill had heard every other possible spin and permutation of what the Alliance had done to it's supporters and allies on Corellia and Duro, but that one word conveyed the emotional punch more than any other. Hot on the heels of it's Liberation of Duro, the Alliance had withdrawn, pulling out of the Core entirely to fortify itself behind a shiny new border: one protected by Treaty and superweapon alike. These worlds, some of the deepest and oldest parts of the Alliance to Restore the Republic, had been left to fend for themselves in the heart of the Empire, cut off from support and from hope, buckling under the strain of the Imperials as their influence came crashing back upon them all like a wave. The occupation on Duro was brutal. What the Empire had begun to do to the home forests of Ithor as punishment for their rebellion was unthinkable.

And here? Here was one of the first places that resistance against the Empire had begun, and so it was here that Ecidae and his rag tag band had decided to show the galaxy that while the Alliance had abandoned so many of those to whom it had promised freedom, the resistance had not ended; and it would never end, until the galaxy found itself truly free.

The worst blow came later, however. It was one thing for the Alliance bureaucrats to hide behind their Treaty, and preach to the neglected and betrayed that their involuntary sacrifice and suffering was for the good of the galaxy; it was arrogant nerfshit, but at least it obeyed it's own deluded internal logic. But to denounce the Corellian rebels the way that they had? To sit there in the comfort of their Bothawui palaces and critique the desperate actions of desperate people? It was hypocrisy of the highest order. The Alliance itself had set the tone with it's Starkiller missiles: the conflict with the Galactic Empire had been elevated to a higher form of war, and in this war the rules fell silent. How could those with the ability to destroy a planet on a whim decry the destruction of a mere square mile? How could a government that's very existance was built on the threat of catastrophic destruction believe it had the right to condemn the Corellians for striking the exact same kind of symbolic blow?

Ecidae glanced to his left, to the Ithorian silhouette that lurked in the shadow of a few stacked containers, tucked beneath one of the ascending ramps to the upper level of the warehouse that harboured them. Sphyrna Mokarran was the messenger: the man who had delivered their ultimatum to the Empire - and their promise of freedom to the galaxy - by pulling the trigger that tore an Imperial Star Destroyer from the sky. He had not spoken much since that day, but the guilt that weighed on him had tempered his resolve into a steel edge. He had turned the carnage he caused into a playground, lurking in concealed sniper locations to pick off members at random from the Imperial salvage teams that attempted to pick their way through the wreckage. Towards the criminals of Corellia he was less lethal, but only slightly; one could not enter The Zone without facing the fear of being shot.

Beyond the Ithorian, a human slumped against a plasteel container with his hands deep in his pockets. All the suave and swagger that Oran Jsorra had once possessed had been burned away by the sights his eyes had seen. Once, the slicing of computer systems had been a game, a joy; instead of slicing Jsorra now carved, wielding his datapad like a ruthless weapon, unleashing carnage upon the cyber-systems of Corellia for tactical benefit, material gain, or sometimes simply just the satisfaction of knowing how much time would be wasted and effort expended by the Imperial's efforts to unravel his antics. Beside him was Judas Voss, the Voice of Freedom, the man whose words spread the message and rallied new fighters to the cause day after day, his signals hacked into every network that Oran Jsorra had been able to help Voss get his hands on.

And then last, and least, was Andana Callax. If there was anyone who had earned more of Ecidae's ire than she, he could not think of them. It was not her actions that had earned his distain, but rather what - and who - she represented. This warehouse was not controlled by the rebellion: far worse, this was Black Sun territory, part of the proverbal deal with the devil that the resistance had been forced by Alliance abandonment to make. Ecidae had nothing but disgust and dismay for the criminal cartel, but their resources were few, and the simple fact was that if you wished to transport something discretely to Corellia, there was no one else but Black Sun to turn to. The true Corellian kingpin for the cartel was a rather unimpressive man by the name of Garrick Kane, who spent his time in the luxury of a casino in Kor Vella: the Callax woman was his proxy, here to distance her employer from the risk of exposure, and to save him from the unpleasantly menial task of interacting with his customers directly, no doubt.

Ecidae felt a wave of air breeze it's way into the warehouse as a transport buzzed overhead and then banked into view, floating low on a repulsorlift cushion as it drifted it's way into the warehouse before settling down against the duracrete. The hatch opened almost instantly, and Ecidae advanced towards it without hesitation, his fingers clasped behind his back firmly enough to make it abundantly clear that he had no intention of shaking anyone's hand. At long last, the Alliance had - as covertly as the universe could possibly allow - set it's attentions on Corellia once more, and this transport smuggled past the Corellian defenses with the aid of Black Sun, carried the first official representatives of the Alliance to set foot on Corellia since they had turned and fled.

The Duros waited until the passengers slowly began to disembark. "Ms DeLumiar and Phoenix Cell, I presume?"

[Karin DeLumiar]

As the Black Sun courier shuttle passed over the city to its warehouse district, Karin despaired.

It was as though when the Star Destroyer Warspite crashed, the heat of atmospheric entry burned up every last bit of goodwill on Corellia. The war, once moving away from the planet, had now returned, and from the intelligence she’d been given, everyone mistrusted everyone else for their supposed hand in it. The merchant corporations blamed the politicians, who blamed the military, who also blamed the politicians, who in turn blamed the public, who blamed all of the above. No one liked the liberators, and the liberators didn’t like anyone.

Every breath on the planet exhaled bitter anger.

The anger was constant the way sunrises are constants: predictable, omnipresent, easily visible. In the slouch of the children on the street who trudged along the roadsides rather than play. In the brittle expressions between customer and shopkeep as they exchanged goods. In the refusal of landspeeder drivers to look any direction other than forward as they drove, each an individual ship sailing its own way without regard for others.

And all this was visible from the window of a passenger shuttle several miles off the ground. She could only imagine the view from up close.

It all reminded her of Chandrila a little too much. Except, Chandrila's idyllic nature took the edge off. The day-to-day there was somehow a level more bearable than this place.

Remembering Chandrila also meant that she remembered her failure there. But that failure happened for a very specific reason which no longer held true. Maybe that would be enough to tip the scales here.

Because if Corellia could break its shackles...



######

"Pierce, I need you for this," she'd said to him. "They're asking me to build a successful liberation force from junk scraps and spare bits that don't fit together. If I don't have someone I can trust at my back, someone I know will get the job done no matter the price-"

"For what it's worth, I believe Eluna can make that happen," Pierce replied in the empty space that she'd trailed off into. "But I don't see this as a smart play. When it comes down to it, Corellia’s expendable to the Alliance, especially if things aren't successful. Liberation is not a safe move for them, and it’s a dangerous risk for everyone else."

"I know it's a gamble. And I know a lot of people aren't expecting success. Hell, I'm not. But this is the right thing to do. And if we can give them enough to stand on their own - Pierce, if Corellia rises free, Chandrila could be next."

Here she'd paused, and the building pressure inside her caused her next words to burst from her lips.

"We could go home for real."

Several minutes passed before Pierce completed his internal decision-making and voiced a reply. “I’m doing this,” he’d said. “Not for the Alliance, not for Corellia, not for Chandrila, not for a home. For you, because you believe this is right and I believe in you.”

“Thank you,” she’d whispered between one grateful kiss and the next.

“I’ll go there by myself two weeks ahead of time,” he said when she let him breathe. “Get my own view on the lay of the land and set up shop. It’s best if we don’t have any further contact until we’re both onplanet. On your way in, look for a message and expect a delivery.”


######



'Give me a sign this can change,' she thought. 'Tell me I can make a difference here. Tell me we can free them.'

An errant flash caught her eye. There was only the one, and it could easily have been nothing more than light reflected from a moving surface, but she'd been looking for something and this was in the window.

"Check the docking logs for any changes," Karin said, eyes still scanning for any further hints.

After a neglible delay, the smooth voice of Eluna Thals responded. "A temporary glitch affected the name of a freighter."

"What's the before/after?"

"The original name was Polassa. The current name is Stompboot."

Polassa: one of ten Ithorian words for fertile soil. Stompboot: a reference to feet overlaid onto the original name. 'Feet on the ground' was the message.

He was here.

And now, so was she.

"Courage on the ground; hope on the wind," she murmured. “Get ready to take off, flyboys.”

Spinning to Eluna with a sudden smile and brimming confidence, she nodded to the disembark ramp. "C'mon. We've got a planet to liberate."


######

The shuttle's engines kicked up a breeze as it touched down. The shift in the air lingered, swirling around the craft in small eddies before spreading out beyond the confines of the warehouse.

The docking ramp lowered, releasing a further breath of fresh air, as well as its primary passengers. Karin, Eluna, and several other volunteers exited down the ramp. Before they'd even touched the docking bay floor, a Duro was greeting them.

"Ms DeLumiar and Phoenix Cell, I presume?"

"No names,” said Karin, completing her journey down the ramp. “Lose your name; keep your head. From now on, you call me Screaming Eagle. Eagle One works, too."

She stopped, giving the Duro a quick read. Although Karin wasn’t as keen at reading sentients as Pierce, she was still better at it than your average male. This Duro, like everyone else in the room who hadn’t arrived on her shuttle, exhaled anger.

“Let’s get one thing clear up front,” Karin shifted to rest her left hand on her hip; her right hand pointed at herself. “I’ve flown against the Empire for ten years and by the rules of engagement I’m a target of military value. Before that, I led a Rebel cell for five years, which means I’m wanted as a terrorist in two systems, including my homeworld. If I’m caught here, it means anything between summary execution and lifetime interrogation. I’m risking my ass - for you - because I know what it’s like to fight for your home only to have it wind up the wrong side of the free border.”

“Long story short,” she said, turning her finger onto the Duro. “I am not your enemy and don’t you dare treat me like one. I don’t deserve that.”

“So,” Karin said as she extended her hand to him in friendship. “What do I call you?”

[Ecidae Mandrill]

Gods of the machine, she was one of those people. One of those self-important special operations types who thought they could coast along on a repulsor cushion of past deeds. No doubt she would claim to have a list of deeds as long as her arm, but of course all of them would be classified, or not relevant, and you were just supposed to take it on faith that there was even a shred of competency there. Granted, the Alliance was unlikely to have sent them a fool, but that was certainly the first impression she had made: there was more action holo enthusiast than professional in her manner, an infantile pissing contest to assert her dominance, offense taken at imagined insults, childish cloak and dagger code names that seemed more befitting of a school yard or a comedy skit than a resistance cell.

"Since we are starting from a place of honesty," Ecidae countered, his voice calm but icy, every year of his several decades of distinguished service evident in his words, "Then allow me to make something abundantly clear to you: you were not invited. You are not some arriving celebrity hero that we have been awaiting with bated breath. You represent a government that abandoned half a galaxy, that broke every oath and pledge it made when the Alliance to Restore the Republic was formed, and you are only here because your government has finally decided it is a convenient time to assuage it's guilt, and because it does not have the stomach to let us continue doing what needs to be done."

His shoulders rolled backwards, cartilage crunching between his vertebrae as he moved. "You may not be our enemy, but don't delude yourself into believing that you are some sort of saviour that we are all elated to see. You stand amongst Alliance veterans, distinguished servicemen, and volunteers who have proven themselves, not coasted along expecting their reputation to proceed them. So drop the pretense, and stow the arrogant presumption back on that shuttle. You are an envoy from the Alliance, and as such your presence is tolerated: but you will receive respect once you have earned it; and if this attitude that you are somehow better than us does not dissolve itself rapidly, I will throw you on that shuttle and ship you back to Bothawui myself."

His eyes narrowed, but his voice still retained that same tone, that cutting calm coolness that seemed to contradict the broiling anger beneath the surface. "Long story short," he finished, "We are not subordinates to be ordered around, and don't you dare treat us as such. We do not deserve that."

He let that sentiment hang in the air for a moment, and from the peripheral of his vision he could sense the movement of the cohorts that had accompanied him, each standing a little taller in response to Colonel Mandrill's words. They might be undisciplined and disorganized, but they were unified and loyal, and no upstart Alliance visitor had the right to step off her shuttle and think herself above them.

"I am Colonel Ecidae Mandrill," he said eventually, finally letting his long spindly Duros fingers wrap around the woman's outstretched hand. "I led the underground on Duro, and secured it's liberation before your government abandoned us. Every one of us in the Resistance is a wanted man, and we are proud of that fact. If you wish to hide yourself behind codenames and callsigns that is your prerogative, and we will tolerate it given the need for secrecy regarding your presence here, but do not expect any of us to follow suit. Our names and our deeds define who we are: the Empire has already done enough to deny our worth and importance as people, and we will not suffer the Alliance trying to do the same."

[Eluna Thals]

Behind Karin and the Colonel's salutation, activity stirred in the shuttlecraft. A woman in nondescript cargo pants and a pocketed vest disembarked. She appeared to be in her early forties or late thirties if the years had been on the hard side. She wore her auburn hair in a long braid that ran down the middle of her back, and her face was a scattering of freckles with weary hazel eyes that panned the motley assortment of guerrillas, fixating on none in particular. In each hand, she carried a reinforced case.

"Who's your sapper?" she asked in a Corellian accent, eyes at last finding the self-professed King Shit of the assembled rabble. She wasn't waiting for Karin and the Duros to hug it out. They had work to do.

[Oran Jsorra]

Oran Jsorra took a step forward, moving up to flank the Duros who until now had been calling the shots without context. Who did these SpecOps people think they were, strolling onto Corellia as if they owned the place, barking out commands and demands as if they were first-week SpecForce recruits, instead of the sick and tired conscientious objectors that they were. While the Colonel seemed to have the apparent ringleader suitably confronted, Oran set his sights on her companion, folding his arms dismissively across his chest and fixing her with an indignant glare.

"We didn't bring one," he shot back, the lofty tone of his coreward accent adding just enough emphasis on how abundantly obvious he thought that fact should have been. "When we were told to arrange a clandestine rendezvous with the assistance the Alliance had graciously decided to send us, at last. After flying all this way, we weren't exactly expecting to need to blow you up when you got here."

He paused for a moment, his demeanor slipping slightly, a faint flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as his eyes gave Eluna a subtly appraising glance. "Quite the waste that would be, in fact," he quietly mused.

[Judas Voss]

"Woah, come on guys. I think we're getting off on the wrong foot." Judas Voss detached himself from the gathered resistance fighters and stepped up to Mandrill's other side. He stood out against the more utilitarian dressed resistance fighters with his own flashy style; designer clothes, well groomed hair, and clean face. Additionally, he was the only one smiling. Where others apparently saw shiny arsed former rebels finally stepping off their high horses to support the little people in the dirt that helped put them up there, Judas saw it for what it truly should be; a moral boost. They were not getting anywhere fast and bonafide heroes of the Alliance was the edge they needed not just to crack the hard shell of the Empire's Jackboot but also to sway more to their side.

But maybe that's why he was in charge of the resistance radio station and not running the resistance's military arm. Getting the good word out was just as important as putting Stormies in the ground. Already his mind was a whirl of how he was going to spin this revelation. Obviously he wouldn't go so far as to straight up say that Alliance Special Forces had shown up planetside, but there were other ways to turn this into good propaganda for them. Boost moral, get the resistance's hopes up. Broken souls will never take Corellia back.

"Save the hostility for the Empire. We have a common goal and enemy. No need to fight among ourselves."

[Karin DeLumiar]

"Aw, don't you worry," Karin flashed the handsome boy a half-fixed smile as she finished her handshake with Ecidae. "This is just us dealing with the rancors we bring to the room." By firing concussion missiles at them.

Karin glanced among the attending Resistance members, taking stock of each of them. She didn't know them yet - she would - but so far they all seemed competent in some specialized field. Time would tell just how competent they were.

In a cell game, though, competency's importance stood second to intimate trust.

"Secha, I'm sure they've got a sapper somewhere out there," she said, referring back to Eluna's comment and neatly sliding in the operative's mission cover name. "You don't sink a floating whaladon without a nice big boom. But at a meeting like this, you only bring the family."

She returned her attention back to Ecidae. "I'm right, aren't I? This is your family? Why don't we exchange introductions? And then you and I should have a quiet aside somewhere we can talk freely - if that's not right here."

[Ecidae Mandrill]

From insisting on code names to wanting introductions; from instant confrontation to playing at being a mediator. He couldn't tell if it was a retreat from a strategy that had failed, or merely a matter of her gaming him, probing to see how he would react to different approaches. Ecidae had far too much experience being manipulated by humans to blunder into that kind of trap: she might have been here under the auspices of the Alliance, but there was a common ancestry between Imperial attitudes and Rebel ones, lingering cultural memories of the Republic and the utter dominance that humanity had exercised within it. There was definitely a whiff of the Core about DeLumiar; he couldn't place her accent well enough to be sure where, he just hoped she was smart enough not to try the my world is under Imperial control too, but my way of doing things is more noble than yours line of reasoning - and he hoped it for her sake more than anything; that sort of arrogance would not go over well with anyone in the Resistance.

He shifted uncomfortably at DeLumiar's description of his leadership team as a family. That word had no place here, to his mind. Too many families had been lost or divided by the Galactic Civil War to adequately describe the people around him. They were his team, and to him that was something far more resolute: people united by common cause and common purpose, not merely by common genes and common blood. Let DeLumiar dress it up however she wanted, though; whatever analogy made it easiest for her to respect their significance.

Ecidae tried to smooth down the bristles that her attitude had already raised; fortunately his decades of military service made it easy to be pissed off at someone without displaying it openly.

"Actually, Mr Jsorra here used an explosiveless device to trigger an overload in the auxiliary fusion reactors for the drive systems: far easier to smuggle aboard without detection than a device based on chemical explosives. As soon as Mr Mokkaran -" He gestured behind him to the Ithorian still lurking in the shadows. "- transmitted the activation signal, a power surge blew out enough of the repulsor coils that the Destroyer couldn't hold it's own weight aloft. Not quite as impressive as a photon torpedo down an exhaust port, but it got the job done."

His gaze shifted almost imperceptibly to DeLumiar's companion. Secha. He doubted that was a real name. His eyes contemplated the cases she was carrying. Equipment, perhaps? Was that what she needed a combat engineer for? "If you're looking for a sapper though -" His voice struggled awkwardly around the painfully human terminology. "- Oran here is your man. He's our tech specialist and quartermaster, and while he would usually prefer a more elegant solution, if explosives are what you need I'm sure he can -" Ecidae's voice changed, a subtle shift to replicate Jsorra's accent. "- lower himself to such crude and barbaric devices."

A sidelong glance found Jsorra, and there was a moment of glare in reaction from the human before he conceded, and wordlessly nodded his agreement.

"This on the other hand is Judas Voss: our comms specialist and resident optimist. He spends his time hijacking Imperial transmissions to undermine whatever propaganda the Empire tries to broadcast about us. You'd be amazed the number of times the Resistance leadership has been captured and detained." There was a rare tug of a smile on the Duros' lips, amused by the embarrassment they had repeatedly caused the Administration following up every announcement of their defeat with a new strike to reassure the Corellian people that they were still there. "We must've allegedly had our heads cut off more times than a Krinemonenian Hydra."

"And last -" And least. "- this is Miss Callax. Her employer is the local Black Sun kingpin. They've been kindly assisting us with smuggling supplies and supporters past the Imperial defenses, and were kind enough to loan us this warehouse to receive you. We are safe here for the moment, but, well -"

He blinked slowly, his brows arching ever so slightly, as close to a human's knowing look as his Duros physiology could muster. "I'll let you decide whether or not you feel comfortable talking freely -" More human idioms for Ecidae to utter awkwardly. "- while they are within earshot."

His gaze shifted again, this time fixing his sights on their Black Sun representative. "No offense intended, of course, Andana," he offered, in a tone that was at least half-way sincere, "But what is it you humans say about criminals? No honour among thieves?"

[Eluna Thals]

Colonel Mandrill's boasting only confirmed what Alliance Intelligence had guessed, that the Resistance had brought the destroyer down by a fairly elegant and sophisticated method. Eluna returned her attention back to Oran, mapping his facial patterns as the Machine worked to cross-reference the name to the biometrics against any records they may have of a matching operator. These were allies, but the more the allies were known quantities, the easier it would be to work with them.

Or burn them, should the realities of the mission change.

"A tech guru, huh." Secha remarked on his handiwork, seeming to be beneath it's scope. "Well, let's hope all the Empire's toys come with plugs we can pull out of the socket."

She dropped one of the cases to the ground, and slapped the side of the other case with her now free hand, getting Jsorra's attention.

"Well if you need to blow something up the crude and barbaric old fashioned way," she glanced back at the Colonel with some dry sarcasm, "this is twenty kilos of olethralon-tolulene. Stage one of a shock-detonated binary. Without the second stage, it's inert, isn't gas volatile, and will pass both a chromatograph and dogs."

Popping the latches on the case, Secha opened one, revealing a few clear plastoid jars containing a grey, granular substance that looked like coarse sand or cement mix. She invited Jsorra to unscrew the cap and see if it passed the sniff test.

"It's moisture absorbant and will set into a solid mass if exposed to a source. I don't recommend using it as cat litter if you're thinking about it."

[Andana Callax]

It was moments like this where she missed Nen the most. He'd been her partner for long enough that it was still sometimes strange to not have him there. But the demands of work were what they were, and he was caught up in things on Cloud City while she was fairly well involved in things here on Corellia. She'd have to remember to send him a message at some point. He'd no doubt have a quip or three about the current posturing happening up on the landing pad just then, and she'd have been doing her level best to remain stoic in spite of it.

Fingers absently smoothed out the cropped leather jacket she wore as she stepped forward, durasteel stilettos clicking on the permacrete beneath her feet. With a smooth, even outward expression, she inwardly cursed herself for raiding Yolie's closet until the rest of her things made it to Corellia. This get-up (http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=177620176) was bordering on ridiculous in spite of being comfortable and easy to move in - a fact she'd made sure to be certain of before arriving to the warehouse. She had to admit though, Yolie had pretty good taste, if a little more risque than Dana was accustomed to. It didn't even look bad with her blasters and blades strapped in all the usual places.

The petite warrior politely inclined her head as she regarded the Duros for a moment and resisted the urge to correct him. She was Echani, a near-human, but in the grand scheme of things, that was splitting some seriously microscopic hairs. "No offense taken, Colonel." she replied with a faint smile, stepping up to join them.

"Eagle." she nodded, and handed over a small, nondescript package to the woman, pale eyes carefully evaluating her for several moments.

"Colonel, many of us have honor. But honor doesn't always put credits in the bank, pay the bills, and buy food. We're not above doing what we need to do to survive." Dana added after a moment, tilting her head. "If you want to stay, that's up to you. I do have security measures in place for everyone's safety, whether you judge that enough for this meeting is a determination only you can make."

[Oran Jsorra]

Whatever the others were bickering on about completely faded from Jsorra's notice, his focus instead entirely on the curious gift that DeLumiar's associate had brought with her. He frowned as she displayed one of the containers of explosive, hovering around it like a hummingbird inspecting flowers. "Olethralon-tolulen?" he repeated aloud, with the kind of quiet mutter that made it clear he knew exactly what she was talking about, even if he was the only one in the room nodding along in understanding of the techno jargon she was uttering. Despite all the concerns that the Colonel might have voiced in advance, the Alliance representatives were at least proving themselves useful right out of the gate, even if it was just as an unnecessarily fancy delivery service for military grade supplies.

As invited, Oran leaned in to catch a good whiff of the allegedly odorless explosive, and to his olfactory senses at least it seemed like an accurate assessment. Of course, he was only a mere human: a Bothan or a Wookiee, or one of the other more bestial races with their wondrously useful traits and quirks would have been far better qualified to make that assessment. Curiosity continued to control him, and he was about half a second away from poking it with a finger before Secha withdrew the container from his reach.

"I've changed my mind, Miss Secha," Oran offered, his confrontational gruffness slipping almost entirely, an amiably broad smile taking it's place. "I've decided I like you after all."

[Karin DeLumiar]

Karin expected the package; the courier was another matter. "Echani," she murmured, her attention wholly diverted. "You're Echani." Just like Ensi.

She gave the woman - Miss Callax - a thorough visual evaluation from hair-to-heel. Granted, the meter of Echani she'd met in life now went up to two, but they'd both been strong and fit. No idea how she fights in those heels, but she's damn good-looking.

There were definite perks to being born into a martial combat culture.

Wouldn't do to make assumptions about the woman, though, especially since she'd been identified as Black Sun. "I don't know if you-" Karin paused, flexed an arm, and then popped off an Echani-style punch at nothing "- but if you do, we should say 'hello' later."

Speaking of credits, Miss Callax had just given her a great lead-in to something else she wanted to discuss. "So, packages that go boom aren't the only thing we brought," Karin thumbed at the courier shuttle. "The 'van' also has de-serialed weapons, untraceable bit-credits, stolen foodstuffs, a few toys no one will miss, and so on. Not a lot, but maybe enough to make the next few weeks easier."

"Consider them-" her fight to keep a sour note out of her voice mostly succeeded "-a peace offering."

"There's a lot of folks who feel the same way you do about the Truce on our side of The Line. The de-escalation treaty put a lot of loved ones and comrades-in-arms out of reach. Hell, I've got family on- it doesn't matter where," she caught herself. I'm Eagle here. No one can link me back. "Point is, they're looking for a way to keep up the fight. The Alliance wants to give that to them."

Karin pointed at Secha, as well as the female Devaronian, female Neimoidan, and male Barabel that had accompanied her down the ramp. "That's why we're here, why Secha and Veech and Tonga and Guissar are here. We signed up with the Alliance to free worlds from the Empire's tyranny. By our count, that fight's not done."

"We're not extreme special operators, but we've all fought in cell-scenarios before and make great multi-tools. Some of our uses are obvious." Karin nodded at Guissar, the Barabel, who licked a mouth full of pointed teeth at the oblique reference to his combat prowess.

As Karin turned to Tonga, the Neimodan grinned smugly at her and Ecidae. "Others, less so. Tonga may not look it, but she's accomplished in close-quarters combat, plus she keeps her eyes on miscellaneous prizes. In a fight, she'll steal her opponent's weapons, wallet, and pride at the same time. That one also loves a good con. Loves."

"Veech is a solid engineer." Here, the Devaronian offered a lithe bow. "She can build a defense turret from spare weapons and protocol droid parts. Dabbles in making slicer kits on the side, so if there's a scenario where you need someone active in two distinct computer systems at once, she can play backup."

"Secha's a walking contact list and more besides. For her, this is personal- you can ask, but I wouldn't. She's a former contractor- hell, they're all former somethings, here to keep fighting the right fight."

Karin finally thumbed at herself. "Me, I'm a pilot, or driver, or whatever. If it has an engine, I'll make it thread a needle. IF I have to," she amended. "Way this is supposed to work, I'm out of operations as much as possible. I provide the Alliance with assessments, intel, and material requests, and they keep funneling support and the occasional mission request your way."

"Bottom line for me is: until further notice, I'm the lynchpin on our end. I know enough about everything and everyone involved to smooth out the rough edges so this works long-term, but in the hands of the Empire that's a dangerous liability. If I die in combat, it's easy peasy; Secha integrates herself into my role until the Alliance sends a replacement. If I'm captured, I'm expected to kill myself before they interrogate me and that's just the way it is."

Karin let the admission hang in the open, both to let the depth of her commitment show and to find her own voice again. The quartet she'd flown in with all nodded in appreciation. They weren't just here because they wanted to keep chipping away at the Imperial Machine; she'd personally swayed their choice to come by appealing to them with the strength of her own convictions and their common loyalty, former or otherwise, to the Alliance's ideals.

"Corellia's obviously high-profile and from what we can tell, you have one of the stronger insurgencies going. The Alliance's interest is to raise the status quo; make it a permanently sustainable arrangement between our groups and give you what you need so you can keep the Empire bleeding."

"If," she finished, turning her head to evaluate the impact of her words on Ecidae. "You're not still interested in throwing anyone back on that shuttle."

[Ecidae Mandrill]

Mandrill let out a grunt as DeLumiar introduced the members of her team. How exciting. Oh, how dramatically the tables were about to turn thanks to the addition of these five not extreme special operators. For all the fanfare she made about herself, Ecidae had half-expected to discover that the woman had Dorn Force lurking on her shuttle. It spoke volumes as to what the Alliance thought of their capabilities as well, that this scant handful was in their estimation enough to vastly improve the Resistance's chances. Five new men, two cases of explosives, and a few crates of laundered equipment that they could have got their hands on via Black Sun. True, the syndicate would have charged a price in credits, but Ecidae was unconvinced that it wouldn't have been the cheaper transaction: the price they were paying by becoming subservient to the Alliance's selfish objectives again could prove far higher for everyone in the long run.

"Not just yet," the Colonel answered at last. Though he made a point of giving nothing away, his expression of stern reproach remaining unmoved on his features, he had to admit that her suggestion was attractive. Maybe if they shipped the defects back to the Alliance, they'd send replacements that actually sounded worth the hassle of smuggling them in here.

He turned away, but not quite fast enough to completely hide the brief flicker of a smile that tugged at his lips. "Besides, from the sounds of it, it'd probably be less hassle to just let you get captured."

Hands clasping behind his back, Ecidae turned his attention to his own team. "Jsorra: stay and help your new friend unload the rest of the supplies from the shuttle. Voss, Mokarran: escort our guests to Bravo. I don't want to risk making a move for Alpha until after nightfall. And Miss Callax -"

He turned again, hesitating for a brief moment. He was never quite sure how to address Black Sun's representative, nor quite what to make of her. She seemed genuine enough, and helpful enough, but the fact that she was beholden to the stipulations of her employers rather than her own moral principles made him wary. "I believe you and I have a scheduled meeting with your employer?"

[Andana Callax]

"That I am." the petite Echani grinned, inclining her head at the woman's statement. She reevaluated the brunette with a more critical glance, taking the time to slide her pale gaze from head to toe. There was far more to this woman than met the casual eye, she had no doubt.

Given her close observation, she saw the perfectly executed punch and admired it for a moment before the words that surrounded it had sunk in. "Oh, I certainly do, and I would be more than delighted to greet you properly when a moment presents itself." This had promise, she mused to herself, discreetly passing over a datachip with her contact information upon it. How long had it even been since she'd encountered someone with such a familiarity with Echani culture, never mind one of her own people? Too long. Far too long, Dana realized, letting her thoughts drift for a moment.

The Duros brought her back to the present moment an instant later, which she was grateful for. She'd done enough wool-gathering as it was, and it wouldn't do to continue being so distracted.

"We certainly do, Colonel. He's expecting us..." a brief check of the holocomm on her wrist indicated the time and she nodded. "...shortly. I'm ready to go if you are." Dana nodded and stepped to the side, gesturing towards the side door nearest to them, offering Karin a parting nod and smile in the process as well.

[Karin DeLumiar]

Karin fingered the datachit that now sat in her pocket. The only friend she'd made today now stood on the side of the door. Not a certain friend, either. A possible friend who wasn't even part of the Corellian Resistance proper.

But even a maybe friend breathed fresh air into the stale.

Wondering when it'd all gone wrong, Karin sighed and went back to the shuttle. The other friends she'd been supposed to make were too busy mingling with her team to acknowledge her as she wove through their offloading work. Which was fine, she supposed. She wanted everyone working together; tighter bonds among the unit meant cellmates sticking their necks out for each other when the time came.

Try as she might to quash it down, the division remained at the periphery of her perception. Was Oran Jsorra's sour look at nothing, or at her? Was that apprehension on Judas Voss' face as she passed; was he wondering whether she'd say something else that would drive people apart?

When had it gone wrong? She remembered starting down the ramp and seeing the Corellians, and then...

No, it that was it: the very first moment. Being greeted by a wall of barely restrained hostility from half the Rebels (all of whom were male, she noted mentally) followed by the Duro boneheadedly using her real name, which he wasn't supposed to know in the first place, had set her off. The whole setup reeked of senior flight schoolers looking down on new recruits who'd already survived combat. She knew she'd be damned before she let anyone look down on her after what she'd done flying under the Alliance banner and instantly decided to nip it in the bud.

Which hadn't worked out too well, had it? If only her officer's training from making Lieutenant had stuck a little better-

That line of thought could only end in "what if" misery and Karin made a conscious effort to cut it off while she knelt to grab her duffle bag from beneath her seat. She opened it just long enough to stash Pierce's package inside, then shouldered it and returned to the loading bay. Passing back through the passenger cabin door, she spotted Secha kneeling to grab one of the handles on a heavy equipment case. Jsorra was grabbing the other end, a slightly speculative smile on his face. The small act of cooperation suggested that maybe they hadn't lost everything before it'd started.

But if that was true, why didn't it feel that way?

Karin turned to regard the Corellia outside the warehouse, where Pierce undoubtedly lurked. What would you do? How would you fix this? I just-

I don't know how to do this alone.

Help me.