Retrieval Experts

Retrieval Experts

The Hub
Kinestia

The Auzituck gunship touched down on the raised landing pad. After a few seconds its engines powered off and the ramp lowered, emitting a short robed figure. The figure glanced back at the ship as the ramp raised again, and then walked down the long steps to the bottom where a bored looking man was stood in front of a small canopied building. The man looked up as the figure approached. He raised his datapad. “Welcome to Kinestia. Is your purpose in coming business or pleasure?”
The figure raised its head, looking past the man to the grey metal facility in front of him, a mass of factories and refineries with yellow smoke emitting from each stack into the dark atmosphere. “Business.” There was a gravelly deep quality to the stranger voice.
The man nodded. “Do you have any goods to declare?”
“Only what I am carrying,” the figure replied quietly.
“Very well,” the man replied, “is there anything I can further assist you with?'”
“I am looking for someone,” the figure replied, the voice still deep and slightly muffled through the cowl covering its features.
“Really?” the man said quickly, “and who might that be?”
“This person is likely to have landed here two days ago,” the figure replied, “a human female. She was believed to be piloting a WTK-85A.”
“I wouldn't know anything about that,” the official replied, “all arrivals and departures are confidential.”
The figure looked up at him quietly, the dark eyes looking intently into his own. “I can pay for confidential. Two hundred.”
The man looked left and right and then nodded. “Give me a minute,” he said tapping at his datapad, “yeah she landed on docking bay Krenth around when you said, two days ago. The ship was pretty beat up apparently. She paid for it to be stripped down and serviced, complete ID and log change.”
“Has it left?”
“No, its still being worked on.”
“Do you have any information on her whereabouts now?”
The man checked. “She left an temporary address of the Starlight. Its a small hotel in sector three.”
“My thanks.” The figure took a credit chip from its pocket and handed it over.
The official nodded. “Good doing business with you.”
The figure walked past him and the offical took a deep breath and slipped the credits in his pocket. The he heard the voice behind him. “You seem like a sensible person. Do not reveal what I have asked you. You would not like the outcome.”
When the man turned nervously there was no sign of anyone.

A while later Sarthis made his way across the grey metal area. He kept his mask over his face. The air here was breathable but still had the stink of fumes from production and waste recycling. According the the display on his data pad the Starlight was a short distance ahead. He was assuming of course she was there. From the brief he had been given his quarry was an agent of his employers secret service, the Inquisitorious, whatever that was. So far he had managed to trace her to this remote forge world. He had been experiencing doubts but the customs official had confirmed it. Or at least that she was officially here. Still, the hotel he had named was a good lead he would start there.

When he arrived his first impression was that the Starlight did not fit the image its name suggested. It was dark, squat and rundown. It had a pair of heavy double doors that opened as the noghri walked inside. The interior was basic, with a few sofas and benches scattered around and a reception desk at the far end. A lift was to the left and to the right the entrance to a bar area.
There was a protocol droid receptionist behind the desk and Sarthis approached.
“Good afternoon Sir,” the droid greeted him, “how can I help you.”
“I am looking for someone,” the noghri replied, “I believe she is staying here. Melanis Vmor.” He produced his data pad with the image.
The protocol droid looked at it. “Do you have a room number Sir?”
“No,” the noghri replied flatly.
There was a pause while the droids eyes flashed. “We have no guest of that name Sir. I am afraid I am unable to assist you.”
Sarthis sighed inwardly. Droids were notoriously by the book, and impossible to bribe or apply weight to. “Very well.”
“You may wish to try the bar area sir,” the droid advised, “or if you have a contact number you can attempt that.”
“Thank you.”

Sarthis backed away. The bar was not a bad idea. He turned and entered it through the door. Like the reception it was basic, metal tables and benches with a light padding. The bar itself was at one end, behind which was a bored looking twilek female. Sarthis approached it.
“Hello Sir,” the twilek said with a fake smile, “what can I get you?”
“Fruit juice,” Sarthis replied, “no ice.” He did not consume alcohol.
“Coming right up Sir.”
Sarthis pulled himself up onto a metal stool, and pulled back his hood.
The bartender returned and placed his drink in front of him. It was dark purple. He took a sip. “It seems quiet.”
The twilek nodded. “It is Sir,” she replied, seemingly glad of the conversation, “we get a lot of people coming and going.”
“I was hoping to meet a friend,” Sarthis told her, “I think she is staying here. We lost touch before she landed. He produced his datapad again.
The twilek glanced at it with a brief flash of recognition, and back at the noghri. “We get a lot of guests here.”
From her scent, Sarthis could sense she was being evasive. He reached into his cloak. “It seems I only have a hundred credit chip to pay for my drink,” he replied, “I imagine someone could have a pretty good night out with that round here, or even a weekend” He held it loosely in his hand.
Her eyes focused on it. “I saw her in here last night,” she replied, “sat in that corner.” Her hand moved towards the noghri's own.
Sarthis tightened his grip slightly. “On her own?”
“For most of the evening,” the twilek replied, still looking hungrily at the credits, “then she was joined by someone.”
“Who?”
“A local merchant, though not a legitimate one. Small time dealer.”
Sarthis grip on the credit chip loosened slightly. “Do you have a name?”
“He is a Kel Dor called Nast Shak.” she replied, “he has a warehouse two streets from here.”
Sarthis let her take hold of one half of the credit stick, and then released it. “Thank you for your assistance,” he said quietly, “one thing though.”
“What?” she asked.
“I was not here, make sure you remember that.” He opened his robe slightly to show the hilt of his beskad and pistol.”
“Of course!” she replied hurriedly.
Sarthis drained his drink and left.

It was dark, except for the burning street lights and the fire from the atmosphere stacks above. Sarthis was crouched on a roof watching the door of the small warehouse. No one had been in and out for an hour, and those had just been random employees. He hoped he had not been given a false trail. Time was of the essence here. If his quarry intended to sell the plans he had been sent to retrieve then her business might be complete and she would have no reason to remain here, damaged ship or no damaged ship. He had no way of knowing where else she may be though, so this was his only lead. Then he ducked slightly as he saw a figure leave the doors, wrapped in a black cloak. From her shape Sarthis sensed she was female, and her quick movements radiated annoyance or impatience. This might not be his quarry, but there was every chance it was. Sarthis began to walk quietly across the rooftop, keeping low and watching her as she strode across the open area, and then down the backstreet he had taken earlier from the Starlight. Sarthis paused, and then leapt across a gap between two buildings, watching the street below. It was quiet and narrow, and the woman was making quick time along it. He sensed that this was his time.

The woman spun as the figure dropped behind her, her hand slipping beneath her robes. Her eyes studied him from beneath her hood, and her features were suspicious. They matched the picture of Melanis Vmor, his target.
Sarthis straightened and raised his blaster pistol. “We need to talk.”
She studied him, her hand still beneath her robe. “What do you want noghri?”
“I imagine you know,” Sarthis replied, “the plans.”
Melanis features registered annoyance. “Who sent you?”
“That is not relevant,” he replied, “I am here to retrieve them. I would suggest you give them up.”
Her eyes looked him up and down. “You are not one of the Brotherhood.”
Sarthis kept the pistol pointed at her. “I do not know of who you speak.”
“A mercenary then,” she replied, “listen to me, Noghri. You do not know who you are dealing with. I suggest you depart now.”
“You will give me the plans or if you have already parted with them you will tell who has them.”
She sighed. “Very well then if you want it the hard way.” Her hand suddenly moved, and as sNoghri pulled the trigger of his blaster, her arm swept round incredibly fast as she moved to one side. A purple light saber blade ignited from her hand, batting the shot away.

Sarthis cursed. He did not know he was dealing with a force user. His employed had not made that clear. He had encountered several recently since he had made a temporary home in the Orian System, and had even picked up some useful items from their corpses. However her status had not been made clear and the price was too low. Slowly he kept the pistol on her, as she stood holding her saber, its light reflecting off the metal walls of the buildings.
“You have one last chance mercenary,” Melanis told him, “I am feeling generous. Go about your business.”
Sarthis looked down at the pistol he was holding. He was actually tempted. He was not being paid to fight her. However he replied, “No. You will tell me where the plans are.”
She snarled. “Then die.”

As she advanced he dropped the pistol and backed off, his own hands going to his waist and he pulled his beskad and kal from his belt, backing into a defensive stance.
Her eyes briefly registered surprise as she saw the beskad weapons, then she leapt at him. Sarthis blocked her strike, the kal meeting her saber and driving it away, as he thrust the beskad at her. She recovered quickly and leapt back, her saber deflecting the sword away. It was Sarthis turn to advance now, and he moved quickly. She raised her left hand and Sarthis braced himself suddenly, before an invisible punch hit him, driving him back and he staggered, holding his blades across his body. He angled his body as she moved on him, and as she raised her hand for another telekenetic attack, the noghri leapt forward distracting her, the beskad aiming at her chest. She snarled and blocked the blow with her saber, and then moved it downward as the kal blade also moved in.

Sarthis was becoming concerned. He was good in close combat, but did not had the force users speed. This was not his preferred method of combat. “Wait,” he said quietly, “this is unnecessary. All I want are the plans. I am not being paid to kill you.”
“As if you could,” she snarled.
“If you have already sold them then tell me to who. Then our business is done.”
She paused, her face registering annoyance and a hint of surprise. “Sold them?”
“Indeed,” he replied, “was it the Kel Dor? If so I will continue my investigation there.”
“I have not sold them,” she snapped, “how dare you?”
Sarthis was suddenly puzzled. He reaction had turned from annoyance to fury, and seemed genuine. “You are not here to sell the plans?”
“I am here to retrieve them,” she replied coldly. “after they were stolen from me. My ship was ambushed.”
Sarthis lowered his weapons slightly. “I am here to retrieve stolen plans, by whatever means necessary from the individual who stole them.”
“Unbelievable,” she replied furiously, “after all these years they believe I am a traitor.”
“Your relationship with your employer is not my concern,” Sarthis replied, “if you do not have what I want then tell me who does.”
“I can not allow you to do that,” she replied, her tone moderating slightly, “I must return the plans myself. It is apparent I have a name to clear. Walk away and stay out of this.”
“It appears you have not had much luck so far,” Sarthis countered.
“Negotiations are ongoing,” she replied with a cold look.
Sarthis considered this. “There may be a compromise.”

Melanis walked back into the warehouse. She allowed herself to be searched, removing a knife and a pistol from her waist.
The Kel Dor entered the room, flanked by his guards. There were more above them, rifles trained on the inquisitor. “You have managed to obtain more funds?” he demanded.
“I have come to make you see sense,” she replied, “if I do not return my employer will come looking, first for me, and then you.”
There was a brief chuckle from beneath the mask. “You are wasting our time Jedi. I am not afraid of your Dark Brotherhood. Let them come.”
“Very well,” she replied, “I tried.”

Her expression did not change as a shot rang from high above, and the Kel Dor twitched as a blaster bolt hit him straight between the eyes. As the guards reacted and looked up, weapons aimed, Melanis followed their gaze and then held a hand out as a cylindrical object spun through the air and she pulled it towards herself. As soon as the saber ignited in her hand she leapt forward, attacking the surprised guards.
High above Sarthis continued to aim the shots, taking down several of the guards on the gantries as they tried to see who was shooting at them. He crouched near the edge of the skylight and kept his body out of the way of the returning fire. Then sensing the enemies were backing off, he dropped the rifle and levered himself into the skylight, dropping and grabbing the edge, and then swinging to gain momentum. Finally he landed on one of the gantries, his beskad and kal coming into his hands and leapt at the surprised guards. Below he saw the force user had despatched the enemies on the ground and was looking up at him. As he saw a guard aim a blaster at him, the man pitched backwards as an invisible blow hit him and land hard on top of a crate. Then there was a pause.
“We surrender,” a voice shouted.
“Drop your weapons and get out of here,” Melanis shouted back.

She turned as the noghri landed on his feet in front of her, his weapons still in hand.
She gripped her saber. “Our deal still stands?”
Sarthis looked back at her. “So long as you keep your end.” He lowered his weapons, sliding them back into his belt.
“I will ensure you are paid,” she said with a shrug, deactivating her saber, “we will leave together. I will retrieve the plans.”
“I will retrieve my rifle,” he replied.
“Good,” she replied, “then we will waste no time.”
“Agreed. I will meet you outside. We can reach my ship before any other hostile forces begin looking for us.” With a final nod, Sarthis began to climb back up the boxes towards the roof.

Its the time of year,
When friends and loved ones meet up,
To share together.

The Antagonist

Sadow Palace
Sepros
Orian System

Colonel Senth of the Orian Warhost Intelligence Directorate made his way quickly down the corridor to the Pro Consuls private quarters. He was surprised by the sudden summons. His life had been fairly quiet recently, since the events of the Clan split at Dantoran. Most of his duties had merely been directing intelligence collection and analysis. However a late night call to attend the penultimate leader of Clan Naga Sadow was unexpected and hinted at something out of the ordinary.

The clone commando reached a heavy door guarded by two troopers, who moved to block his way. He quickly raised his identification card and they saluted, before standing aside. One opened the door. Senth stepped into the interior and noted the comfortable but practical interior. The Pro Consul was stood waiting for him. DarkHawk gave a quick nod of recognition in response to Senth's salute.
“Thank you for coming so quickly Colonel,” he said quietly, “I would not have brought you over so late had the matter not been so urgent.”
Senth kept his features neutral. “It is no bother, Pro Consul.”
“I have a task for you,” DarkHawk told him, still standing and giving no indication that either of them should seat or take refreshments. “Have you heard of a smuggler in Seng Karash by the name of Den'Vilar?”
The clone nodded. “I have sir,” he replied, “he is a bothan. He has a small warehouse near the spaceport. He has a fairly minor operation, and with larger problems in the city the Aeotheran Security Force appear to ignore him.”
DarkHawk looked at him calmly. “Den'Vilar is my top agents on Aeotheran. He was instrumental in informing to us on the state of the planet under the rule of the Collective, and his intelligence was vital in retaking the planet. Even now he keeps me appraised of goings on the Shar Dakhan Summit does not necessarily bring to my attention.”
“I was not aware of that,” Senth said, surprised the agents activities has slipped past him, “so what is the matter concerning him?”

The Pro Consul looked deeply into the clones eyes. “I received a message from him that his cover may have been compromised,” he replied, “he feels he is unsafe where he is, and feels if he breaks cover he will be intercepted. I want him made safe and brought back to me here. Alive.”
Senth frowned. “If he is compromised then why not simply eliminate him?” he asked, “or allow them to take him and cut your losses.”
DarkHawk's features darkened, “I do not abandon those who have served me for so long Colonel,” he said in a quiet and deadly voice, “he is loyal to me and I will return that in kind.”
Senth nodded. “One question Pro Consul, why are you sending me? If you contact the Shar Dakhan Summit, they can have the ASF or Sapphire Squadron go in and retrieve him in a matter of hours.”
DarkHawk's features darkened. Senth raised his eyebrows slightly as the Pro Consul began to explain in the same quiet voice. Finally the clone nodded. “I understand sir.”
“Good. Then depart immediately. I will send you the location of his hideout to your data pad. Needless to say you will inform no one of this mission.”
Senth saluted. “Yes sir.” He turned and left.

Seng Karash
Aoetheran
Orian System

The customs guards took a laborious amount of time checking his well crafted false identification before allowing through. Senth took it all calmly. He could of course have bypassed the entire process by identifying himself, but he did not want to announce his presence. The new regime put in place by the current planetary governor was stricter than it had been under either the Collective or Naga Sadow's previous rule, and the arrival of a high ranking Warhost officer would have been recorded and perhaps relayed to the Dakhan Summit. He preferred to be subtle. He was wearing simple clothing and carrying a small bag. His equipment had been checked in and would be waiting for him in the cargo area.

A short while later he left the star port into the streets, carrying his heavy bag slung over one shoulder. If he was stopped and searched he would be able to bluff his way past the ASF, or offer a simple bribe. Despite the new regime the police were still the police. He thought back to the details he had been sent by the Pro Consul. The smuggler had left his warehouse and was holed up in a small flat above a shop in the commercial and leisure district. It was an hours walk away, so he made for the nearest monorail station, quickly ascending the steps along with other travellers. He check the time on the board above his head. It was 20:00 hours. He still had two hours until the newly implemented curfew. That was plenty of time. He reached the top, and pushed his way through the crowds to the front of the platform, looking down at the display on the ground marking the carriages stopping locations. A few moments later there was a whining sound and the train approached the station. Senth waited while passengers departed, then found horizontal seat against the wall, putting the heavy bag on the floor. He waited a few seconds for the train to depart.

About ten minutes later he made his way down an identical set of stairs to the main street of the commercial and leisure district. He looked around. The area was oddly quiet compared with how it used to be. At one time it had been the thriving hub of the Orian Systems largest city, with thousands of workers and their families out spending their money in the shops bars, clubs and restaurants and the place had been full and bouncing until early in the morning, before getting busyagain several hours later. Now with the curfew and tougher rules, the district was a shadow of its former self. The bars were still there and people were out drinking or eating, but the atmosphere was gone and there was a tenseness about it. The clone shrugged and continued. Using the mental picture in his mind, he made his way along the street and then down a dark side street, keeping his free right hand near the Syndicate blaster pistol tucked into his belt.

Finally after several turns he reached a small back street, quiet but still well lit by the street lamps above. Looking up he noticed the cameras attached to them. It seemed nowhere was private in the city any more. He looked down the street until his eyes settled on a small closed convenience store, its lights off and its window empty. There was a small doorway next to it. Senth cautiously approached, keeping his pace level. He examined the door. It was heavy and had a sophisticated lock. It took the clone several minutes to open it. Drawing his blaster pistol he made his way slowly up the stairs to the landing, and then stopped. He took a breath. “The lost porg flies a lonely journey.”
There was a sudden movement behind him. “Drop your weapon and bag,” a voice told him, “and raise your hands.” Senth complied, the pistol making a dull thud as it hit the floor. “Now turn around slowly.”

Senth complied, and a worried looking bothan came into view, his fur standing up on end and suspicious eyes boring into him. He was wearing a simple grey suit and holding a battered blaster rifle.
“Den'Vilar?” Senth asked.
“Possibly,” the bothan replied, “who are you?”
“I am Colonel Senth of the Warhost Intelligence Directorate,” the clone replied calmly, “I was sent to get you out of here, you are in danger.”
“Give me your identification, the real one,” Possibly Den'Vilar told him.
“It is in the bag,” Senth replied.
“Take it out slowly and throw it here. No sudden movements.” Senth slowly crouched, opening a small pocket on his bag and taking a card out. He threw it casually to the bothan, who caught it in his left hand, keeping a grip on the rifle with his right. He slowly stood again.

The bothan examined it, then looked up at the clone. Finally he seemed to relax. “Just you here?”
Senth nodded. “Considering who is after you it was considered best to keep this low profile. He has eyes everywhere here.”
Den'Vilar sighed. “It is true then. I feared as much. I have heard stories, and the recent broadcast and destruction of that mining sector does not make it easier.”
“That was him, yes. I know him well. He likes handling matters personally, especially with a hostile agent under his nose for so long.”
“I am not hostile,” the bothan replied in an injured tone, “I have served your Clan for years.”
“You are in his territory and you do not work for him,” Senth replied, “therefore you are hostile.” He looked around at the dull landing and rooms either side. “We can not remain here. We will be found, and these confined surroundings will suit him. I will prepare. Bring anything small you can not manage without. We leave in ten minutes.”

Senth, now armoured and heavily armed, lead the nervous bothan down the stairs and through the door. The street was still quiet. “We still have over an hour until the curfew,” Senth said quietly, “we should still watch for the Aeotheran Security Force though. The rules are tighter on open weapons carrying though.”
The bothan glanced down at the rifle held in his hands. “What do we do if they stop us?”
“I will attempt to bluff us through,” Senth replied, “I still have some official status.”
“And if that does not work?”
“I will handle them.”
Senth lead the bothan through the back streets. He was not heading for the star port. They would be checked leaving, and he did not have a spare identification for the bothan. Plus it would be the obvious place. There was a small shuttle terminal nearby that ought to have at least one ship in they could commandeer. Nightime supply flights in and out of the sector were still common enough for them to slip in the outgoing traffic. Hopefully.

They approached the shuttle terminal and surveyed it. “It looks like there are two ships in,” Senth observed, “we just need to be careful.”
“I have a contact inside,” Den'Vilar replied, “he ought to be able to get us aboard a flight.”
“You are sure?” Senth asked.
“I am a smuggler,” the bothan replied, “I know this place and its operations.”
“Good.”
They made their way to a side gate in the wall surrounding the facility. Senth made short work of the lock and they made their way inside. Then the clone stopped. “It's quiet,” he said as he looked around at the area, “too quiet.”
“It is odd,” the bothan agreed in a whisper, “they ought to be busy at this hour.” He glanced up at the office, which had its lights shining through the windows, but no sign of people.
Senth gripped his V-10 and made his way cautiously forward, the bothan following nervously. Then he stopped as the display in his helmet detected movement. He trained his weapon on the shadows. “If anything happens duck for cover and let me handle it,” he said quietly.
“I can help!” the bothan protested.
“Do as I order if you want to live.”

Then there was a sudden burst of movement and Senth fired as a shape descended from on top of the nearest shuttle, leaping towards them. Senth fired at it with his blaster, narrowly missing. As the bothan leapt away the clone fired his backpack as the figure landed, a lightsaber bursting into life in the robed figures hand. Senth's vision took in their assailant and the bothan kneeling behind a crate with his hands over his head. Still in the air, Senth fired again and the saber swept back and forth, deflecting the shots away from his body. Senth considered a grenade from the V-10s barrel, but judged the bothan too close and the risk too high. “Stop!” he shouted.

The robed figure looked up at the clone, his features covered by the masked hood. “I knew he would send you,” he said in a cold tone, “ and what you would do. You are too predictable.”
Senth kept the barrel of the V-10 aimed at the enemy as he slowly lowered to the ground. “You know why I am here Quaestor,” he replied, “and on whose authority. Allow us to go on our way.”
There was a quiet noise of derision. “No,” Malisane replied, “he is a spy. On my planet.”
“Your planet?” Senth echoed in surprise.
“Until the Consul removes me, yes. For now he is content with the funds and recruits I send him for his military. He allows me to rule as I see fit. So I will question the bothan to see what tales he has told the Pro Consul, and then he will die.”
“That will not happen Quaestor,” Senth replied, “I will follow my orders.”
“And do what, kill me?”
Senth paused for a few seconds. “I do not wish to Quaestor,” he told the Sith, “however I was ordered to bring him to Sepros, and I will carry out my orders, whatever it takes.”
There was a chuckle from the Sith. “I see. Ever the loyal soldier they bred you to be.” He reached out his left hand towards the bothans hiding place, keeping the saber between himself and the clone. “He is a weak little rat. I can kill him now, before you can stop me.”

Suddenly there was a burst of blaster fire from the left and the Sith body twisted round, blocking the shot with his saber. Senth cursed and then fired himself, the shot scorching the cloak of the Warlord but missing his body. He heard quick footsteps as the bothan scampered deeper into cover and then a roar of anger from Malisane. The Sith lashed out at the crates with the force, tumbling several and drawing a scream of fear from the bothan. Senth moved forward, trying to distract the Sith with more shots as Malisane backed off, his saber blocking them. Despite what he had said the last thing he wanted was to kill the Quaestor. The erratic Warlord might be an controversial figure, but he was still a title holder and a Quaestor and the ramifications of his death on what most would see as a trivial matter would rock the clan.

Malisane raised his left hand and directed it at the clone commando, and Senth felt a blow to his chest that rocked him backwards. The Sith roared again, and seemingly forgetting the bothan, he leapt forward at the clone, saber raised. Senth hit a crate behind him and saw the Sith closing in. He fired his jetpack again and felt himself lift, clearing the crates as the Sith's saber sliced through them in a shower of sparks. As the Quaestor looked up at him furiously, Senths gaze saw the bothan crouched behind a terminal, near to a shuttle with an open hatch. He held his rifle firmly in his hands but the fight seemed to have gone out of him.
Senth looked back down at the Sith. “This is foolish Quaestor. Would you have us kill each other over one bothan spy?”
There was a snarl from the Sith. “Only one of us will die Senth. You forget I have known you too long. I remember the newly hatched clone captain they sent to me all those years ago. There is little you know I did not teach you. I will kill the bothan, and you if you continue to interfer."
Senth studied the Sith. It was true. He had been assigned by the former Consul to become the Sith's unwanted agent and bodyguard. However that was before the Sith had become the monster he was now, and since then the clone had learned much more on his own. “Very well then you leave me no choice.” Senth raised the V-10 and fired a grenade.

The explosion rocked the area, causing crates to topple and crash to the floor and shaking the whole area. The sound would probably draw the local security force and who knew what else. He looked over at the bothan, who was scampering up the ramp of the shuttle. “Get it ready to go!” He fired the jetpack and flew over the burning crates towards the shuttle, landing in free space in front of it.
“We're still clamped,” Den'Vilar shouted back.
Senth cursed. “Very well, I need to release it.” He went to the terminal, placed the V-10 on the table next to it and removing his helmet. He began clicking buttons rapidly, knowing time was important. There was a whirr of machinery as the fuelling and power hoses detached from the shuttle, retracting back into their hosing. Senth checked it was all in place, and then made for the shuttle. Then he felt another invisible blow and he reeled backwards,

As he looked up in surprise a vision of horror burst out from amongst the toppled crates. Malisane's hood and cloak was gone now, and his robes were torn and smoking. Blood ran down the side of the Sith's scarred pale cheeks, and his torn mouth was drawn in a twisted sneer. His saber was still in his hand and he was moving quickly towards the clone, death in his eyes. Senth backed off from the shuttle, his hand instinctively going to his waist and drawing his sword. He raised it defensively as the enraged Sith lashed at him, the enhanced blade deflecting the fury of blows as Senth's years of training guided him. The clone knew he was in trouble though. He had sparred against Malisane in the past, and others amongst the best saberists in the Clan and had learned much on how to face them. However this was for keeps and in the confined space the Sith was stronger. He concentrated on his defence, trying to find a gap he could counter into and break the Sith's defence. “Go!” he shouted. The response was a roar of the ships engines and the ramp began to close.

Malisane roared again in anger, his mutilated head snapping round in fury at his prey escaping and Senth thrust at him, finding a gap and scoring along the Sith's ribs. The head turned back to him and Malisane hacked at him with both hands, nearly knocking the Sith sword from the clones grip,
Senth backed off, raising his blade, his gaze focused on his foe. He only needed to stall the Sith a few moments longer and the Den'Vilar would be away into the night sky. Surely then the battle would end.
“It's over!” he shouted.
Malisane's response was a roar of fury and he leapt at Senth, slashing at him in fury. Senth's back was against the wall, as he concentrated on the glowing saber. His strength was fading, the relentless blows of the enraged Sith were wearing him down. Finally he felt his sword leave his grip, and a second later a burst of agony as the saber bit into his side, and he collapsed, his strength fading.

As he lay on the floor he heard the shuttle roar into the sky, climbing swiftly and could make out the sound of the Quaestor shouting into his communicator, presumably with interception orders. Senth did not care. The bothan was away at least, it was down to him now. He had done his best to follow the Pro Consuls orders. He opened his eyes, and could just make out the Sith limping towards him, his hand clutched to his bleeding side. His rage had ended and he looked exhausted. The clone looked up at the Sith he had known since he had been created, had fought alongside and against on and off for over a decade. Then he saw Malisane's hand leave his side and draw his saber wearily. Senth focused slowly on the emitter now aimed right at at him. The clone looked at it for a few seconds, then back to the eyes of the Sith, awaiting his fate.

It's Nothing Personal, Or Is It?”

Mount Dahkan
Aeotheran
Orian System

Malisane looked round the room, his eyes focusing on Deckard Kaelen First Minister of of the Aeotheran government. “I am displeased with this unrest in the outer sectors Minister,” he said coldly, “production targets are down. This will not be tolerated.”
The usually confident and placid official looked nervously back at the heavily scarred Sith. “I agree Governor,” he replied, “the Aeotheran Security Force are working to contain it, however production has spread across the planet faster than we are able to adapt our security patrols, we have limited resources.”
“I do not want to hear excuses Minister,” Malisane replied, “when we established the government it was designed to work together, to balance profit with stability. You have an entire bureaucracy designed to work together to achieve that aim. If it is imbalanced that is your failing and your subordinates.”
“I understand Governor,” the man replied.
Malisane turned to the female officer in the room. “Commander Miros, you will assign a battalion to assist the ASF. You will also meet with their officers and make it clear what is expected of them. Any who do not give you confidence you may remove.”
“Yes Governor.” she replied coldly.
Malisane turned to the final person present. “Commodore, what is our fleet status?”
Commodore Krill clicked a button and figures appeared in front of them. “We have near maximum personnel Governor,” he replied, “and all ships have reported as operational. We have had to reassign Task Force Besh from Inos to Aeotheran to plug the gap in our planetary security caused by the loss of the skyhook.”
The Sith scowled. “I understand. What our our fleet facilities?”
Krill shrugged. “Again, we have had to move our resupply and repairs functions to the main clan bases until we establish a permanent solution. This has delayed operations somewhat.”
“Very well,” Malisane replied, “anything else?”
“No Governor, you will receive a formal report.”
“Then you are dismissed.”

A short while later Malisane stood on the balcony of his quarters, looking out across the snow surrounding the mountain the Dakhan house had made their home. He was unusually pensive. Recent events had bothered him. On the face of it getting away from the bureaucracy of running the House and its planet had been a welcome break, and away from the usual members he had just been another fighter amongst the pirates and the members of the other clans. It had been good.
However the fact so many of his clan had taken up with the Severians, who were dubious allies at least based on recent history, still bothered him. There had been justifications from others, especially in the Summit, and some had seemed as genuinely sad he had joined the Tenixir as others had been pleased he was not going to be with them. It bothered him though. The Clan had no business supporting those who had betrayed the Brotherhood in the past and would again when it suited them.

The loss of Marakith was also irritating. When he had been persuaded to return the skyhook a year earlier he had never intended it to be a permanent solution. After all that had happened to it the station had not been what it was, and confidential engineers reports cast doubt it could be maintained much longer than a year or so before it became mothballed. It more bothered him that having recaptured, the Orian system had once again so nearly fallen. And one of their most secure facilities had been taken. This was despite the Clan fleet being stronger than it ever had been. Perhaps the leadership ought to be focusing on that rather than shoring up supposed allies?

He turned as he heard a beep at his door. He walked through the balcony doors and into the sparsely decorated room. “Enter.”
His Aedile entered. Adept Sanginius Entar had been working with the Sith for a year and to be honest there was no closeness between them. Malisane respected that the former Consul had stepped up when the position had been vacant but that was all. For the best part Malisane was content for the Adept to partly look after the members and partly carry out his duties for the Shadow Academy on Nesolat. As far as he could tell the Aedile was happy Malisane was not often around and left the running of the house and planet to himself and the military and civilian officials.
“Was there something Adept?”
Sanguinius shook his head. “Nothing of importance, Quaestor,” he replied, “all members have returned safely from Dandoran. We have no casualties or major injuries.”
“That is satisfactory,” Malisane replied, “was there anything else?”
“No not as such,” the Elder replied, “I am due to return to Nesolat in the morning. I was planning on attending the meeting with the Senior Staff before I turn in though, I thought I would check in with you first.”
“I have attended to it Aedile,” Malisane replied, “they have departed for their duties."
Sanguinius raised an eyebrow, “You attended it?”
Malisane met the elders gaze. “I did. Is that a problem Aedile?”
The passive Elder shook his head. “No, you usually show no interest though.”
The Quaestor shrugged. “I am looking to take care of more. Things are going well here on Aeotheran, but they can improve. And you have your many duties with the Shadow Academy and Regents office. We will have to see about lightening your load here.”
Sanguinius looked unusually nonplussed. “Very well. We will see how that goes, I suppose.”
“Good,” Malisane replied calmly, “then I will not detain you. If you see Malik tell him I want to see him.”
Sanguinius nodded and left.

A short while later the other Adept entered the room. “You wished to see me Malisane?”
“Yes Malik,” he replied. In truth he was no closer to the Neti that he was to the others in the House, but he had been not close to him for much longer. “I have the assignments for Sapphire Squadron.” He produced a datapad.
The experienced elder looked them over slowly, and then his eyes raised up to meet the Quaestor's. “This is just routine surveillance and crew motivational training,” he replied.
“And?”
“It is hardly work for our members. And reasonably experienced ASF agent or personnel advisor could carry these out.”
“It is good to keep our members busy Malik,” Malisane countered.
“It will take up much of their time and take them away from the Mountain or their other homes. It will be greatly unpopular.”
“Perhaps,” Malisane replied, “but being a member of Sapphire Squadron brings many privileges and authority for its members. If necessary remind them of that.”
The Neti did not scowl or even change his placid features. He merely studied the Sith coldly. “As you wish, Quaestor.”
Malisane nodded. “That is all sorted then.”
“Was there anything else?” Malik asked.
“Yes,” the Sith replied,” Commodore Krill informs me is has been necessary to pull our forces back from Inos to strengthen them here. With recent events with the Sigmas and the Unchained we should not turn our back on that area and get caught out again. I would like you to take the Satyr and do a routine patrol. See if you can sense anything that may be of concern to us. Take your time there is a lot of territory to cover.”
The Neti's features finally cracked. “You want me to do that? A patrol?”
Malisane nodded. “Yes. No one else in the House or perhaps even the Clan has your unique abilities. I would trust no one more. I have ordered the cruiser to prepare to depart in the morning. They will be waiting for you.”
Malik looked directly into the Sith's eyes, and Malisane felt the Neti's mind brush against his own. “Very well, it will be as you wish.” He gave a stiff bow and left.

Malisane waited for him to go and then touched the communicator on his desk. “Get me Commander Miros on a secure channel.”
There was a pause and a hologram appeared showing the the cold features of the officer in charge of the House's ground forces” “Yes Governor?” she asked with a salute.
“I have some surveillance targets for you Commander,” Malisane told her, “I will send you details and the methods I want using.”

Dandoran – The Factory

Far from the lights and glamour of the hotels, the casinos and the pleasure barges, lays a squat grey stone building in a rocky deserted area of the planet with emptiness for hundreds of miles in any direction. The building has sheer walls, only small windows, heavy metal doors and a flat roof with weapon turrets and small shuttle bays. A century or more ago this used to be the harshest maximum security facility on the planet, where local and off world prisoners served their sentences with little hope of early release or rescue. Now it is an even more sinister place than before, for this is where the helpless who owe money to the Hutts try and work off their debts against spiralling interest rates, or slaves brought in to work to death before being replaced.

Much of the original layout of the old prison has been kept, with the small cells off the balcony landings being even more stark and basic for the new residents and those of the overseers are only little better. Below them the large communal areas have been turned over to workstations and assembly lines where the workers toil for eighteen hours a day with only short breaks in between. Everything from electronics to basic food stuffs to narcotics have their own area, and the overseers walk amongst the pour souls labouring watching for signs of slacking or theft and are ready to use a shock rod for any transgression.

The lighting is dim , the only lights being those hanging from the balconies above or smaller lamps above the more specialist workstations. There are a large number of competing smells from damp and mould, sweat and body odour, stale dropped food and melted plastic, merging into a general miasma that pervades over the area so long that those there barely notice it but immediately hits anyone entering like an assault.

The Factory is a place of despair and hopelessness. A few come believing they can work off their debt and leave, but soon reality hits and then acceptance. There is no escape from the factory, unless one is willing to fight their way out and get others to do so. And only the boldest or most desperate would be prepared to make an attempt to leave, or take the place for themselves and free those within, or become their new master.