Toxicity and a Little Girl

Menaa, the capital city of Mrlsst: Three Days Later:

"Santiago, a pleasure to see you again." Marie Thomsdottir's eyes lit up as she shook hands with Cristobal. A medium-sized Corellian woman, Thomsdottir had white hair, grey-green eyes, and high cheekbones on a thin face. A blue and gold dress covered her figure and a large bracelet covered most of her left forearm. Cristobal couldn't help but notice, rather ruefully, Thomdottir's office was larger than his on the 'Hope For Change'. But, he decided, that did make sense since she was Incom Corporation's representative on Mrlsst. She was also, unknown to her superiors at Incom, she was the Station Chief on Mrlsst for Rebel Intelligence. And also, possibly, a traitor.

"What brings you to Mrlsst, Santiago?" Thomsdottir motioned Cristobal to take a seat in a plush chair. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Juice please." He responded, settling in the chair. "I was just here to see if you'd anything more from the Mrlssi on our offer."

"To provide us with more hyperdrive technology?" The two Rebels kept the conversation as vague as possible, just in case one of Incom's corporate rivals had any listening devices in the office. Or the Empire. "They've agreed to give us some technology. But you know how they are about being...neutral."

Santiago smiled as the tart flavor of the Endrolian ground-apple juice slid across his tongue. "Of course. The Mrlssi have always been pretty careful about who they sell to." He smiled again. "How's everything else going?"

Thomsdottir leaned back in her chair and sighed. "Quiet. There isn't much else to report really." She leaned forward. "Why are you really here Santiago? Normally a courier comes to hear these things, not a high-ranking company official."

The Sub-director of Analysis and Cryptography sighed. "We're worried someone may be going after Cannondale and the board (he used one of Intel's codenames for Razien)."

A white eyebrow quirked and Thomsdottir almost dropped her drink. "Seriously? How good is the info?"

"Pretty solid. We had two sources confirm it."

"Could they be wrong?" Thomsdottir wasn't an analyst so her skepticism wasn't surprising.

The analyst shook his head. "I don't think so. It's all vague but something's been chewing at me on it. We think a move may be made soon."

The station chief nodded. "I'll keep my eye out for anything. How long are you in town?"

"Two or three days." Cristobal took it as his cue to leave. "Want to grab dinner?"

"I'll have to look at my schedule but you can bet on it. Thanks for the info, Santiago. It's good to see you." They shook hands and Cristobal left the office.

Downstairs, the Rebel gazed over the Mrlssi street a moment and turned right towards a small cafe near the Mrlsst Academy. Entering the cafe, he slid into a booth near the front.

"Well...you heard the conversation. What do you think?"

Estelle stirred her tea with a spoon, taking a moment to phrase her words correctly as Cristobal sat opposite her.

"How well do you know Thomsdottir?" she queried.

He was not anticipating his question to be answered with a question of her own and his expression showed it - his adjusting of the eyebrows and an unsure smile.

"The reason I ask is that her response was anything but suspect. I could sense some alarm in her voice, but that is to be expected given your news"

"Quite right" Santiago offered briefly as Estelle sipped her tea. She replaced her cup on its saucer. "Of course, it will be her actions that come on the heels of your unusual visit today that will be most telling. You set no date for dinner?"

If Estelle was sounding officious, it was because she was determinedly being so. She couldnt for one instant forget that Santiago sitting across from her made her stomach flip sweaty and her palms turn backwards. Oh lord, she was even thinking all back to front. Business, she must keep everything on point. Why the frell did Othniel put them both together this way...away from the scruitiny of her partners Aurelias and Mili. Why, a girl could get into all sorts of trouble---What? Santiago was speaking. Oh for gods sake, what did she miss?

".....And she will want a public venue to avoid any hint of unauthorized or unsanctioned liasons, which is only to our benefit."

"Quite right" Estelle offered, before realising she'd just mimicked Santiago's earlier remark to the tee. "I mean, the reasoning is sound" she appended.

"Hm"

He smiled that smile at her and she dropped her eyes to avoid the devastation that always followed in its wake.

"So, I will stay on her here while she finishes out her day. You make your way back to where we are staying and setup your dinner arrangements with her. Tonight is better than tomorrow" she added, signalling the server by the tilt of her cup that she required a refil.

'It may be necessary for me to search her office while you keep her occupied this evening. Do you still have your pass card?"

"Of course I do." Santiago agreed. "You never know what you might find on her computer. But...I think it might be better if you searched her home first. I've known Marie for several years. If I were a spy, I'd keep everything either on my personal computer, away from prying office eyes. Or, I'd put it on a computer no one else knew existed."

He paused in his comments and motioned to the waitress to get him a cup of tea and a muffin. "But now that I think about, she might not even put it on a computer."

Estelle looked at him, then her green eyes rather nicely lit up. "A diary."

Cristobal nodded. "It was something we were, not quite taught, but learned from Misha Repin, the man who recruited us to go to analysis. Misha wasn't quite paranoid but he was overly cautious. Always on the lookout for spies. Sad really. He could have gotten Directorate of Intentions if he hadn't spouted off to Cracken over the Forest Moon. Repin thought it was noxious and refused to go."

"But he was right."

Santiago smiled. "Of course he was. That was the problem. When the new boss came in, he chose his own people to lead. Misha wasn't one of them. It's sad really..."

It looked like he was about to say something else when his comm *chirped*. "Hello? Marie." He smiled. "I was about to call you, actually. Are you available tonight? Excellent. When? Splendid. Pick you up? Where? 7764 North University Way. Excellent, I'll see you then." Santiago chatted a few seconds more then cut the connection.

"I remember her home. It's not very large but she has neighbors which tend to enjoy the outdoors. Oh thank you." He stopped again to accept his tea and muffin. "Something on your mind, Estelle? You seem nervous."

"No, no. No, not nervous"

She shook her head in the negative, which might have been a bit much in addition to her denials, but Cristobal seemed not to notice.

Funny that, as an analyst, Santiago had concluded Estelle to be seeking something in the way of hard data. This was not the case, but she forwent clarifying. If she were a spy. That is to say, as a spy, she would not be foolish enough to keep anything so easily damning as written information that could quickly be traced back to herself. A diary? Perhaps, but even if one clouded such details amongst the inanity of everyday life, it was still a big risk. Estelle had been of the mind to search for clues that were innocent to all but a person looking particularly for a traitor. An out of context holograph picture, an unusual momento or keepsake, some kind of lead. It could be any item really, it could even be something as intangible as a gut-instinct - something the 'geeks at spyschool' (to paraphrase Aurelias) had trained them not to ignore.

"Good suggestions, her home is her haven - if we turn up anything it most likely would be there"

"And everyone should feel safe at home." Cristobal's voice sounded like he was thinking wistfully about something. "We've got several hours before I meet Marie for dinner. Why don't we finish up here, then head back to our hotel. Make sure we have all of our gear."

Estelle was looking out in the street, lost in thought and Santiago good naturely raised two fingers and snapped them in front of Estelle's eyes. He smiled as she shook herself and stared at her.

"Come on. Let's go for a walk." Cristobal grabbed his muffin and paid for their tea, before walking out of the small cafe.

"The architecture here is absolutely amazing." Santiago said what Estelle was thinking as they walked down the duracrete street, which was flecked with green shrubbery. What both noticed was how the green never interfered with the duracrete and the duracrete never interfered with the green. "What they've been able to do with melding the greenstalk forest with their buildings is fascinating. So serene and busy at the same time."

The pair turned down another street, headed towards their hotel. "When you were in school, did you ever get the chance to visit the Academy here? You'd see artwork and techonology there no one else in the galaxy has."

"I never got the chance. For a large part of my University life if I went anywhere, it was on missions for the Alliance. I had to make to with holovid tours of such places"

There was no regret in Estelle's answer, just simple information. She had never once regretted the choice she'd made to serve the Alliance the way she had. Her priorities were set and it was to defend the autonomy of such places that the rebels waged the war they did.

"If these streets are anything to go by, I believe you when you say it is a chance of a lifetime"

"It is." Cristobal gazed up at the stalks. "One reason I became an analyst was so I could take the occasional vacation to see things like this. Being an operative isn't all tropical locations with girls in bikinis hanging off of you." They both shared a laugh over it. That type of lifestyle was for the HoloNet vids.

They walked up two small steps towards their hotel. Like most other structures on Mrlsst, it was made from a hollowed out greenstalk. The interior though was breathtaking. The hotel designers had carved out furniture from the interior bark and covered them with various cushions and paint to make them look even more exotic. Strings of cool lights curved along the walls, giving the lobby a rather dark and relaxing look. During the night, those lights gave way to larger, brighter lights in alcoves. But Everything had its place in the hotel and nothing was done garishly.

Estelle and Santiago's room was just the same. Both beds were hollowed out from the bark, the same with the table and chairs they would sit upon. The floor was slightly soft from the bark and carpet they walked upon. Their beds were comfortable and the view from the lone, double-doored window which led out to a balcony.

Santiago smiled. "It may not be all girls in bikinis and beaches. But the view is nice. Make sure your gear is together and get a nap. By the time you wake up, we should be ready to go."

Thomsdottir went over the message she'd just received. She'd been figured out, her cover was close to being blown. Combine that with Cristobal's sudden arrival, it meant things were worse than she'd ever expected.

The Imperial spy pressed several buttons on her desk, removing the data packets of information she'd stored over the last several months. Schedules, plans, information on Incom prototypes. Some of the names of her operatives on Mrlsst. It was all there. She'd have to drop them to her contact on Mrlsst before she got off planet. If that was the plan. Marie wasn't sure if she would be extracted back to Coruscant, Carida, or some other Imperial held world.

She stopped a moment to brush a white lock from her hair. Am I really being this foolish? she asked herself. It could be Santiago really wanted to catch up. I haven't seen him in a while anyway.

Thomsdottir stuffed half of her information in her bag. Best to hide it in her home to be safe. "Verge." She spoke into her comlink. "I'm headed out for the day. I'll pick up my work again tomorrow."

"Very well Ms. Thomsdottir. We'll talk more about the new fighter plans tomorrow."

Marie slid her bag over her shoulder and quickly exited her office. Three hours until her dinner with Santiago. That would give her time to think...

The Mon Calamari Cruiser: Hope For Change Orbiting Mon Calamari

"Dammit!" Rebel Intelligence Sub-Director of Counter Intelligence Samantha Lessard cursed. She, along with her off and on lover, the SpecOps agent, Rawl were standing in front of a doorway in the senior officer section of the Hope For Change. "Misha changed his lock code."

Rawl gave an almost smile. "Are you sure this is a good idea? Breaking into the ex-sub director of analysis' quarters for a second time. After the frist time didn't come up with anything? Some people are going to start wondering about you, Sam."

Lessard turned her brown-haired head towards Rawl and gave him a 'look'. "We don't know where Misha disappeared to. We it's somewhere on Coruscant, but not where. Sure he's probably tracking down a lead on whoever the traitors are but if we can find out, maybe we can help him somehow. Send him some information."

Her finger went over the keypad once more, again getting a negative response. She swore again. "Dammit Misha! Of all the times to be so Force-damned stubborn."

"For all we know." Rawl crossed his arms. "Repin's the traitor."

Lessard had fire in her eyes and she pointed her hydrospanner at him. "Don't say that Rawl! Don't you even fucking think that!"

Rawl sighed. "Okay I'm sorry. I know he means a lot to you. It just doesn't make sense. Why would he change his code?"

Sam shook her head and stood up, her five-foot two frame coming just up to the SpecOps' chin. "I don't know. Misha's always been cautious. Almost overly cautious. He just doesn't always trust a ton of people these days. Or ever I guess.

"Hell, he didn't even bother telling Cristobal he was leaving. Just left it up to Belargic to promote and tell him." She pursed her lips. "He's not acting right, Rawl. I'm worried about him."

The thin man nodded his understanding. He'd only met Repin a few times, mainly while he was with his boss, 'The Black Man'. He'd never tell Sam, but Repin came off like an old tauntaun sometimes. Smart guy, but he made 'The Black Man' look unconcerned about security sometimes. Very weird.

"What do you hope to find in there?"

Sam shrugged and started fiddling with the keypad again. "I don't know. A note. A computer file. Something telling me why he decided to go where he did. A lead on who he suspects is the traitor. Just something to help us find him."

She smacked the pad and cursed again, through clenched lips. "Work dammit!"

Rawl shook his head and put a hand on Lessard's shoulder. "Let me have a try. I may be able to bypass Repin's security code."

Samantha smiled and stepped away. Twenty minutes later, they were in.

Keff Base on the planet Sullust

Kazaar was still inna pretty frackin' bad mood when he got t'the Rebel's base on Sullust. He'd seen th'googly eyes th'Kid was throwin' at th'mention o'that frackin' analyst, Cristobal. Hell, Othy saw 'em too. Prob'ly why he suggested th'two of 'em go t'Mrlsst together. Frackin' Black Man...what was he hopin' Estelle'd put whatever romantic poodoo was gonna happen on Mrlsst ('course Kazaar knew it'd happen) in 'er frackin' report? Of all th'frackin' cheap things t'do.

'Course, Birdy'd been just as pissed'n worried on th'flight t'Sullust as Kazaar'd been. Wasn't 'cause she was mad 'bout bein' separated from th'Kid. Actually, prob'ly was but k'Vik was so frackin' quiet, he knew she was tossin' 'round that pretty little head o'hers all th'stuff she thought was gonna happened t'the Kid. Hell, she prob'ly was annoyed it wasn't gonna be her gettin' th'just desserts'. Kazaar smirked. Dames. Frackin' goofy.

Th'former bounty hunter was dressed up inna Rebel uniform, or 'least th'closest thing he was gonna let 'imself be dressed in. Sure as hell wasn't gonna wear that goofy lookin' eggshell-shaped helmet. No frackin' way, that Force-damned getup looked frackin' stupid. Not inna Imperial 'oh I wear o'white skullfaced helmet so be scared o'me'. More like o'oh I wear o'frackin' ramp forra helmet. Drive o'speeder offa me.'

'nother smirk. Thank Kad he was o'member o'SpecOps. Even if his boss was o'frackin' bastard.

'Least Othy was nice 'nough t'make him a major, Kazaar nodded to a couple lieutenants who were scurrying 'round th'massive underground cave that hosed th'base. Prob'ly lookin' f'someone t'order 'round 'n do a buncha pushups. Buncha highminded jerks.

Kazaar puffed on one o'his dark cigars'n motioned towards o'big earred Sullustan. "Lieutenant." He just nodded t'th'Sullustan's salute. His voice remained pretty guttural but Kazaar backed off on his normal gruff tone. "Where's General Thomsdottir?"

'Big Ears' didn't speak Basic, but Kazaar got th'gist o'his jabberin'. Up in his office in th'building overlookin' o'nice pool. Must be nice t'be o'suit. He strode towards a speeder which'd take 'im t'Wayneright Thomsdottir's office. Birdy was handlin' th'two kids, Cary'n Paxton. Hope she was havin' more fun than he was.

Ya better not expect me t'kiss ya ass, Tommy. Kazaar puffed away on th'cigar. 'Cause that ain't happenin'.

**************************

General Wayneright Thomsdottir's office was o'pretty frackin' nice place. Larger'n most, had a decent view o'the underground pool, plus a stocked t'the gills liquor cabinent. Sure as hell wasn't somethin' ya saw ev'ry day. Problem was, ole Tommy wasn't th'most affable o'guys. 'Fact, he expected Kazaar t'not only kiss 'is ass, but t'also give it o'good rubdown. 'Least that what he seemed like.

"You are Major White yes?" Tommy's eyes didn't even bother glancin' up from th'datapad he was readin'. Guy's cheeks moved pretty frackin' funny too. Like they were some kinda leech holdin' onto th'guy's face.

"Yes...sir." Kazaar almost forgot t'add th'sir'. Frackin' military.

Thomsdottir motioned him towards o'seat. "You're from General Dan's camp yes?"

Kazaar nodded'n sat down. He'd run into Dan once're twice on missions. Figured th'guy wouldn't mind 'im stealing an ID from 'im. Not that he'd even used 'is real name durin' those missions.

"Well then. What can I do for you. Major."

"Few weeks ago." Kazaar figured he wouldn't be too cute 'bout it. "We ran into a communication from a few Imperial agents." He handed over the partial transmission th'Kid and Cristobal recovered. "You can see the problem."

Tommy's dull eyes started t'show some life. "Do you mean to say to me." Guy's jowells kept movin' like slugs. "You think I'm the 'Thomsdottir' listed here? You must be joking."

Kazaar/White let 'is mouth quirk inna smile/smirk. "Not really...sir. We've noticed how operative on both military intel and Rebel Intel have been disappearing off the grid. General Dan wanted me to speak with you personally."

More life in Thomsdottir's eyes. "I've known General Dan for ten years!" He blustered tryin' t'show how important he was. "He would have contacted me personally if he thought I was the source of the leak."

Inwardly, Kazaar smirked. He hadn't caught Tommy inna lie. But he'd touched o'nerve. For th'lieutenant of th'guy really in charge o'Military Intel, ole' Tommy was o'touchy bastard.

"If you even think." Thomsdottir's eyes were startin' t'actually shine. 'Nother inward smirk. Guy might start doin' 'is frackin' job now. "I would considering betraying the Alliance..."

Kazaar didn't hear th'rest. His mind'd *clicked*. Tommy was o'frackin' politician. Guy was lookin' t'get a better spot in th'Alliance. His spot in military intel was just o'frackin' steppin' stone. Hell, that was why th'guy talked 'bout how he knew Dan.

Time t'ruffle th'guy's feathers even more. "What about your sons. Paxton likes to gamble yes? Maybe he fell in with the wrong crowd. He's in the hold for creds a lot"

"Get the hell out of my office!" Thomsdottir roared, his eyes now furious. "I want you gone Major White or whoever the hell you are! How...how dare you! Get out! Get the hell out!"

Kazaar was smirkin' as he left Tommy's office. He'd rattled 'is chains pretty frackin' well. Good. Guy might start doin' 'is frackin' job. Leak may not've come from ole Wayneright. But he might start gettin' his sons under control. Get them t'start doin' their jobs'n not acting like o'buncha spoiled-ass brats.

He stuck o'cigar in 'is mouth'n went t'find Birdy.

Estelle lay on the bed immobile, staring at the ceiling, for what felt like atleast an hour. It had been 12 minutes. She forced her eyes shut and almost instantly opened them again.

"I can hear you" Cristobal said absently from where he was seated at the small desk across the room, reviewing a datascreen. Estelle could only see the back of his head and she admired the way his ears looked, so neat and compact. Really? His ears? Oh, she was in big trouble..

"To sleep you have to close your eyes...and your ears" he admonished.

She sat up briskly, "I wasn't...I mean, I had my eyes closed"
She peered forward to see if she was reflected in the data screen. Nope, just a weird co-incidence. She swung her legs off the bed. "There's no way I can relax. I want to get started." Santiago swiveled about in his chair and raised an eyebrow, "Are you always this eager?"

"What?" What did he mean? He didn't think she meant..."What?" she repeated stupidly.

"The mission, eager to get things moving"

"Yes! The mission. Im eager, its a bad habit. How long before you meet Marie?'

Cristobal looked at his watch, unnecessarily. He knew to the minute how much time he had. "A little over two hours. You can help me here if you like"

Estelle took him up on his suggestion and pulled a chair over beside him, it was an armchair and didnt quite reach up to a good height for the desk, but she perservered. Santiago went back to his research and after a few minutes of staring at the code and flickering screen, Estelle rested her chin on her hand and began to doze.

A few minutes later, Cristobal silently stood up, grabbed a blanket, and put it around Estelle's nicely shaped shoulders. He'd let her sleep for a while, before going back to the job at hand.

Santiago's footfalls were barely heard through the soft carpet/bark floor. He reached into his suitcase and pulled out the communication device he used to contact HQ on the progress of his missions and receive updates from them.

The wolves are surrounding the sheep. Continue as ordered.

He let a small smile come to his face. It was times like this he really missed being out in the field and running operations. But being sub-director of Analysis had its own perks. He was always 'in the loop' when it came to information. He'd once joked to Misha he was "living vicariously through the other operatives" but that wasn't always true.

Santiago waited another hour before placing a soft hand on Estelle's face. "Estelle. Wake up. It's time."

Cristobal crossed the hotel lobby after exiting the elevator at exactly 6pm.

He was dressed smartly in black slacks and a coal-grey shirt, open at the collar and caught more than the lion's share of admiring looks as he strode across the foyer. A sweeping glance, a slight nod to the concierge and Santiago was stepping through the hotel doors and out into the hotel landing. Eight stories up, it was not a commanding view of Mrlsst but it was impressive enough. Mrlsst was a treat to the senses in any form, but he was not here for the vista. Within seconds, a sleek speeder-cab ascended up to the landing from groundlevel and Santiago slid effortlessly into the backseat, the vehicle taking off as Cristobal gave the address.

From where she sat, Estelle could watch him plainly as he made his exit. She read the last of the 'visitors' guide brochure' as a delaying tactic then she, too, crossed the lobby, though much less conspicuously than her rebel counterpart. She was wearing dark slacks and a beige sweater. Her hair was pulled in a loose ponytail, her face devoid of makeup. Where Santiago was dressed to be noticed, Estelle was dressed to be overlooked. Santiago used the VIP exit, Russard took the turbolift down to the ground floor and left the hotel via the street exit.

They left separately, their missions for the evening different but their objective was singular: Find compromising information on Marie Thomsdottir and, if necessary, seize her for the Alliance to question.

The restaurant Marie chose to meet Cristobal at wasn't the most glamorous but it was far from rundown. The owner, a Mrlssi, employed mostly humans and some Zeltrons as waiters and waitresses. There was also the occasional Falleen, all dressed in clothing appropriate for the restaurant: not too lavish, but far from drab.

Marie was waiting for Santiago as he exited the taxi. "Santiago." She gave him a brief hug. "You look very nice to tonight."

Cristobal gave a smile and held the door open for her. "You do too, Marie."

Thomsdottir wore a black, sleeveless dress with two red stripes running down the sides. The dress was loose near the knees and her shoes were more like slippers: flat, made of light material, but still exquisite. Marie still wore the long bracelet on her left forearm, while her right one was bare. Her white hair fell down the sides of her face, but was up in the back. Cristobal simply agreeing that Marie "looked nice" was an understatement.

They were shown to their seats in a booth near the middle of the restaurant. There was an exit about 20 feet away, the sub-director of Analysis noted. It meant Thomsdottir was concerned about the news he'd given her earlier. Which wasn't a bad thing.

"Is Cannondale really in danger?" It was Marie who decided to break the ice.

"We're pretty certain." Cristobal answered, motioning for a Zeltron waitress to bring them two glasses of white wine. "You know how corporate conspiracies go. Someone hears rumors of something else and it starts to gather steam."

Thomsdottir's mouth quirked. "Two sources then?"

A nod. "We confirmed them both. Cannondale hasn't completely taken heed though. But I think he's being a bit more selective with his appointments."

The Chief of Station for Mrlsst's mouth quirked again. "He probably should be."

Santiago scratched his right shoulder and Marie changed the subject. "Is everything else all right? Have you met anyone special?"

Cristobal gave a smile. "I think so..."

k’Vik attempted to enjoy herself. Paxton said across from her, sweat rolled off his brow. Cary, much to Paxton’s dismay, merely sat with drink in hand a dumb grin on his face. He’d already cashed his very small potatoes out, having lost thirty credits to the pale woman. Paxton, on the other hand, stared at half a month’s salary in front of Milivikal. She looked up from her cards at him. Her blue eyes were cold and pale, and her gaze made Paxton shudder. The left side of her lips curled upward into an arrogant grin.

“Call.” She said, her upper-crust Coruscanti came through in a wave. Paxton put his cards down on the table. A ball of sweat formed on the tip of his nose and retreated toward the table with gravity’s help.

His hand was serviceable, and would beat most poor to mediocre hands. Milivikal’s hand was better. She knew it. Even if she hadn’t been able to peruse his mind casually, he had dozens of tells for different cards. Paxton was a terrible card player. Cary, on the other hand, wasn’t bad. He’d had the good sense to know he was outmatched. He reached his small-ball limit and cashed out.

She laid her hand down. Her 3-of-a-kind smashed his high pair. Paxton let out an anguished whimper and put his head in his hands.

“Paxton.” She said cooly. He looked up from beneath his palms. Milivikal pushed most of the pile back to him. After all, it had been his at one point. Paxton’s mouth fell open. No one ever returned chips. Cary blinked a few times, but grinned.

“Try another game, love. You’re no good at this one.” She added, stood, and started for the bar.

Kazaar was leaning 'gainst th'bar watchin' Birdy's display 'n took o'drink from his beer. Kinda surprisin' t'see 'er give Paxton th'chips back, but k'Vik wasn't 'xactly ya normal dame. Hell, she wasn't even ya normal FU. She sure as hell wasn't o'Jedi (Kazaar'd seen one're two of 'em) but she wasn't o'Sith either. 'Course she was prob'ly somethin' in between or a frack ovva lot darker.

He smirked an' lit up o'cigar ('least these Thomsdottirs knew it wasn't bad t'be inna place that allowed smokin'). 'Long as she didn't start trying t'kill th'Kid (based on how she acted 'round Estelle, Kazaar doubted she was gonna do that. 'Less she wanted t'sex 'er t'death...his next smirk was o'little dirtier) they'd keep gettin' 'long fine.

Over at th'Thomsdottirs' table, both of 'em were trying t'figure out what the frack'd happen. Paxton'd just gotten 'is clock clean but was able t'recover most o'his creds. Which made no Force-damned sense t'either of 'em. Paxton looked at Cary, whose face was pretty blank, then stood up and followed Milivikal.

"Um...excuse me." Birdy hadn't ordered anythin' yet so Kazaar figured Paxton was gonna take care 'othat. "Th-thanks for what you did." He gave a sheepish smile. "When most people clean me out, they tend to make more than just my credits." Scar under 'is right eyes said it all. "Thanks again. C-can I buy you a drink?"

Gaining entry into Marie's home had been a simple matter. The use of an Intel-developed reroute circuit card had taken care of the alarm on the patio sliding door, and that in itself had been a basic enough system to override. Russard wondered why Thomsdottir had such flimsy security and took all prudent caution on her entry, feeling that such simplicity was probably a false-safety and there was likely a secondary system.

She flashed her penlight across the dark interior of Marie's livingroom and immediately her suspicions were confirmed -- green motion lasers crisscrossed the entire space. She would have to go back out and find the housing unit and interupt the power source. This was bad for two reasons, one - it would take time and two - it would leave an imprint of unauthorized access which could be traced back to this date and time. However, it would not be found immediately unless one did daily reviews of the readouts and even so, by that time Thomsdottir would either be cleared of suspicion or in Alliance custody.

Estelle set to work moving quickly and methodically, all the while listening in on Cristobal's conversation with Marie via his transmitter. She almost tripped the alarm when Santiago admitted to maybe having found someone special. The statement raised all kinds of questions in her head and was quite a distraction.

With the alarm and motion sensors eventually taken care of, Russard re-entered the Thomsdottir residence and moved quickly to Marie's bedroom. If anything secret was being hidden, it would be in there..

"Really?" Marie's white eyebrow cocked upwards gracefully. "Who is she?"

"A woman I've worked with recently." Santiago gave a smile, before taking a sip from his glass of wine. "She works for a 'rival' company, I think, but she a good worker. Very smart. I'd love work with her even more."

Thomsdottir's reply was only a nod, as two salad plates were put in front of them. "Do you think you will?"

Cristobal shrugged. "She's busy right now doing something, I'm not quite sure. She's up for a transfer so she may be house hunting. If given the opportunity, I'd love to."

Marie did her best not to take in a breath at the 'house hunting' comment. If Cristobal were here, did it mean he brought someone with him? Was she currently in her own home?

"Santiago. Why'd you come here?" The Station Chief of Mrlsst decided to take the direct approach.

Cristobal's look was serious. "We're doing an investigation into some toxic chemicals in parts of the company. Some of the power generators have been failing. When we looked at a list of makers, your name came up. I wanted to make sure you had nothing to do with it."

Oh krasst.

She had been burned. Someone, probably that idiot Walt Harrison, had either been caught or worse and spilled the beans. That meant Cristobal...

Bloody hell. Marie tried to shuffle her thoughts away. "I promise you. I know nothing about it Santiago."

The Sub-Director of Cryptography and Analysis grimaced. "I know. I know. You're too careful to get caught up in things like that. But I had to come and make sure."

Marie inwardly sighed and scratched her leg where the information from her office computer she'd taped to it was. She was safe.

“Thank you, love, but you already have.” She held up a stack of chips between her index finger and her thumb. Milivikal had been generous, but not a philanthropist. Paxton looked bewildered. He turned away. His hands twitched, and he whirled to face her. He leveled a finger millimeters from her face.

“You cheated, didn’t you!” He yelled angrily. Milivikal had miscalculated. His ego couldn’t take this much bruising in such a short time span. She wanted to compare notes with Kazaar, not spend more time with this simpleton.

“Listen closely, Paxton. Put the finger down or it shall not be the only thing I break.” Her tone had gone from warm and friendly to icy. She projected menace, but there wasn’t enough space in his brain for fear of her. He was hopped up on adrenaline and stupid self-righteousness. To him, she was a cheat, plain and simple. Paxton grabbed for her blouse, but she had turned on the bar stool. His hand missed. She kicked him in the shins, and shoved an elbow into his gut when his hands dropped. She was on her feet now, and placed one leg behind his. She pushed up and away. Paxton sprawled onto the floor.

“Next time I will dig my elbow in lower.” She warned. Paxton didn’t say anything. He wheezed loudly on the floor. Kazaar sauntered over.

“Can I buy ya a drink?” He asked.

“No.” She replied.

“Dames.” He said, and shrugged. She harummphed, and walked away, toward the door. She had left a chip on the bar, more than enough to pay for the beer in his hand. How nice o’her, he thought, and shook his head. Kazaar downed the rest of the beer and headed after her. He caught up as she had finished cashing out the chips. She was now 100 credits richer.

“Can I still get ya a drink?” He asked.

“Perhaps later.” She said. They walked out.

“Anything?” She asked Aurelias.

“Naw, pops is a damn pencil pushin’ politician.” He spat the last word out. “What ‘bout Huey and Dooey?”

“Paxton is a hot-headed moron and Carey is along for the fireworks.” Milivkal explained.

“So nothin’.” Kazaar reasoned.

“Nothing.” Mili agreed.

Russard passed the small desk in the corner of the room where Marie's personal computer consol was set, giving it not much more than a cursory glance. Stopping briefly to flip the desktop calendar, she noted nothing of importance apart from the odd luncheon date or social plan written in pencil and moved quickly to the closet. The computer remained dark.

Estelle rustled through the clothing, taking care to slip her hands into every pocket of all jackets, coats and pants and coming up with an assortment of receipts, ticket stubs and chewing gum wrappers. She put them on the desk. Next, she checked the handbags - lovely soft gungan leather most of them with the odd sparkly clutch purse peppered through them for variety. Marie had nice taste. These yeilded more scraps of paper. Next, Estelle checked the waste basket...this was empty.

Taking her seat, Russard methodically checked every peice of paper looking for something out of profile of Station Cheif Thomsdottir, looking for something that felt odd or that didn't quite fit. In her left ear, she could hear Cristobal and Marie talking clearly, but it was mostly benign chit-chat. Estelle and Santiago would take the conversation apart later at the hotel and comb it for inconsistencies. However, as Estelle peiced together a vague outline of Marie's recent movements about the city from her litter pile, one particular ticket stub caught her eye - The Mrlsst Botanical Garden Lights Show. The stub was dated a week ago. She flipped the desk calendar back a few pages and found what she was looking for...Botanical Light Show 8:00 pm...That was dated three weeks ago. Russard spoke softly into her comm, a whisper into Santiago's ear, "Ask Marie if she has been to the light show at Mrlsst Botanical Gardens..." Two dates at the show was a coincidence, a third would be a pattern and that could mean something -- an arranged meet or drop for information perhaps? Estelle waited, expectantly, for Cristobal to ask the question, her eyes holding fast the two separate dates of a possible rendevous. Her breath was shallow, she was on to something, she just felt it.

"Why else did you come?" Thomsdottir seemed a bit more relaxed than she was a minute ago.

Cristobal took a drink of his wine and was about to answer, when dinner was brought. "Two nerfs steaks." The waiter announced. "One medium, the other medium rare."

The traitor and the Sub-Director of Analysis thanked the human and turned back to their food. Santiago took several bites, marveling at the flavor and the caramelized taste of the onions on top of it, before answering. "I was interested in seeing the Light show to be honest."

Marie's eyes almost widened and she choked down a giggle.

"I'm serious, Marie. I've always been interested in light shows, plus the botanical gardens makes it an added bonus. Have you ever been there?"

Thomsdottir waited a few moments before answering her question. "No. No. I haven't. I've always wanted to but something's always come up both times I've wanted to go. They've got a show tonight, I think. Would you like to go?"

"Possibly." Santiago smiled. "Actually. Most definitely. We might even grab a nightcap after that." He stood up and excused himself to use the bathroom.

When he was out of an earshot, he whispered into his comm, "Well?"

This mission was frackin' FUBARed from th'entire beginning. Kazaar was pretty pissed atta buncha frackin' things. Kid ditchin' him'n Birdy forra frackin' Force-damned analyst. Drove 'im up th'wall in more ways than one. Then of course there was their frackin' 'targets'. Weren't traitors but o'buncha frackin' politicians carin' more 'bout their own survival than that o'the Rebellion. Frackin' sissies. Frackin' politicians. Grow o'pair o'balls and start doin' ya frackin' job. Kazaar felt his teeth grind.

'Course Sullust wasn't th'best vacation spot either. Sure it was nice'n cool but th'damn cities had no sky. The Sullustans were all hidin' out inna buncha caves (large ones), survivin' as best as they could. Sure beat livin' inna desert, but still... wasn't th'kinda thing th'former bounty hunter liked. Ya don't frackin' fence people in...

Goota admit though, their tech ain't bad. Got t'get th'Dutchman refurbished with o'couple things Russard Industries didn't have (one o'the rare times that happened). Most o'it was f'Trey. Sure as hell that R8 droid was as happy as one could be. 'Nother smirk. Bucket o'bolts always liked tinkerin' with stuff.

Th'two Rebels crossed o'smoothed over rocky street, which essentially made th'Main Street' o'Keff Base area. Wasn't much, but 'least there was o'transport t'G'rinn Go city and its big ass markets. Wouldn't be o'bad place t'look forra couple new vibroblades. Never could have 'nuff of 'em.

"I swear Birdy." He clenched o'dark cigar between his lips'n scowled. "We better go find some kinda scum t'hit."

"And that is because..." Milivikal's face was quirked inna amused expression. Prob'ly had o'good idea but wasn't gonna say anything.

"'Cause, this damn trip's been f'nothing an' I'm gettin frackin' itch-"

BOOM!

'Bout that time th'speeder down th'street blew up. Wasn't o'homemade explosion either. That thing went up like o'TIE did when ya hit it just right. Right after that were th'screams an' th'sound o'blasters goin' off. Kazaar'n Birdy turned towards it, th'ground shook. Like it was an earthquake're something. Or somethin'. Off in th'distance Kazaar's black eyes spotted o'buncha smoke comin' from th'entrance all th'ships used t'get to'n from th'surface.

Bombs. Buncha 'em. Strong 'nough t'--aw ya gotta be frackin' kiddin' me.

Kazaar pulled 'The Twins' outta their holster in 'is back, k'Vik doin' th'same with her small holdout blaster. 'Bout that time they saw th'white-helmeted figures poured outta a hole in one o'the buildings down th'street.

Stormtroopers. Frackin' stormtroopers. Th'Empire was frackin' on Sullust.

Keff Base: Command Area

"Where the hell did they come from?" Wayneright Thomsdottir had been enjoying a long, hot shower when the alarms went off. He immediately threw on the nearest uniform (really more of a suit with a Rebel emblem pinned to it) and raced to the command area.

"No idea sir." A young lieutenant, no more than a boy, answered. "Everything was fine until a freighter." He quickly did his best to bring up as much information as he could. "This one." He pointed to a BFF-1 freighter. "Had some weird readings before it landed. It had to dump one of its cargo containers on the outskirts of town. Some sort of radiation leak I think."

The base shook as a loud series of explosions went off near the perimeter. Space bombs, Wayneright's mind noted. Seconds later he heard the familiar *whine* of ion engines and saw the TIE bomber squadron fly ahead.

"Get pilots to their fighters now." He yelled to no one and everyone. "And tell them to be careful. Last thing we need is the cave roof falling down. No matter how high up it is. And I thought the dayshift cleared every ship, including this freighter, coming in."

"They did sir. Paxton's signature is on here. He cleared it before he headed out."

The head of Alliance Intel on Sullust scanned over the readings. His son had cleared the freighter. But why? Could it be he was the traitor that damn spook had been looking for earlier? Did his gambling actually get him in trouble? No...no. Wayneright thought. My son is not a traitor. But still...

"When did the freighter come in?"

"Umm...1555...just before shift change."

Wayneright's eyes closed slightly. No...no! I won't let my son fall for this. He may be a fool...

"Lieutenant. Doublecheck to make sure Paxton actually signed off on it and send the readings to my office and my office alone. And order all Rebel forces on high alert. If that freighter had TIE bombers who knows what else..."

"Imperial AT-STs spotted near the spaceport landing pads."

Wayneright Thomsdottir swore loudly. His son was a fool. A lazy, damned fool. He'd been in a hurry to get to the first tables and didn't bother scanning it. And now Keff Base was burning because of it.

********************************

Kazaar fired offa couple blaster shots 'causin' one stormie t'hit th'ground hard. He smirked. Killin' Imps made him feel pretty frackin' good. Even if there were 15 more comin' at 'im. "Where th'frack're they comin' from?"

Birdy took o'shot with 'er holdout blaster an' ducked back down. "Landing pad." She stated succiently. She was lookin' forra 'nother blaster.

'Cowboy' nodded'n rose up from his crouch firin'. Couple Imps hit th'ground while th'rest started targetin' him. Givin' Birdy 'nough time t'cross th'street behind 'nother speeder. And 'bout 15 feet closer t'th'Empire's 'finest'.

Kazaar threw o'glance towards Milivikal'n winked. Then he started firin' again.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Santiago Cristobal

Thomsdottir waited a few moments before answering her question. "No. No. I haven't.

---

A deliberate lie. The reason for such falsehood was not apparent, but something Thomsdottir deemed necessary nonetheless.

Quote:

---

He stood up and excused himself to use the bathroom.

When he was out of an earshot, he whispered into his comm, "Well?"

---

"What is she trying to hide?" Estelle returned into the comm and she could sense Cristobal shrug.

Both Rebels recognised it was a careless lie on Marie's part, one that could only arouse suspicion rather than deflect it. There must be something greater to be hidden that warrented such risk.

"Something important" he eventually replied.

"Shall I continue here or do you want me to follow you and Marie?"

Krasst. Krasst. Krasst Marie's thoughts suddenly turned nervous. Santiago hadn't had enough to drink to need to use the restroom and she'd spent enough time around him to know when "going to the bathroom" didn't mean to use the head.

Reaching to the packs of data taped to her leg, she pulled out a green coloured one and quickly taped it to the underside of the table. Then she quickly rearranged the flower display on the table. It would alert a contact she had to pull the message from underneath the table. The contact would then take the message and deliver it to Walter Eluzian, the attache to the chief negotiator of the Rebel's attempted trade agreement with the Mrlssi. He was also her partner.

The message was simple: The Prophet here. Shell cracking. Meet ASAP.

"See if you can find anything else, but keep listening." Cristobal ordered not unkindly. "If Thomsdottir says she has to go, then we'll meet near her house. Look for my speeder. If she doesn't, we'll meet back at the hotel."

"Understood."

Estelle was about to do one more sweep, when she suddenly heard the outside door open and the sound of someone enter the dark home. It wasn't Thomsdottir obviously, she was still with Santiago. So who was it? She froze, her ears straining to hear. A few seconds later, muffled footsteps were heard a bit louder.

Whoever was in the house was headed right towards the room she was in.

She didn't dare speak to let Cristobal know there was an intruder, or more correctly, an intruder other than herself, in Thomsdottir's home. Any noise could alert the newcomer. Instead, Russard stepped noiselessly back to stand in deep shadow, her back against the bedroom wall. From her pocket, she pulled a peice of nylon cord and wrapped it silently about her hands until its length was taut between them. From her position, she watched, ready at the moment it became necessary to step forward and negate the threat that had just stepped through the bedroom threshold.

The footsteps came closer and closer. Estelle felt her breath catch in her throat as she got ready to strike.

The opportunity never came. For whatever reason, the footsteps stopped. She heard some type of *tapping* from the hallway, like something was being nailed into the wall. The Rebel spy strained her ears to see what might be nailed and noticed the sounds started to change. Instead of a *tapping* sound, it sounded like some sort of metal was being taken from the wall (she'd noticed an odd looking breaker near the bedroom entryway), then the sound of someone trying to tap on a keyboard. There was a second computer.

A muffled curse, "Stang Marie why'd you have to change the passcode. I swear I'm changing it back."

The sounds eventually became normal, as whoever was outside finished their business and left the home.

Estelle was alone.

She acted quickly, moving to where she thought she heard the noises coming from. Sure enough, it was from the breaker. She popped it open and pulled the breaker completely out, exposing the second computer hidden in the wall.

It took her four minutes to figure out the new password. When she booted up the computer, she saw nothing. No files, no data nothing. Then she noticed the messanger program saying there was one new message.

Operation: Blue Devil is a go.

"I can't stay much longer, I'm afraid." Santiago noticed how nervous-looking Marie's smile appeared. "I just heard the main office is sending specs on their new fighter in for review. I can't talk about it, but it's supposed to be faster than the X-wing."

Cristobal nodded. Nice bit of information to know. If Incom were creating a better fighter, he wondered if the Alliance would get first dibs at it. He rose and kissed Marie on the cheek. "Good to see you Marie. It's been too long."

A flash of (was that fear?) came on the Traitor's face before quickly disappearing. "Err, yes Santiago. Far, far too long." She hurriedly exited the restaurant, telling the waiter to bill Incom.

Santiago stretched and placed his hand beneath where Marie had been sitting. Sure enough, there was a small datapacket below. His chuckled and leisurely made his way out of the restaurant. "Target heading your way." He murmured in his comlink. "I'm going to change clothes into something a little more suitable. I'll meet you there.

"Copy?"

"Copy"

Estelle's reply was not so much curt, as it was efficient. She moved quickly in the darkness, replacing the breaker and collecting up the chits of paper that were still on the desk. A quick, sharp scan of the room to ensure it was in the same state she had found it and Russard exited silently from the house.

She had reset the alarm circuits and settled into the bushes along the side of the house to wait for Cristobal to eventually join her, by which time she had come to the conclusion that they should take Marie this night.

Santiago showed up 15 minutes later. He'd ditched the jacket and tie for a dark pullover and jacket. His legs were covered lighter pants and his feet were clad in boots. The speeder was different too. A more sportier vehicle. Something which wouldn't be out of place here along Thomsdottir's street.

"What did you see?" Was his first question, handing Estelle a canteen of water.

She described the calendar with the every other week meeting at the light show. Plus she told him about the second computer, noting with pride how short it took for her to hack into it, with the message about 'Blue Devils'. "Does that make any sense to you?"

"Operation: Blue Devil?" Cristobal scrunched his eyebrows together. "Sounds menacing."

Estelle nodded, concern on her face. "Could it be they're launching their operation on the Council."

The Sub-Director of Analysis gave a worried nod. "It could. Could also be another operation all together..." His brown-flecked green eyes glanced up at the rearview mirror. Headlights. "Grab the map."

"Where."

"The glove compartment." Estelle fumbled for a moment, then pulled the small map reader from the compartment. She pressed a button and it brought up a holographic road map of the area, just as Marie's speeder drove by and pulled into her driveway.

Estelle shut it back down. "Shall we move?"

"Not yet." Both Rebels watched as Thomsdottir entered her home, turning on the lights as she did. "We should wait until her contact shows up, then wait and see what they have to say."

They waited two minutes more, when another speeder started coming towards them in the opposite direction. A Mrlssi patrol.

"Cops." Santiago acted quickly, grabbing Estelle's right shoulder and pulling her towards him. Cristobal's right hand cupped Estelle's jaw in a caress. His eyes half watching the road, connected with Estelle's brown ones. Their faces grew close as the patrol got closer.

Their lips touched.

Using speeders as cover was not an original idea. k’Vik’s body was pressed up against the door of a cargo speeder. Her eyes were closed, but she could sense nearly everything, be it from echo or from the feel of things that the Force granted. Unfortunately, the holdout blaster’s effective range was short: fewer than ten meters, to be precise. Trading shots with the troopers across the street would do her little good. Despite the fact that Stormy armor was designed more for form than function, it provided good resistance against sonic projection. It did not, however, provide adequate protection from a fast moving speeder. Kazaar initiated another volley of fire from his pistols. The two troopers immediate to them sought cover deeper cover, crouching behind the SoroSuub family landspeeder speeder. Milivikal rolled out from behind the speeder. Her hands were spread wide and open near her shoulders. She pushed. Her hands extended outward. The speeder squashed the troopers against the transparisteel storefront. One of the E-11 blasters was left generously on the sidewalk. It bounced across the street before it leapt to Milivikal’s hand. It wasn’t the best blaster, but it would do. She checked the weapon upon returning to cover. Everything was in good order.

The troopers had been paying attention to Kazaar. They’d barely noticed the speeder crushing two troops, figuring it to be some sort of malfunction from stray fire. Even less attention was paid to someone holding a wimpy holdout blaster that barely stung from that distance. They were aware of her, but she was low on the priority list.

She reached her arm out, and fired “blindly.” The E-11 was not an accurate weapon when fired rapidly. It didn’t need to be at ten meters away. Kazaar had been pinned down, but the sudden appearance of the black muzzle complicated matters. Two troopers went down in short order, simply caught out in the new open. Kazaar popped up in a seemingly automated fashion. The twins sang, blast blast from the right, blast blast blast from the left. One was always used to direct the target, and the other signed the deal. Some bounty hunters carried two heavy blaster pistols because it looked intimidating. The smart ones only shot one at a time, unless your name was Aurelias Kazaar. Kazaar was unusually ambidextrous. Three more troops went down in the ensuing storm of red fire from Kazaar and Milivikal as they moved to find adequate cover. The E-11 muzzle disappeared as quickly as it reappeared. Kazaar crouched down behind his cover. Milivikal crouched, and leapt upward. She landed silently on the top of the cargo speeder, and flattened herself against the roof as red death came her way. She opened fire. The bolt took another trooper in the chest. Another trooper scrambled to find the source of the last blast, and earned a smoking helmet for his trouble. Milivikal spied something shiny and different. There was a fragmentation grenade on the lead trooper’s belt. She reached out through the Force, removed the protective cap for the arm button, and then pressed it. They did not hear the chirping over the distinctive blast of Kazaar’s twin weapons. The remaining troops were shredded in short order.

“Cowboy, what in nine hells happened?” She called out.

“No frackin’ clue.” She could hear him moving up to where the crushed troopers were. For now, the block seemed clear. She could hear blaster fire and metallic clacking in the distance.

“Aw hell, Birdie. They’re frackin’ Scouts. ‘Least a platoon of these soup cans ar’ stompin’ round.”

Milivikal peeked her head out cautiously. It was still clear, for now. She jogged over, and gave the pair a good once over. She’d never seen Scout Troopers before. The difference was obvious when closer. The helmet had a distinct overhang, with a much larger viewport. Audio receptors were much enlarged. Most importantly, they smelled. They had come up through the sewers. Kazaar holstered the Twins and pushed the speeder away from the wall. The bodies slumped onto the sidewalk. He rolled one over, and picked across the utility belt. He tossed the communicator to her. Mili turned it on.

“…moving to secure the North perimeter.” There was a distinctive rhythmic clacking of hydraulics, servomotors, and metal on duracrete.

“Walkers?” She asked.

“Yeah.” Kazaar snorted. Great. Frakin’ scout walkers.

“…good, I want the port secured in under an hour. Keep me informed.”

Someone had to save Keff Base.

Neither of 'em really spoke as they started movin'. No frackin' point. Kazaar'n k'Vik were both focused on gettin' Keff Base outta Imp hands, even if th'fingers were just startin' t'move 'round it.

Racin' low to th'ground, both Cowboy'n Birdy dashed down th'body-filled street, keepin' their eyes open f'any Imps who might decide t'take o'couple pop shots at 'em. Sure as hell no chance they could pretend t'be civilians in this situations. 'Specially with 'Th'Twins' anna E-11 blaster in hand. Kazaar smirked. Leave it up t'the politicians t'frack this thing t'Hell. 'Course it'd be a helluva lot easier t'sneak 'round if Kazaar wasn't dressed up like some frackin' Endor chicken lookin' t'be led t'the slaughter. Frack. Gotta change this that's f'damn sure.

With o'brief tap on Birdy's arm, th'former bounty hunter motioned f'them t'head towards th'spaceport. Milivikal cocked an eyebrow, pursed her lips, an' got it. Spaceport meant Dutchman. Dutchman meant heavier weapons. Ones that'd do a helluva better job at kickin' ass than o'E-11 anna couple Bryar Blasters. Even if Kazaar'n k'Vik were th'kinda people who'd be able t'defeat o'stormy with a frackin' paperclip an' some duct tape. 'Course, ya needed more'n just duct tape t'take outta chicken walker.

They darted 'cross th'street, behind o'buidling with o'large hole in its side. Wasn't th'one which th'Imps came outta earlier. Naw, this things had its fair share o'blaster scarrin', some of it bigger'n others. Which meant only one thing. A tank. Damn th'Imps weren't frackin' round. All that was needed now was o'frackin' AT-AT walker an' one of those Force-damned Sith. Kazaar shook 'is head and smirked. This day was gettin' better'n better.

'Nother quick trip 'cross th'street towards 'nother building. No Imps now, just a buncha rubble'n smoke. If th'Imps just sent their scout team ahead, where th'frack were th'others? Had t'be 'round there somewhere. He was 'bout t'walk out, when k'Vik's hand slapped 'gainst his chest. Then went up 'gainst her lips inna 'shh' motion.

She'd heard something.

Four...naw...five voices. Th'air *hummed* 'round 'em an' Kazaar could hear what they were saying.

"You sure this is the right thing to do?" Mechanical. Stormtrooper.

"We have our orders." 'Nother white hat spoke. "Leave the bodies out as a reminder."

"Even the small ones?"

Second Imp started talkin' 'gain. "Might convince the Sullustans to pull out of the Alliance. You know how stubborn those big eared Abos are. Too busy helping the Jedi and the Rebels to know their own Force-damned weaknesses." He spat. "They're getting what they deserved."

Milivikal'n Kazaar crept forward through th'damaged buildin', looking for th'Imps. Crouchin' by a large hole in th'wall, Kazaar peered 'round th'corner. What he saw almost caused 'im t'start shootin'.

'Bout 15 stormies, their white helmets gleemin' in th'lit massive cavern, were standin' over o'pile o'bodies. Women. Children. Kazaar's grip on 'th'Twins' tightened. Buncha civvies who'd been doin' their job when th'frackin' raid started. Frackin' bastards. Frackin' Force-damned bastards! Killin' innocents when all th'Reb soldiers couldn't be found. Wasn't like bustin' up o'pimp who liked th'smack 'is 'girls' or tossin' o'info broker off o'building 'cause he lied t'ya. Naw this was frackin' murder. Kazaar's lips turned into o'snarl. He was gonna do somethin' 'bout it.

Imp officer nearby, restin' on his frackin' laurels while his men went 'bout their business. Tank officer too, based on th'TIE Mauler in th'street. Guys must be part o'the same group, figured they'd hang back takin' care o'the stragglers. Frackin' gruesome. Frackin' sons o'bitches.

He waited 'nother minute, then slipped behind th'Imp officer. Slowly tapped one of his blasters 'gainst th'guys neck. "Don't ya frackin' move. Arms up." Kazaar pulled th'blaster outta th'Imp's holster, then used 'im as o'human shield t'keep th'stormies from targeting 'im. "Call ya pals."

A gulp, but th'brown hat did what he was told. "Toss ya blaster over there." Kazaar motioned t'the building where he'd come out of. Birdy was still inside, but came out o'second later, watchin' with interest. "Helmets off boys. Kneel down." One o'th'Imps started t'resist. Kazaar shot 'im in th'knee.

"I SAID 'KNEEL TH'FRACK DOWN. YA KAFFER!" Th'stormies complied, lockin' their hands behind their heads.

Kazaar executed alla 'em. One blaster shot right in th'head. 'Cept th'officer 'course. He had special plans f'this fracker.

Birdy seemed t've read Kazaar's mind (prob'ly had f'all he knew). She had o'chain in 'er hands, an' quickly tied it 'round th'Imp officer's waist. Rest of it was tied t'the tank.

Th'two got in th'thing an'started it up. 'Least now th'trip t'the spaceport'd be quicker. An', Kazaar smirked, prob'ly o'bit more fun.

He'd kissed her. Or she'd kissed him - Estelle wasn't quite sure which was true and not that it mattered, it had happened and she was rather thrilled about it.

She was smiling back at him when an image of Kazaar's grousing face popped in her head, "Frackin' Analysts." Her grin broadened and she was forced to stiffle a laugh.

"Girls don't usually do that when this happens" Cristobal said humbly.

"I know, Im sorry" she said smiling lopsidedly, helpless to correct things and making Santiago shift in his seat uncomfortably.

"I know it was out of line" he began, "I mean, I probably should have had better timing. Waited, you know, until you gave me more signals or for when you wouldn't think it was funny --"

"No, no, its ok" Estelle assured. "I laugh when I get nervous, thats all. I cant help it and it takes over at the most inappropriate moments." She forced a stern visage, which lasted perhaps half a milisecond before breaking back into a crooked grin.

A loud thudding on the speeder's driverside door made both the Rebels jump, swivelling their heads around to the police who had parked and walked up to flank their vehicle on either side without them realising it.

"Great spies we are" Cristobal remarked dryly and thrust the craft into drive causing it to leap suddenly forward and shoot off into the darkness of the street.

Momentarily stunned, the two policemen then galvanised into movement and sprinted back to their vehicle in order to engage in pursuit.

Took 'bout ten minutes for 'em t'make it to the spaceport, Kazaar gettin' even more'n more claustrophobic as it went. Cramped cockpit of th'Mauler wasn't th'best place f'two people. Guess th'Empire was more concerned 'bout quantity over quality. 'Specially with their TIEs. Frackin' morons.

"This place..." Milivikal made grousin' sound musical. "Is rather cramped."

"No frackin' joke Birdy." His smirk went dirty as they went over o'bump. "How's our boy in th'back doin'?"

"His left leg is off from the debris."

Th'smirk stayed in place. "Good." Th'smirk suddenly faded as th'TIE came 'round th'bend. They'd reached th'spaceport. Looked like crap. Empire'd already made o'run through there, blowin' up as many ships as possible. Force-damned graveyard's what it was. Imps musta decided there was no point t'lettin' anyone escape.

"Trey ya out there?" Kazaar keyed 'is com link. Damn bucket o'bolts better be out there.

He gotta nervous *warble* in reply'n smirked. "Good t'hear it. Where th'frack are ya?"

'Nother *warble* then a buncha *clicks*.

"So ya kept th'Dutchman in th'port but made sure it wasn't seen. How th'frack did ya do that?" 'nother smirk. "Far end o'the platform. Nice job. Get ya ass out here. East end. Look f'th'Eyeball tank."

Took 'Trey' o'few mintues t'get The Flying Dutchman over t'where they were. Wasn't runnin' with any lights, which made o'helluva lotta sense. Didn't want t'tip off th'Imps there was someone still live 'round there. Kazaar'n k'Vik made it up th'ramp without talkin'. Both of 'em were too busy lookin' f'any stormies who might decided t'crash th'party.

"Whatta ya thinkin'?" Kazaar opened th'metal doors t'his armory.

"Why are we lying in wait here instead of at the base?"

Kazaar pulled 'Ava' (his rail detonator) off its pegs, 'long with 'Ophelia' (his Imp repeater rifle). Sure as hell wasn't gonna go out there without some good weapons.

"Ain't in th'mood t'just use an E-11 or 'Th'Twins, 'specially if we're gonna go up 'gainst chicken walker." He pulled off th'Rebel officer shirt'n grabbed an armored chest plate. "An' I sure as frack ain't goin' out there dressed like o'Rebel soldier. What ya think I wanna get shot?" His grin was crooked. "Toss me that jacket will ya, Birdy? 'N grab o'couple shieldin' units. Ain't in th'mood t'get ya shot either."

He kneeled down by th'last row o'his blaster pistol display. Outta th'15 blasters he had, only one o'em was missing. That was th'one he'd given t'Estelle while back. Outside o'that, everything was still th'same. Th'former bounty hunter always figured 'is old partner, Ashley, wouldn't mind 'im givin' that away. What he was 'bout t'do now, she prob'ly wouldn't hate either. Since th'damn thing hadn't been used inna while. Not even by 'er.

Kazaar entered inna code 'causin' o'small cylindrical object t'raise up outta th'case's base. He pulled it out'n tossed it t'Birdy.

"Ain't what'cha used t'I bet. But if we're gonna frack up a buncha chicken walkers, seems pretty damn smart t'give ya something ya can use. Outside o'ya sword. Need it back though. Kinda special t'me."

It was a lightsaber.

"Look at the map, look at the map!" Cristobal ordered, not completely harshly as they took a hard turn. They'd moved pretty quickly down streets which weren't supposed to be put under the pressure. He threw a glance into the rear view mirror and the police speeder approaching.

"Gotta be Mrlssi cops." He took another hard turn, throwing Estelle's shoulder into his. "I need a long straightaway. We need distance!"

Estelle was looking over the map as quickly as possible. "Make a left here. Then another left, no a right! Make a right!"

The speeder's engines screamed at the pressure Santiago put on them. He opened up the throttle and pressed his foot down on the accelerator. The multi-colored lights from the pursing speeder got smaller and smaller and smaller. Cristobal kept the pace up, just in case, and didn't stop until they were almost to the other side of the city.

He then pulled into a dark parking garage, went up three levels, and stopped.

Things were quiet for a bit, while the two Rebels both started breathing again. Santiago turned towards Estelle.

"Well that was fun."

The Hope For Change:

"How thorough were your investigators?" Rawl asked while hacking through Misha Repin's computer.

Lessard was going through Repin's clothes drawer looking for something, anything, which might say where the former Director of Analysis was. "They had to do a quick toss. Didn't find anything major."

Rawl almost asked why it was only a 'quick toss' but decided not to. "So between then and now, someone returned and changed the code." His expression turned thoughtful. "Do we have access to the security cameras?"

Lessard grabbed her comlink. "Charlie. I need a favor. Can you bring up the security cameras for the hall outside Repin's apartment for the last two weeks? Excellent." She shut it off. "He'll have it for us in an hour."

Rawl smiled. "Great. Maybe we can figure out where he is. Sam?" He noticed she'd started to almost shake and it looked like she was crying. "You okay?"

"I'm worried for him, Rawl." There were tears in her eyes. "I'm so worried that Misha may be in more trouble than he can handle. He may've been an operative, but he hasn't been in the field for so long..." She sniffed, trying to get the tears away, as Rawl hugged her. "Sorry...sorry." She blinked for a bit.

"It's all right, Sam. It's all right." The SpecOps operative smiled. "I know how much he means to you." Rawl held Samantha for a bit, letting her know he was there for her. His eyes, though, were directed towards Repin's small kitchen and the refrigerator it housed. It was slightly off center from the rest of the appliances. "Sam? Sam. I may have found something."

Her eyes, now free of tears, looked up and Rawl noticed how quickly she seemed to be able to get her emotions under control. "What is it?" She let go.

Rawl started walking towards the kitchen. "The refrigerator...something's not right about it."

Lessard curled a strand of brown hair behind her left ear. "How so?"

Her partner was moving quickly into the kitchen. His strong hands gripped the sides of the appliance and pulled it away from the wall.

*plop*

Lessard moved quickly towards the sound. There...a diary. Snatching it up, she quickly flipped through it. Gibberish. Words which made no sense. She almost cursed but then caught herself. Gibberish yes, but there was an almost orderly fashion to it. Almost as if...

"Oh hell." She swore. "It's in code. Misha wrote his entire damn diary in code."

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Santiago Cristobal

Things were quiet for a bit, while the two Rebels both started breathing again. Santiago turned towards Estelle.

"Well that was fun."

---

"We should do it now" Estelle declared decisively.

"Excuse me?"

"Snatch Thomsdottir up now" she clarified. "If we wait, she may bolt and then we'll be back to square one"

"Oh. Right. Thomsdottir." Cristobal said. "It may be a bit premature" he advised, implying he'd prefer to err on the side of caution.

Estelle blinked slowly, weighing the options. "If we're wrong about her, apologies can be made. If not, we risk losing the momentum we are finally gaining. This circle of traitors has been around for a while, their threat is very real and if they are any good at all -- and we can assume they are very good given the degree of infiltration we're attributing them --
then there is no time to waste."

They hadn't spoken again of what happened between them earlier. Estelle didn't quite know how to get the moment back and so she kept to what was priority, the mission. Good ol' training kicking in. She did know, however, that she was going to get another one of those kisses at some point, and soon if she could wrangle it.

"We should go back and get Marie - give her no choice but to tell us what she knows."

"I'm a little hesitant to do that Estelle." Santiago wasn't giving away his own thoughts, but Estelle had a sneaky suspicion he was thinking about their kiss as well. "Marie may or may not be the tip of the iceberg. If we're wrong..."

"If we're wrong." Estelle pressed. "We can apologise to her. She already knows there's a traitor in the Alliance. If it's not her, she can help us find whoever it is."

The speeder went silent.

"Her contact." Cristobal said suddenly, snapping his fingers.

"What?"

"The person she was meeting at her house. Her contact." He started up the speeder. "We can follow him. See what he's up to. If the meeting isn't off." He pulled out of the parking garage. "I bet he might know what's going on. And what this Operation: Blue Devil is."

Estelle had a feeling why Santiago wanted to go after him. "And we won't have to apologise to him."

Cristobal gave a sheepish smile, which was rather cute. "Yeah..."

"And if he's not there."

"Then we'll question Marie. But we need to see if we can follow the contact first." He accelerated and started heading back towards Marie's home.

"Good job...on following my lead with the kiss. Sorry I caught you off guard."

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."

"I agree." Santiago answered. "But we need to find out what the 'Blue Devils' are. I had Thomsdottir's computer brought over from Incom. A couple of techs are scouring it now. Want to go see what they've found?"

* * *

Marie Thomsdottir, meanwhile, wasn't about to let her current situation keep her from getting out. She had to escape and report to the Empire their plan (which was already in motion) was about to cause even more hell to break loose than they'd expected. The traitor had to admit she was excited about what was going to happen. What she had helped plan. It was beautiful.

And would be completely destroyed if she didn't act quickly. She had to act quickly, straining herself to reach below the chair. There it was...the vibroblade she knew would be there if she stretched herself. No one would know who put it there or how she got it.

Placing it between two of her fingers, Marie started to saw...

Ten minutes later...she was free. The first guard came up to check her bonds. She stabbed him in the neck, then threw the vibroblade at the other guard as it turned towards her. He batted it away but Thomsdottir was on him quickly. She smashed both fists into the guard's throat, but he flipped her over and gave her a backhanded slap that stung her face.

Thomsdottir wasn't about to let herself die here. She nailed the Rebel again in the throat and desperately reached for the vibroblade. The guard was reaching for his comlink to warn everyone. She couldn't have that. Marie got his hand first with the blade, forcing him to drop it. She then kicked him in the crotch, punched him in the Adam's apple and kept punching until he lay still.

She smiled. Now to get out of here. Thomsdottir exchanged clothing with the guard and peeked out of the door. No one was there. Quietly, she started making her way out of the base. Her ship would be at Incom's airfield a couple miles away. Now she just had to get there.

Kazaar dropped th'first Imp with o'two quick blaster shots to th'chest. The next one only took one but he'd been shot in the throat an' wasn't 'bout t'get up. He felt at home doin' this. Kicking Imp ass an' not bothering 'bout consequences. Problem was, there were plenty of 'em.

That tech, who was closer t'death than life, in th'med bay. Kept ramblin' on 'bout something. Somethin' big it sounded like. F'all Kazaar knew it was about the Imp attack or what he'n Birdy were here lookin' at. That notion kept swirlin' 'round in the Rebel Spy's head. Hafta see what th'frack the techie was mutterin' 'bout at some point.

k'Vik did a helluva job usin' the lightsaber, cuttin' a swath through the stormies and black hats who were dumb 'nough t'get in her way. In one o'her attacks, she cut o'Imp officer in two at the waist, then decapitated two stormtroopers who were tryin' t'get a bead on her (Empire's finest...hah!). Kazaar shot one Imp commando off 'er back an' gotta annoyed look in return, as if she knew the threat was there but didn't care. Creepy woman.

They ran up th'steps to th'command center two atta time. Fightin' was gettin' pretty scarce now. Either th'Empire was on th'retreat or they'd won and were just in th'clean up stage. Way th'bodies were strewn out in th'Keff Base's interior, that was gonna be a question that wasn't answered till Cowboy an' Birdy made it to th'top.

Th'Force User suddenly threw her hand out, stoppin' Kazaar's progress. She pressed a gloved finger up t'her lips and slid 'round o'corner. Kazaar only caught part o'her conversation but sounded like she was frackin' with an Imp's mind t'find out what th'status was. An' it sounded like th'Rebs (despite gettin' caught with their frackin' pants down) were winnin'. No thanks t'them more than likely.

There was o'*thump* an' Birdy came back. "They are guarding this corner in hopes of ambushing the Rebels as they leave the area. I believe they want this to be their last stand. Take as many Rebels out as possible." Milivikal gave a cool smile as if she found that amusing.

"Any more o'em out there." Kazaar checked th'ammo on his repeater rifle.

"No. The way is clear."

He smirked. "Good. Let's go see if th'Thomsdottirs wanna talk."

***************************

Wayneright Thomsdottir was actually kinda sorry 'bout th'whole thing. Prob'ly 'cause he knew his career wasn't goin' any farther. "My sons are grown men." He still protested. "I have no control over 'em."

Kazaar snorted. "That's crap. Ya might only be able t'suggest who they should'n shouldn't spend their nights with, but they are ya subordinates. Ya can order 'em not t'blow a buncha creds an' get into debt."

Thomsdottir looked at Kazaar and Milivikal. Two boys'd been taken outta th'command center. Paxton was placed on suicide watch in th'brig. He'd been torn up over th'attack, claimin' he didn't know it was comin'. Considerin' the fact he'd been found givin' his brother CPR possible that was true.

Carey was in med bay next to that tech who'd been babblin' (th'latter takin' o'nap). He'd been shot twice in th'chest durin' the attack an'the prognosis wasn't good. Probably be inna coma forra while and'd need constant care if he came outta it. Damn shame. Kazaar knew what it was like t'lose o'son. Even o'fracking politician like Thomsdottir didn't deserve it.

Wayneright Thomsdottir sighed. "You're right, of course. What goes on from here?"

Kazaar smirked an' puffed onna cigar. "Ain't up t'us pal. Far as you're concerned...we were never here. Ever. Ya repelled th'attack, found out ya boy was th'one who gave the Imps th'code. Gotta choose what'cha gonna do with him."

Thomsdottir nodded. He looked like o'guy who was makin' o'decision. 'Course what that was who th'frack knew. His comm went off. "Yes?"

Sir. It's Hammerfeld in MedBay. You wanted to know when the technician woke up. He's up now.

Thomsdottir looked up but Kazaar'n Milivikal'd already'd disappeared.

"So...what'd ya find out?" He was pressin' th'tech pretty hard, but Kazaar didn't care. Had t'know what was goin' on.

"The...target..." Techie was up but barely awake. "Isn't the council...it's...it's..." Guy mumbled o'name and died.

Kazaar looked at Birdy. She'd heard it too. Razien. The target was Razien.

Thomsdottir slipped out of the complex and ran towards Incom. She'd kept herself in shape for years by jogging and now she was thrilled it was paying off. There was a shout behind her and she cursed. She'd been spotted.

She guessed it was probably that woman agent who'd cornered her earlier. She knew Cristobal was a good runner but she doubted he'd be in the chase. Probably too busy 'analyzing' her data. Marie hijacked a speeder and gunned it towards the airfield. She didn't know if Estelle was behind her or not and didn't care. Thomsdottir sensed freedom and was going to get it.

To hell with everyone else, even if she'd been blown, she wasn't going to give up. Her speeder shot through the Incom gates without bothering to stop at security. It would set off another alarm but the traitor didn't care. Once she got to her ship, a modified Z-95 Headhunter, it'd be over.

Marie ditched the speeder near the fighter and ran the last ten yards to the fighter. There was definitely another speeder coming.

"Miss Thomsdottir." The flight engineer greeted. "How can I help you?"

"Is my ship fueled?"

"Of course. I can give your clearance in...uk!" Thomsdottir shot him in the throat with a blaster and quickly scampered up the small roof to the cockpit.

The traitor worked quickly, flipping all the appropriate switches. She didn't have clearance, but didnt' care. Freedom was coming.

She saw Russard get out of the speeder and start racing towards the ship. Thomsdottir smiled and engaged the engines. Freedom...

B-O-O-O-M!

Estelle was thrown to the ground as the explosion rocked the airfield. She was lucky. If she'd been still standing the wing of the Z-95 Headhunter would have taken her head off.

She stared at the burning wreckage in shock.

Marie Thomsdottir...one of her best leads...was dead.