Due Process

[Rinzai Terius]

This was the heart of the Corellian Blockade - or the brain of it, at least.

Deep in the bowels of his command ship, Brigadier Rinzai Terius watched as an array of screens streamed data and visuals from all across the Corellian system. All around him, scores of operators and technicians sat at banks of terminals, filtering and processing every scrap of information and intelligence that the Empire could glean. Naval personnel coordinated with customs frigates and starfighter patrols, clear and careful voices eminating from across the room. ISB analysts studied security footage and criminal dossiers, converding with law enforcement and starport security to apprehend and detain any persons of interest. Army officers directed roaming patrols of Stormtroopers, ready to react to the slightest provocation. Behind the scenes, droid brains and cimputer software analysed patterns and behaviour, relaying anything of note to countless other Imperials in countless satellite centers, funnelling anything flagged as significant back here to the central hub.

There had been debates. Calls for change. Proposals for an even more sophisticated facility on Corellia itself, with a larger staff and wider scope. The ISB wanted to expand the Blockade into a full occupation, under their supervision of course; something to make the Iron Blockade of the Anoat Sector half a decade ago pale by comparison. Rinzai had resisted, a stance that Governor Xaanan backed, for now. The Empire was not at war with the local populace: this Blockade was for their protection, and for as long as Brigadier Terius held command, it would be that and nothing more. Let the ISB and the Imperial Knights root out the Resistance underground: his task was to defend the perimeter.

Arms folded across his chest, Rinzai's eyes flitted from feed to feed, ever watchful, as if somehow he might spot something that the two dozen trained professionals behind him had not. "Tell me," he uttered quietly, words a direct address to Corellia herself. "What surprises do you have for me today?"

[Kyle Krogen]

"Hey guys, the blockade is even bigger."

Pushing his way between the seats to the front of the cockpit, the blond haired man peering through the viewport with his blue eyes. Even at this distance, fresh out of hyperspace, they could see the dots that made up the blockade; each one a starship in itself. It had easily doubled in size since they had left the system a week ago. The other rebels in the cockpit were abuzz with noise. Some were fearful, others were incensed by the move. To Kyle is merely represented a new obstacle to overcome.

"Calm yourselves." he said with a wave of his hand. There was no power behind the motion, but the placebo effect of sorts put some of the others at ease. Those who believed. "Stick to the plan. The pass code will get us past one ship the same as a hundred. We have no weapons, no contraband, and false identities to explain our trip. Stick to your legends and everything will go fine. Have faith."

Patting a young Drall on the shoulder he returned to his seat in the back of the cockpit and nestled back down into his blanket, pulling the scarf he wore higher on his face.

Space was a cold place. It reminded him of the lower levels of Coruscant.

[Reikkel Orgern]

"We're in position at grid three-eight, sir."

"Hold position and prepare to interdict."

Captain Orgern instructed his helmsman, cinching the slack in his gloves as he looked out into field of stars, with only nearby Selonia to break the monotony. His latest posting to the Arquitens-class cruiser Aquila was one endured with staid frustration. Normally an officer of the Army, he'd been temporarily pulled from his billet on the destroyer Decimator as part of a new all hands on deck initiative to provide for the civil defense of Corellia. It had all the mealy-mouthed spin telltale of Governor Xaanan's style. Dominate with a smile. That meant a much less aggressive ground operation, and more assertive policing - namely - supporting the blockades. As the Corellian sector had put just about every able-bodied man to the task, that meant they needed to draw from other resources. Inwardly, Reikkel wondered if his allocation had been orchestrated as a snub to the Knights. The tension between the Governor and the Empress's enforcers could be cut with a knife at times.

"Sir, we have an inbound flight vector, approaching grid." A crewer behind Orgern spoke up, keeping his back facing the captain as he manned his scope. Orgern turned about, feeling all the more claustrophobic. Say what you will about a Star Destroyer, but they made for a far roomier bridge.

"Raise a channel."

"Channel open, Captain."

"Unidentified freighter," Orgern spoke aloud, a tinge of boredom in his voice, "this is the Imperial cruiser Aquila. You are approaching a security zone. Reduce your speed and transmit your registry and manifest."

[Kyle Krogen]

"They're hailing us."

The squeaky Rodian's voice pulled Kyle out of his solace once more. Leaning into the arm of his seat he was able to look past the seat in front of him and down into the front of the cockpit.

"Transmit the credentials, Hoorj."

"Affirmative Aquila. This is the starship Mizintak. Transmitting registry and manifest now."

They had nothing to hide, Kyle thought to himself as he settled back down once again. There were no weapons save for his own Lightsabre that was carefully hidden away within the ship and no contraband. Nothing that would even trigger customs if they were fully searched. The only thing this ship was transporting was people. Every single one of them was loyal to the Corellian Resistance and Kyle in particular was an important asset. They were returning from a tour of the other planets in the system. Even Selonia was briefly stopped upon to help create the lie that it was a sight seeing trip among colleagues. In truth they were raising awareness of the Rebellion and recruiting sympathizers.

Kyle was rapidly becoming their favorite spokesperson. It was a twist and a lie, though. They paraded him like he was a Jedi, without ever saying as much. It got people's hopes wrongfully up. There were no more Jedi coming. Kyle was the only one willing to break away and do the right thing.

[Reikkel Orgern]

"Passenger manifest incoming sir. Starship Mizintak on intrasystem circuit. Last known stop, Selonia."

Captain Orgern listened to the drudgery, feeling more and more like an administrative clerk by the second. He made a flippant gesture towards the comms technician.

"Have the manifest scrubbed against the No Fly registry, ISCEN, and ISB lists."

The freighter slowed its speed, closing distance to the point where Orgern could make out details on the hull. As if he was going to see some kind of smoking gun like the ship painted in Corellian Resistance liveries. Wouldn't that be something?

"Negative hits on the name search." the tech replied after a few seconds of work. "But the ship has been randomly selected for audit."

Orgern glanced back. He wasn't sure if he felt annoyed at having to perform a boarding for no reason, or elated at the chance to break the monotony. Either way, this entire misadventure was an exercise in ambivalence. The Captain returned to the comms station, nodding for the tech to open the line again.

"Starship Mizintak, cut your engines and power down your main drive. Prepare to submit to boarding and inspection."

[Kyle Krogen]

"Affirmative."

The reply was as cool as ice, but the moment that transmitter clicked back off, the pilot turned in his chair, a cold sweat already beading on his forehead. "They going to search us!" he yelled, far louder than necessary for all those aboard to hear. Everyone was gathered here. The ship was not large, barely capable of ferrying the five of them. It had a hyperdrive and that was about all it had. There was no room for cargo, no room to hide contraband or stowaways. There was not even sleeping quarters. It was not much than the cockpit and bridge in one, with just enough seats for them all. The inspection would be short and to the point.

"Calm yourselves. They will take one look in this cramp space and take their leave. Those Imps don't want to spend anymore time with us than we want to with them. Smarten up and remember your legends; and Brett, for godsake use the real legend. None of that Chet Manley nonsense. You almost got us killed last time. No theatrics."

"Can't you just wave your hand and make them go away?"

"I'm not that kind of Jedi, Kastian."

[Reikkel Orgern]

Captain Orgern made short work of the walk to the airlock. A pair of stormtroopers were already standing by, apparently more eager than he was to break the monotony.

"So, did you check out the XJ-3's?"

"Been meaning to get around to it. They look nice."

"You should. Really put the XJ-2's to shame. They look, er, officer on deck."

Both stormtroopers suddenly stood to attention. Orgern raised an eyebrow, then seated his cap on his head.

"Where's the scanning crew?"

"On their way, sir."

Typical. The Captain tightened his gloves as a metal clang rang through the bulkhead. They'd docked.

"Open it up."

"Yes sir."

[Kyle Krogen]

As the door opened each occupant of the cockpit turned to face the one and only door into the small starship. Each stood up with identification in hand. Only one remained seated. Kyle. He wore a bored look on his face as he leaned back into his seat, one of the pair closest to the door. His identification chit was in hand, barely bothering to lift it upwards toward the Imperial officer and his stormtroopers. The insides of the ship were a bit of a mess. Empty food and water packaging stuffed wherever it could fit. It looked very much a ship that had been on a long trip with very little space to give.

Between them there were three humans, a rodian, and a Twi'lek. All male. All dressed casually and plainly. There was not a bit of fancy or riches to be found in the cramp quarters.

"Hello, Officer."

[Reikkel Orgern]

Ugh, civilians.

Reikkel's thinly-veiled look of contempt was partially masked by the low-centered brim of his cap. The interior of the ship was a bit of a mess. Not a chartered flight, just a personal transit moving from point A to B.

"Which one of you is the pilot?"

[Kyle Krogen]

"I am. Zap Sheppard."

The man at the front of the compartment stepped to the center and presented his identity card. All together their cover painted the picture of a group of childhood friends gathering for one last hurrah before the commitments of the adult world swallowed them completely. Zap Sheppard, Dil Bannon, Hork Scubt, Gillet Filmore, and Sol Katarn. Not only were the papers in order and the travel history on their ship matching their trip, but the Resistance had even sliced in their records into the system so that a cursory background check would not set off any alarms. It had gotten them into and out of a port on each of the worlds save for Selonia, which they only looked at from afar, without even a second look.

Should all that fail there was always plan b, which admittedly was Kyle's favorite plan. Thinking about it was enough to make him want to look up to where his lightsabre was hidden, disguised as part of the ship's piping; but he did not dare look lest his wandering gaze draw the attention of these military dogs of the the tyrant queen. Instead he kept his cool. Too cool, perhaps, as he continued to sit and watch; ready to fight if it came down to that. In this close quarters the officer wouldn't stand a chance. Zap. Cut in half. Then the other two. Kyle would take his chances on the enemy ship than trying to outrun them in this trash heap.

It would be an exciting adventure.

[Reikkel Orgern]

"I see."

Which Orgern barely did, glancing from the scan doc to the man who'd given it to him. His eyes returned to the card, referencing the key credentials. No points against his piloting permit. Nothing so much as a flight restriction from a planetary port authority. Retaining possession of the card, Orgern gestured toward the hatch with his gloved hand.

"This way, with me. The rest of you also."

His eyes rested on one of the young men with blonde hair. The face looked familiar, but that kind of passing and vague familiarity. The Captain couldn't put a finger on it.

"Clear the cabin for the scanning crew."

[Kyle Krogen]

They verbally agreed before, one by one, they stood up and filed out of the room. They kept their hands were they could be seen. To their merit, the rebels were managing to keep their cool and not act like the nervous wrecks they had been before the inspection began.

Kyle was not happy to leave his weapon behind, but there was no way to retrieve it. At least it should pass the scan just fine. It was just a piece of deactivated metal without the power flowing through it. Cleverly disguised as a part of the piping it should not stand out at all. Still, it worried him that he would not be able to call it to him should anything else piqued their interest. He was hardly defenseless, not with a whole ship of potential weapons at his disposal. Already he was look the guards over, checking their grips on their weapons, while also looking around the space for anything else that could make a makeshift weapon.

He was ill at ease without his feet on the ground and plenty of room to run.