Toxicity and a Little Girl

It wasn't long until Santiago nudged the speeder once more to a stop two doors up from Thomsdottir's place. He checked his chrono. Enough time had elapsed for Marie's contact to have come and gone, but they had to take a chance that he was, as yet, still inside.

"Speeder troubles?" He suggested to which Estelle affirmed, "Speeder troubles."

She got out of the vehicle and slipped silently into the shadows. Cristobal procured a small can from inside the glove compartment, shunting the mapfinder aside in order to reach it and getting out to crouch beside the craft, attached it under the speeder's hydraulics rim. Remaining where he was until he saw Marie's front door open and a man step out before closing again, he popped the can's top and it immediately began to allow acrid smoke to drift lazily up through the vehicle's chassie so that it appeared to be experiencing some sort of electrical fire within.

As the contact stepped from Marie's lawn to the sidewalk he noticed the smoking speeder to his right. His training asserted itself -- could be trouble, could be nothing, either way he would not let himself get entangled in the circumstance. He about faced to leave in the other direction and came toe to toe with Russard who brought her blaster to press under his chin, "Shhh"

Behind him, Cristobal came up quickly and took his arm, bending it up behind the contacts back, effectively muscling him around and over to their speeder, which was just then beginning to stop smoking.

Marie's house remained dark, the front blinds drawn and no sign of movement. A quick recconnitor of the back of the house revealed Marie was in her bedroom getting changed for bed and then Estelle returned quickly to find Cristobal had trussed the contact up tightly, the mans eyes spitting fire at the pair of them.

"Lets go"

"Time t'get movin'," Kazaar could tell Birdy was tryin' t'get o'feel for th'lightsaber. Sure as hell she had questions, but they didn't have o'lotta time f'answers. "Used t'be Ash's, old partner. Never saw 'er use it, but she mentioned she used t'be some sorta (whatta ya call 'em)...padawonk."

"Padawan."

"Yeh whatever." Kazaar swung 'is heavier weapons over 'is shoulders'n started walking towards th'entry ramp t'The Dutchman. "She was one o'those. Left 'cause 'er parents were goin' through o'tough time. Plus...ya can early o'frackuva lot more creds as o'bounty hunter than o'Jedi.

"Go no frackin' clue why she kept it." He shrugged. "Never bothered t'tell me. O'reminer're somethin' I guess...Jedi wronged 'er or somethin'."

"She would not be the first." Milivikal clipped th'small lightsaber t'er belt, but still grabbed o'A280, tested its weight'n nodded.

They moved down th'ramp quickly, 'Trey' *warblin'* somethin', prob'ly tellin' 'em he'd keep an eye out f'Imps comin' their way. Good boy...always knew what t'do without havin' t'be asked t'frackin' do it. Guy'd been in this sorta situation b'fore. Sure as hell had Kazaar's back.

Turns out he didn't even hafta warn 'em. Couple Imps were spotted 'bout three klicks out. Scanner musta caught th'Dutchman's flight. Or they were just makin' sure th'spaceport was actually secure. Prob'ly th'latter, but ya never knew. 'Specially since o'frackin' AT-ST walker was near 'em too.

Frack.

'Least th'stormies were far 'nough away he'n Birdy could sneak up on 'em without bein' disturbed. That was kinda nice. 'Specially since th'spaceport was essentially o'damn graveyard f'ships. Make it even easier t'drop 'em. Buy 'em some time t'take out th'chicken walker too. Damn thing could move (if not o'bit on th'gawky side).

The Rebels were movin' 'round o'freighter which'd been cracked like o'egg. Buncha droids were strewn out like they'd been in th'cargo hold. 'Least 'Trey' wasn't 'round t'see that. He'd have th'droid equivalent ovva hissy fit. Couldn't blame 'em either. Lotta people prefered t'think o'the droids as objects (which they were) but they had o'bitta personality too. 'Trey' seemed t'have o'frackuva lot o'personality. Kazaar smirked t'himself. Made things more interestin'.

Somethin' tickled th'back o'his head, just as Birdy threw o'hand up. Two stormies, wanderin' 'round like they didn't have o'care in th'world. Prob'ly couldn't see why it was so frackin' important t'make sure th'damn spaceport was clear. Grunt work sure but, Kazaar gave o'dark smirk, ya always want t'make sure th'thing's safe t'be in. Never know who's gonna pop up t'make ya life o'living hell. Kinda like th'two Rebel agents (well one Reb, one freelance) who just happened t'be sneakin' up on 'em right now.

Both Kazaar'n k'Vik jabbed vibroblades into their target's neck, 'causing 'em t'fall forward. Perfectly placed too. Both Imps just kinda gurgled 'fore goin' limp. 'Course, Kazaar made sure t'take th'guys helmet off. Just in case he was fakin'.

Grabbin' one o'the stormies earpieces, Kazaar stuck it in his own ear'n started movin' towards th'AT-ST. Took 'em 'bout five minutes t'get there, th'sounds o'battle echoin' across th'empty spaceport. Some kinda massive explosion came from somewhere near th'base. Either th'shield generator went down're one o'those damn chicken walkers did. Hopefully th'latter, but with th'Alliance's luck right now...prob'ly both.

Both he'n k'Vik moved closer t'the AT-ST and th'two other stormtroopers standin' near th'spaceport's gate. Woulda been easier t'just take th'TIE Mauler, but th'frackin' thing was so damn tight, it'd be too hard f'them t'make it all th'way through. 'Sides, could be o'buncha Rebs hidin' out nearby. And Kazaar wasn't in th'mood t'face any friendly frackin' fire. 'Specially since th'Rebs needed all th'help they could get. Takin' th'two o'them out...wouldn't do 'em o'damn bit o'good.

Hafta wait f'the chicken walker t'move away from 'em. Or 'least not face 'em. Thing was fast but it wasn't that fast. An'Kazaar was pretty sure Birdy could move quicker than it could. Or least frack with its communications're something long 'nough f'Ava (Kazaar's rail detonator) t'blow th'damn thing t'hell'n back. 'Course, if he wanted t'do that, he'd need o'Dark Trooper weapon. But he'd hafta as th'Kid f'that. Since it was hers. Lucky dame.

'Bout that time th'AT-ST decided t'move. Just kinda turned on its legs t'face th'other direction, but it was 'nough t'give Kazaar time t'move. He came outta his hidin' place, pullin' one o''Th'Twins' while he did, took 'aim'n fired.

Four shots. Two in each stormies' head. Didn't even get th'time t'react either. Kazaar woulda taken pride in 'is double taps if th'chicken walker wasn't startin' t'turn 'round. Kazaar's hand was movin' towards th'rail detonator.

Question was...who th'frack was gonna get th'kill shot off?

Santiago drove them to a warehouse about six miles away from where Thomsdottir's house was. It was something the Alliance used from time to time to stage operations. Nothing too large, just the type of thing which could be used as a 'rest area' for agents when needed. It was also something which worked quite well as a place to interrogate prisoners.

Cristobal pushed Marie's contact out of the speeder roughly, keeping his face shielded. He was certain the guy who know who he was once he revealed his face. He gave an almost tight smile. Best to keep him off guard as much as possible.

"Sit down." He spoke roughly, shoving the man towards the chair and quickly tying his hands behind his back. As the man's face was revealed to him, Santiago's eyes widened. "Walter Eluzian? What the hell are you doing here?"

Eluzian's mouth opened, but Estelle spoke first. "The chief aide to the Rebel negotiator?"

"The same. Why are you here Walter? What were you doing at Marie's home."

Eluzian was definitely confused now. "You shou-"

"Oh spare me Walter." Santiago cut him off, his green eyes blazing. "I know you weren't over at her home for tea and crumpets and you didn't even stay there long enough for a quickie." The Sub-Director of Analysis placed his hands on his knees and leaned into Eluzian's face. "Why. Where. You. There."

Eluzian spat in his face.

Russard turned from Cristobal and the prisoner and moved off briefly to another room. Returning, she held a syringe in her hand, drawing up a clear liquid from a small vial.

"You know what this is, Walter." It was a statement, not a question. If the Chief Aide had any doubt this was a serious interrogation, he did not have it any longer.

"You guys cant do this" he blustered. "On who's authority? Krasst Cristobal, your'e a force-damned Analyst for fracks sake!"

Santiago rolled up Eluzian's sleeve without comment, though he did give Estelle a 'look'. Was this really necessary? Sodium Pentothal could be construed in some circles as torture.

"This wont hurt" Estelle said calmly, ignoring both Santiago's arched brow and Eluzians pleading whimper as he squirmed ineffectually away from the needle tip.

"We wouldn't do this if you would answer our questions voluntarily.." She let the offer hang in the air a moment and watched Eluzian wrestle with the decision to talk or not. His eyes flicked to Cristobal, who gave him as firm a stare as was Russard. Estelle noticed the instant Walter compressed his lips together - his decision made. There would be no volunteering.

"Very well" she said, depressing the needle into the soft flesh of Eluzian's bicep, "This wont take long to take effect. Try to breath deeply..."

Eluzian's eyes went glassy after about two minutes as the sodium pentothal took effect. "Now." Cristobal stated. "Let's talk.

"Are you...a traitor to the Alliance?"

Eluzian's mouth was dry as he tried to answer. "N...n....no...."

Both the analyst and the operative raised their eyebrows. If Eluzian wasn't a traitor...Estelle's mind *clicked*.

"Are you an Imperial agent?"

Eluzian seemed to fight himself almost, then gave a simple answer. "Yes."

They had one. Now for the other. "Is Marie Thomsdottir an Imperial agent?"

Again more fighting with himself, then the answer they wanted. "Yes."

That was two. Estelle did her best to contain her pride. They had, albeit coerced, gotten a confession from an Imperial agent and gotten information on another one. Leverage.

But that didn't answer all her questions. Or Cristobal's. He leaned forward. "Is Operation: Blue Devils a plot against the Alliance Council?"

It looked like Eluzian was really fighting now, a vein started to throb against his neck. "Y...y....yes."

Estelle asked the next one quickly. "Is it against a particular member?"

"Y...y...yesss..."

"Who?" No answer. Cristobal leaned in close. "Who!"

Eluzian's eyes rolled into his sockets as he breathing started to increase and the vein throbbed even harder. "Dammit! He's starting to crash! Estelle! Go get the adrenaline in the speeder! Now!"

Cristobal turned back towards Eluzian as the traitor started to thrash in his chair. The analyst untied him and watched as Eluzian had a seizure. If Estelle didn't hurry, he'd die...

"Shitshitshit"

Estelle rifled through the speeder's dashboard compartment with aggrieved haste. Her fingers snatching, inspecting, discarding in rapid repetition as she looked for the adrenaline and didn't find it.

"Damint, where is it?" she cried, exasperated.

More rummaging.

"Dont you frelling die Eluzian.." she threatened, begged out loud.

Snatch, inspect, discard - what the heck were playing cards doing in here?

"Damnit!"

The compartment was empty, its contents spilled about the interior of the speeder.

"Shiiiiiiiiiiiii-oh!"

Estelle then saw a side compartment, just below the steering wheel on the driver's side interior panel. She wrenched it open and a small velvet pouch toppled out. Unwrapping it with clumsy fingers, Russard immediately recognised it as the adrenaline kit and launched herself out of the speeder and ran back into the warehouse.

She had the syringe out and bit off the plastic needle cover. Cristobal had Eluzian, still in the chair, but tipped back on the floor and was compressing his chest in repeated, rythmic applications with his hands. Santiago was perspiring and Estelle saw sweat drip from his face down onto Eluzian. She felt sick. She hadn't given him that much had she? How did he crash so fast?

Estelle took half a second to eyeball the vein, then plunged the needle into Walter's arm and pushed the adrenaline straight in.

The two rebel's held their breath and waited for Walter to jolt awake..

Eluzian wrenched as he adrenaline hit his body. He shot up, the force of his momentum breaking the chair he was tied to. The Imperial agent's voice came out in a bit of a roar/scream and his eyes were wild with something, either Estelle or Cristobal could figure it out.

It looked like he was about to charge the pair, when Eluzian's eyes rolled back into his skull and he fell down on the hard floor.

Cristobal was on him a second later. He placed two fingers against Eluzian's neck and shook his head.

Walter Eluzian was dead.

Cristobal knelt down next to the Imperial's body again looking for a pulse. "How much sodium pentothal did you give him?"

Estelle's mind went back to when she put the syringe into the vial and injected it into Eluzian. "Ten milligrams. The recommended dose."

"That dose is wrong." Santiago's face somehow looked nice when he scowled. "It should have been five, not ten."

"But I-"

Cristobal rose from his crouch and looked Estelle in the eyes. "Estelle...I'm sorry but you're wrong. The dose was too much."

He saw her eyes flick towards the body. "It's okay. Hey, it's okay." Santiago pressed his fingers against Estelle's chin and brought them back up to his eyes. "You didn't realise that was going to happen. It's not your fault. It's my fault. I should have told you how much to give him.

"If anyone asks, I'll take the heat on it." They stared at each other a moment, then broke contact. "The drugs won't stay in his system too long, but it would look strange for him to just be lying down on the sidewalk. We've got to make it look like an accident, a fall or something.

"You with me?"

"No"

Her reply was quiet but not hesitant.

"We take him in"

The dose was given according to the guidlines of her training, she knew it was, but Eluzian's loss would be attributed to no one but herself. Santiago would not take the blame for her. She still could not understand how things had unravelled so quickly . She should have taken greater care.

"In?" Cristobal queried, clearly questioning her proposal. "You mean, to Headquarters?"

"To where he can be examined and the death cited by the proper authority, yes" she responded. "To Headquarters, or back to the 'Hope for Change', which will be easier accomplished I think." Cristbal was shaking his head, not liking the idea.

"We moved according to procedure, everything will go into the report" Estelle said with finality and something akin to disappointment clouded her face. She was not used to failing and she was even less used to taking life without desperate need to do so. Walter had taken on a pastey hue about his face and it was unpleasant to see the outcome of her carelessness.

"Will you help me lift him?"

"No." Santiago's reply had the same resolve Estelle's did. He picked up a discarded chair and sat down in it. "You can't beat yourself up about this."

"But-"

"What happened to Eluzian, happens all the time. There are accidents. Eluzian's death was one of them. We can bring him to the Hope For Change, yes, but where does that leave our investigation into Thomsdottir? We don't know what this Operation: Blue Devils is. And don't you want to find out what it is? It seems rather important."

Cristobal smiled again, but it quickly froze as he stared at Eluzian's mouth. This discolouration was becoming more apparent, but something else caused the analyst to move next to him. "That's strange..." Santiago grabbed a piece of discarded paper. "There's bile coming out of his mouth. That normally doesn't happen with a sodium pentothal overdose. I think he poisoned himself."

AT-ST’s were built with some assumptions in mind. One was that the Empire would have air superiority. Another was that the ground troop opposing them didn’t have a lightsaber. Milivikal hefted the weapon. Kazaar was an interesting man, but this was surprising, even from him.
She’d hoped Kazaar would let her disable the AT-ST slowly, but it looked like the manned walker had other ideas. A deafening clang echoed inside the cockpit when she landed on top. She could feel hesitation stink upward, like leavings from a dewback in the summer heat. Milivikal had a split second to act. The saber flared to life. The weapon emitted a gentle hum that Milivikal found comforting for a split second before plunging it into the armor. The long sliver of a blade bit through and found it’s mark. A neat hole burned into the gunner’s head. His body dropped to the right, and his hands fell harmlessly off the controls. The pilot moved into full panic, and he rocked the walker violently back and forth. Milivikal lost her footing. She slid, but used the saber to slow her pace and managed a foothold on the concussion grenade launcher. Kazaar had paused. He didn’t want to hit his partner with an errant detonator. Jedi or not, she’d be blown to pieces.

“Shoot it!” She yelled. The walker continued its shimmy, while she held white-knuckled. Kazaar shouldered the rail detonator, and attempted to line up the small viewports, or at least part of them. Her hand slipped, she only remained on by virtue of her foothold and the friction of the saber slowly digging into armor plate.

“Kazaar!” She yelled again, shifted her weight, and gained a handhold.

“Frackn’ hell.” he muttered to himself. Everything was about to line up, he pulled the trigger. The detonator sailed. Milivikal fell away in a smooth arc, the saber shrank as the distance between her and the doomed walker grew. She twisted gently in the air, one foot forward. Her front foot touched, and then the rear as her body folded into a perfect roll. She rolled twice, three times and unfolded into a wide stance. The detonator chirped once upon impact millimeters below the edge of the viewport. The charge exploded, and filled the pilot’s side of the cockpit with flame and pressure wave. The charred machine clumsily lurched left and then back right. It settled back to the left and fell stupidly forward, its momentum carried it to land between the two spies.

They stood side by side, and took a moment to ponder the wreckage before them.

“That went as well as could be expected.” Milivikal offered.

Kazaar smirked but didn't say anythin'. No point to. Walker'd been blown t'hell'n back. Now it was time t'make sure th'rest o'the Imps got that too.

They started off towards Keff Base. He figured th'Imps just had o'couple patrols out, pickin' off stragglers. Most o'the Imps'd done some kinda quick attack: hit th'ground hard, move towards th'target, an' leave all resistance tryin' t'figure out what th'frack happened. Simple 'nough. Hell, th'Rebs' done th'exact same things o'few times.

'Course they weren't expectin' th'Rebs t'actually decide t'do guerrilla tactics. Hit from th'places where no one was expectin'. Tough when it was just o'city, but with it turnin' into o'frackin' warzone...wasn't 'nough time t'come up with epic strategies. Ya hit, kicked ass where ya could, 'n get th'frack out. Simple. Effective. Could blow up in ya face if ya ain't careful.

Case in point. Cowboy'n Birdy slipped into th'shadow ovva building which'd been blown t'bits by o'walker. There was o'hand stickin' outta th'rubble, still clutchin' what was left ovva blaster rifle. Guys must've tried t'get out b'fore th'entire building went down. No luck pal. Too bad. Won't happen t'ya again.

'Bout that time they heard th'sound ovva 'nother Chicken Walker. Thing walked in front o'th'building they'd been hidin' behind. Probly didn't seem 'em 'cause o'all th'rubble an' how frackin' dark it'd gotten. What happens when ya assault o'bigass cave. Kazaar looked at k'Vik'n gotta nod. She'd take out th'legs, while Kazaar'd hit th'cockpit.

They were 'bout t'strike when o'rocket slammed into th'cockpit. Knocked it back o'couple paces. Hurt it hard too. Damn thing started smokin' but somehow was able t'take th'hit. Barely. More blaster fire came from th'remains ovva 'nother building nearby. Must be where th'dead Rebs pals were holed up. Must be kinda pissed 'bout their buddy bein' killed. Kazaar didn't bother smirkin'. He'd be frackin' pissed too.

Th'AT-ST's blaster cannons shot death down on th'Rebs, chewin' up the ones who weren't smart 'nough t'get the hell outta th'frackin' way. Damn shame, th'Alliance needed as many troops as it could get. Not like th'Empire who didn't give o'crap 'bout their clones or frackhead dumb 'nough t'sign up t'be white hats. Frackin' morons. Good news, it gave Kazaar'n k'Vik all th'time they needed. Less AT-STs, less things t'worry 'bout.

Birdy moved quickly, leapin' up towards th'Chicken Walker's cockpit. But she did things differently this time. Instead o'slicin' into th'hull itself, k'Vik sliced th'gyro system. Then she took off th'back o'the drive engine before jumpin' down.

That let Kazaar o'spot t'fire a couple rail detonators towards th'engine. Few seconds later, th'walker was o'nother piece o'machinery. Dead.

"Let's move." They picked their way through th'city towards th'base. Not o'ton of resistance now. Most of 'em were near Keff Base itself. An' th'ones that weren't became victims o'two dark characters who wanted th'Empire th'frack offa this planet. An' if they had t'kill every single one o'em personally, they damn sure would.

Milivikal'n Kazaar could hear th'poundin' Keff Base was taking as they got closer. Wouldn't be much longer now. They hustled 'cross o'street when blaster fire started kickin' up at their feet. Sniper. Couple of 'em from th'sounds of it.

He looked at Birdy'n smirked. Message was clear: take them th'frack out.

Estelle continued on as if Santiago had not spoken trying, and failing, to lift Eluzian up. She stood up and crossed over to a crate in the corner, rummaging through it until she produced a scratchy woollen blanket. Dust particles exploded up into the air and danced there in swirling limbo. Cristobal followed her every move with his eyes until she came back and crouched back down.

"Did you hear me?" he queried.

Estelle spread the blanket and proceded to roll Walter Eluzian onto it.

"Estelle..." Cristobal touched her arm and she pulled it away.

"I heard you. If you're going to help, then help. We are taking him back to be examined. If he poisoned himself, then we'll know difinitively." She flipped the blanket end so that Walter's face was covered, his deadman's stare cloaked.

"The Blue Devils--" Cristobal started again.

"The Blue Devils' can be traced through Marie" Estelle stated crisply. "In fact, she may be much inclined to speak when she sees how well Walter's questioning went"

"When she sees..?" Santiago sounded shocked.

"Thats right, we're picking Marie up on the way"

Estelle began to tug the dead traitor by his heels.

"Misha always did like to play his games." Rawl shook his head as he turned the pages of Misha Repin's handwritten, coded diary. "You know he once since The Boss a report totally in code, as a joke? Took him all night to translate it."

Sam laughed. "How did tall, dark and spooky react to it?"

Rawl smiled. "His next report was in two codes."

"I remember that." The Sub-Director of Counter Intelligence leaned forward in her seat. "Misha had me translate it. Gave me only 12 hours to do it. Bastard."

"Were you able to get it done?"

Lessard's grin was almost predatory. "What do you think Rawl? I didn't make it to Counter Intel just because I could listen." She sighed and took the book from Rawl.

The pages were written in glyphs she didn't recognize at all. In fact, some of the words weren't even written in Basic. Lessard wondered if Repin had created his own language to write the diary. She wouldn't put it against him, he was that concerned about security. And if he wanted his own thoughts to be his own...

Her lips pursed and she concentrated on the words in front of her. Some of them looked almost familiar, like she'd read it a long time ago from somewhere. She chuckled. "That clever son of a bantha."

"What?" Rawl was still staring at the pages with an almost cute, 'I'm not quite following' expression on his face.

"He wrote it in Old Corellian. Or parts of it." Sam put her finger next to a word. "See here...Suman. That's Old Corellian for 'Human'. Thought he was clever."

Rawl still had that 'look' on his face. "You're not quite right, Sam. He may have taken it from several languages. 'Hustru' isn't Old Corellian is it?"

Lessard read the word again and cursed. "Shit, you're right. It's not just Old Corellian. He pulled from several languages. Misha didn't want anyone reading the book."

Her lover smiled sarcastically. "You surprised by that? Misha makes Othniel look careless."

"Oh is that his name?"

Rawl shrugged. "One of them anyway." He quickly changed the subject. "Any idea who may have changed the door code?"

Sam ran a hand along the back of her neck. "Don't know. Knowing Misha had a holorecorder somewhere here. Check the walls, I wouldn't put it beyond Misha to hide it there and not on his computer."

It took them about 20 more minutes of searching but eventually they found the holorecorder and the display disk it fed into. Rawl plugged it into a nearby holopad.

"Son of a bitch!" They both cursed at the same time. The feed had been erased.

"You sure you want to pick up Marie now?" Santiago was still defending his friend, despite his now apparent misgivings. He was beginning to realise how deep Marie actually was. And how much of a good operative Estelle was. She was probably one of the brightest operatives to come through the Rebel Intelligence community since Belargic and Van-Derveld did. Estelle could, in fact, become just as powerful as those two had become. And the Rebellion needed smart operatives. Having people who would just "Cowboy up" wouldn't do them any good.

"Santiago." Russard answered sharply, still dragging Eluzian. "The evidence is overwhelming. We've got her meeting the assistant to the chief Rebel negotiator for something other than just enjoying a frelling cup of tea. The infrequent meets every two weeks, along with her mention in the Imperial communications, and the fact she (give me a hand will you?) lied to you about those meets adds up. She knows something Santiago. And you know it. So stop being so Force-damned protective and arrest her for heaven's sake!"

She'd make a fantastic analyst.

Cristobal grabbed Eluzian's arms and lifted him up. "Okay love you've made your point. But we're doing this my way. I'm going to swing by her office and see what I can't get off of her work computer. She can't just be giving information to the Empire on this 'Operation: Blue Devils' it's got to be something else connected with Incom as well.

"Unless you'd rather go to her office and let me arrest Marie."

Smoke wafted through the air as the AT-ST burned. Lubricants turned to fuel. The scent intermingled with the dust and charred flesh of dead combatants. It smelled like war. Milivikal had seen this sort of devastation before. The weapons were slightly different, but the results, the stench, was all the same. k’Vik held the A280 to her shoulder. Her eyes scanned the rubble as they moved through the now battered city. It was remarkable how quickly things could be broken. It would take months, perhaps years, to put it back together.
She glanced at Kazaar, who’s mouth wanted something to chew; A cigar, a toothpick, a straw, but a cigar above all. It helped his mind process. It helped him breathe fire. Milivikal had quick hands, and had pilfered a pair for his humidor. Partly because it was good to keep in practice, and partly because she’d desperately wanted one. Milivikal had a lighter. She always had a lighter. They were useful little things, especially ones that emitted a jet of blue and white flame. The A280 fell to her side. She delicately pulled the cigar from the wrapper, and sliced the end off with one of her nanoplast daggers. Kazaar kept a sharp watch on everything but her. He held the left twin near his ear, while the right scanned whatever his eyes looked at. Every 30 seconds or so Kazaar would alternate hands. The flame licked the tobacco. Milivikal sharply inhaled, and then exhaled. Smoke puffed from her lips. The sharp scent cut through the fires and destruction. She shouldered the A280 again.

“Birdy, where the frack did ya…”

“There is one for you.” Mili said. Kazaar grunted and holstered one of his blasters. They crouched behind an overturned speeder, and she handed him the cigar. He reached for his lighter, but Mili grabbed his hand, and leaned in. The ends of the cigar touched, and the flame spread.

She withdrew. “You have the beauty of a plasma cutter.”
He nearly spat the cigar, but Kazaar paused. Then he puffed, like a bull snorting in winter. The gears in his head began to turn again.

“Dames.” He said. It earned a shrug from k’Vik. She was near the top of his “weirdest dames” list. They moved again, working their way to Rebel HQ. In the distance, they could hear interspersed blaster fire and explosions, but it may as well have been a world away. A half kilometer was the difference between rain and shine in city warfare. The pair hugged walls and dashed between buildings. Imperial presence intensified as they neared Keff proper. Milivikal could sense that Kazaar’s fingers were becoming itchy.

“Not yet, Kazaar.” She hissed. The column of troopers guarding the base suddenly moved rapidly away from the entrance and away, toward a series of “explosions” and ”blaster fire”. The two AT-ST’s on the corners of the base were occupied looking elsewhere. Kazaar and k’Vik slipped inside the walls before the patrol could return. There wasn’t a patrol inside the walls, at least that either one could sense. They slipped inside a personnel entrance that had been blasted open. Kazaar slipped in behind Milivikal, letting her take the point. She had adjusted the A280 to stay on her back, and instead had a lightsaber and blaster pistol at the ready. There were some Stormtroopers strewn about, but many more dead Rebels. Hard fought, but it was obvious that the losses for the Empire was “more than acceptable.” Mili figured out Kazaar’s unspoken strategy: sneak behind the enemy’s lines and then hit them as hard as possible. Like most things involving Aurelias, it was mad. It suited Milivikal well enough. She held her hand up, and Kazaar stopped, blasters at the ready. There were two troopers around the corner. The saber blade did not hiss to life. It merely cast a dim light in the corridor. She slipped around the corner, her footfalls silent. She shot the one trooper, and decapitated the other. Kazaar grinned, jackal like. If his hands weren’t full of guns, he might have golf clapped.
They moved closer to the communications room.

“Mmm. Some ends might be loose?” Milivikal asked. She recognized the route.

“Yeh.” Kazaar grunted while he chomped on the cigar. The pair moved through two more corridors with no sign of living resistance, only bodies. The communications room stank of burned electronics. There had been heavy resistance here, Mili judged, from the multitude of blaster scars. Machines and walls had collapsed. Whether it was to sabotage the data or obscure it, she wasn’t sure.

“Damn.” Was all Kazaar said as the pair picked over the wreckage. Glass and twisted metal crunched underneath boot. Milivikal crouched and tossed a broken datapad aside.

“This place is thoroughly trashed.” She stated, disappointed. She sighed, placed her hands on her knees, and stood.

“Let’s go kill some stormies. ‘Always brightens ‘m day.” Kazaar turned for the door. Milivikal frowned.

“Wait. There is something in the rubble.” She held her hands apart near her head.

“Birdie, you could hear a frackin’ worm burping…”

“Kazaar, be silent and help me move this damned thing.” Milivikal had her hands forward, and her eyes closed. One of the downed equipment rack trembled. Sweat perspired, and metal groaned. Kazaar hustled over. He grabbed a corner and lifted. It felt pretty light to him, but he suspected Milivikal was doing most of the heavy lifting.

A Sulustan rolled over and groaned.

Big Ears was o'pretty frackin' tough critter, Kazaar marveled as he pulled th'Sullustan from th'rubble. Shirt was bloodied from where th'durasteel had pierced 'im a few times. Large cut right above th'right eye too. Hell th'guy's frackin' skull was showin' through that same gash. Frackin' ugly. Guy shouldn't be alive. But way th'guy moved, he sure as frack was. Kazaar almost smirked as th'Sullustan lifted up o'blaster he must've grabbed from somewhere.

"Relax pal, ya 'mong friends." Th'big Rebel agent easily took th'blaster outta Big Ears' hand. Th'tech (had t'be o'tech, be th'only kinda guy frackin' dumb 'nough t'stick 'round here) had o'datapad clutched in his other bloodied hand.

When Kazaar reached for th'datapad, Big Ears refused t'let go. Instead he started started jabberin' weakly in Sullustese, one o'a few languages Kazaar wasn't too familiar with. Kazaar shook 'is head. Guy must be too rattled t'speak Basic. Or too outta it.

"We gotta get 'im to o'doc." Kazaar stated. k'Vik raised an eyebrow. "Whatever's on that datapad gotta pretty frackin' important." He lifted th'Sullustan into 'is arms. "Let's go."

They moved as quickly as possible through what was left o'th'base. Not o'ton o'resistance either. Couple Imp jokers tried t'ambush 'em but got cut in half by Birdy. She was pretty damn good with that lightsaber. If it weren't Ash's...

Milivikal's hand stopped 'im. There was o'squad o'Imps right in front o'where th'base's hospital oughta be. They were tryin' t'cut through th'blast door with o'large cuttin' torch. Lookin' for quick pickings an' an easy target. Bastards. Preyin' on th'weak'n innocent. Just o'buncha docs who were doin' their jobs. Kazaar's hands were pretty full as it was with th'Sullustan. He just nodded at Birdy'n let 'er go t'work.

k'Vik moved 'bout as gracefully an' as deadly as she could. Her first move was t'throw an unlit lightsaber towards th'nearest five troopers. It arced silently until it was 'bout two inches from th'stormie before igniting. Cut th'first one only partially in half, th'other four weren't so lucky. They fell quickly t'the ground inna various 'mount o'pieces. Two blaster bolts followed th'saber, takin' out th'other two stormies. Th'only Imp officer that was there started cowerin'.

Birdy shot 'im in th'throat.

Kazaar smirked. If that dame wasn't so frackin' hung up on th'Kid, he was halfway tempted t'see if she wanted t'share bunks o'few times. Even if she was frackin' loopy.

He elbowed th'door o'few times. "Wanna open up? Gotta hurt Sullustan 'ere."

Voice on th'other end was muffled. "What's the password?"

Kazaar almost rolled 'is eyes. "Ain't got no password, but gotta dyin' Sullustan tech who need o'frackin' bacta bath or he ain't makin' it."

"No password. No entry."

Th'Rebel spy cursed. "Got ya frackin' password right here. Birdy. Give 'em o'viewport so they can see we ain't lying."

"Stand back." k'Vik stated before plungin' th'lightsaber into th'door. She only made o'hole small 'nough f'them t'stare out'n not start shootin'. Would be kinda stupid if they did anyway, 'course it was dumb 'nough th'Imps coulda even made it t'Sullust in th'first frackin' place.

"Ya see." Th'two took o'short step back so th'clear hallway could be seen. "No Imps but th'dead ones. Now let us in. Big Ears ain't gonna last much longer."

Th'med door slowly slid open, lettin' Kazaar'n k'Vik in. Couple Rebel troopers greeted 'em with their blasters held in th'ready position. Kazaar didn't even give 'em o'second look but deposited th'Sullustan on th'nearest bed (he also stole th'guy's datapad before anyone could see an' slipped it t'Birdy).

"Get him into a tank right now!" Th'head doc, a Sullustan 'course, ordered as two other troopers lifted th'injured tech up'n moved 'im towards th'tank. Didn't even bother gettin' him outta his clothes. Just strapped o'breath mask t'his face an' dumped 'im in. 'Course in this war ya couldn't help it.

"Where's Thomsdottir?" Th'former bounty hunter had t'relight 'is cigar.

"I would think..." Th'Sullustan's Basic was o'bit accented but not too bad. "He'd be in the command center trying to oversee this clusterfrack. But I'm a doctor not a tactician."

Kazaar chuckled. Clusterfrack was right. Be just as easy t'let Thomsdottir fry f'his idiocy, but he might have that happen anyway. Guy'd mishandled this from th'beginning, his son bein' o'damn gamblin' junkie're not. He was prob'ly gonna hang f'it politicially an' he damn well should. Thomsdottir was what was wrong with any frackin' bureaucracy...'course he had powerful frackin' friends t'back 'im up f'it. Rebels couldn't lose Sullust. Which meant Kazaar'n k'Vik had t'make sure they didn't.

"Birdy let's go pull Thomsdottir's ass outta th'Sarlacc. Here's hopin' he ain't dead. Or his two kids. Their fault we're in this mess anyway."

Ardona Street Safehouse, 4hours later


Marie Thomsdottir stared out from her big grey-green eyes, an odd calm to them that was contrary to her predicament. Estelle snugged up the ropes that bound Marie to the chair with a sharp tug and straightened to examine her work. That would keep Thomsdottir in place for some time, she thought with satisfaction.

Across from them stood Cristobal, in his hands was a dark blue folder which he held casually infront of him. Earlier, they had grabbed up Marie from her home and then driven to her office where Cristobal had found some interesting communiques. Evidence, the rebels hoped, that might shed some light on just what intentions these 'Blue Devils' had, or on their identities.

"You dont seem very troubled" Estelle observed, coming around to stand beside Santiago and stare hard at Marie. "You do realise the situation you are in, dont you?"

Marie's smile was as cool as it possibly could. She was in trouble, yes, but still had an out. An out Estelle didn't know about. Her white haired head turned from Estelle towards her partner.

Santiago's face was a mixture of confusion and anger. To Estelle, it seemed like he still had a hard time believing it was possible she was a traitor. Despite all the evidence against her. "Why Marie? You've been in the Rebellion for so long?"

Thomsdottir spat cold words. "You two are such fools! To think I'm a part of this...whatever it is against the Rebellion. Or whatever this 'Operation: Blue Devils' is. You're so caught up in your own paranoia, you don't know what to look for."

Cristobal's face twisted. "And yet we have these." He showed her the communiques between she and Eluzian. "How do these show up on your computer. Plus the fact we saw the two of you meeting together."

He shook his head as Marie protested strongly. "Faked messages, probably sent by Eluzian to incriminate me. Revenge for his death or something."

Santiago and Estelle looked at each other. Estelle's words were full of righteous anger and, almost, spite. "We never told you Eluzian died."

Blood drained from Thomsdottir's face. She was caught. "You'll still get nothing from me."

Again it was Estelle who spoke. "'We' don't have to. But I know someone who will. You'll meet them in a few minutes. Let's go Santiago."

"Are you just going to let her pull you around like some kind of dog, Cristobal!" She spat. "Letting her make all the tough choices you can't make! I swear, you are such a frelling analyst!"

Cristobal's response was immediate. He hurled across the room, eyes showing cold fury Estelle hadn't seen before. It was different than Kazaar's. His normally bubbled on the surface, beneath every action he had there was some type of anger behind it. Even when he was smiling, Estelle knew he could switch to anger at any time. Santiago's was different. It was anger of someone who was very much in control, staring deeply into Marie's eyes. "Don't presume to know what I'm doing or not doing, Marie."

Santiago pressed his arms on the base of the chair and glared. "It was your mistake that got you caught, despite my unbelief." He shoved himself away from her bound hands. "Let's go. I want some caf."

As he and Estelle headed for the door, Marie called behind them. "This is a test isn't it? Okay Santiago you got me. I failed the test. I should have known to encrypt my computer better. Kept myself from getting sloppy. You got me."

The analyst glared at the traitor, then knocked on the door. Two Rebel soldiers stood there (in plainclothes of course). "Make sure she's secure. And no one sees her unless you specifically know who they are got it?"

The two nodded. "Yes sir."

Cristobal's face was still contorted in anger. "Enjoy interrogation." He snarled as he and Estelle walked out of the room.

It took a few minutes for him to calm down. "You were right, Estelle. She was a traitor. I'm sorry I doubted you. Come on. Let's see what else we can find before getting out of here."

Russard lingered outside the door, uneasy about leaving behind their best lead and source of information in someone else's care.

"We need to analyze the data, connect the dots. But, we need to do all this on the move. I dont feel we are playing with a whole lot of time, Santiago."

Cristobal was thoughtful, but it was Estelle who spoke again.

"We should rendevous back aboard ship were we can have more eyes look over things. Take Marie with us. Anyone who is implicated in the higher levels will be moving to put out fires - we will be better equipped aboard the Hope for Change to chase those moves than we are here. The picture is much bigger than the two of us can manage from this location."