Vangar

Vangar relinquished his grasp on the cylinder, and with it his grasp on the helm of power to steer the Alliance. Standing, he stepped around the desk. “It is my belief that Empress Raven is still out there, somewhere; but until such a time as she is found, you have my loyalty.” Vangar offered a crisp brow-level Imperial salute before clapping a fist across his chest in a much more militaristic one. “The threat of the Sith is still out there. A warship was seen assaulting the Helvault before all contact was lost. With your permission, I shall resign myself to The Bespin Storm. From there, we will scour the Outer Rim and hunt what remains of the Sith scourge.” ”May you live long and prosper Emperor Pilon.”

The corners of Vangar’s heavy face tugged at the tiniest of smiled at the initial comment. From what he had heard, Beck was no slouch hinself. It had been the reason he had wanted to talk to him. Perhaps it was the force or fate that had brought them both this far Core-wars to the new bastion of Alliance strength. He listened as the man spoke, never taking his reptilian eyes from the man, shifting his weight only once as the chair groaned beneath his weight. As the Admiral drew to a close, Vangar sat thinking for a few moments, the silence filling the air within the stone office. The man was absolutely right, such a thing needed dealt with, and quickly; before it became another pox on the fledgling Alliance. Such thinking drew his mind back to what had been troubling him. A loose end he had thought had been neatly tied up was beginning to unravel. ”You are absolutely right sir and yet we sit on the edge of a precipice. For if we come down too harshly we run the risk of being seen as the very oppressors we drove out by the ignorant masses. Criminal enterprises, lawlessness, even the Jedi and Imperial Knights must all be brought to heel.” Almost absentmindedly, Vangar’s claw-tipped fingers lifted the ornate tube from his desk as he eyed it, weighing what he was about to say. ”Do you know what this is Admiral?” he asked, not really expecting an answer as he continued. ”It is a pretty bauble. It means nothing and yet, its value is immeasurable. The Sith made such a show of attacking our last base of operations, but then claim to have felled the Empress; and yet,” ”There is little other evidence.” He spun the tube, offering an end to Beck. “This delicate cylinder contains the last known orders of the Empress. With it, she ordained the fallen Kolchak as Grand Moff and next in line if she fell. So too did he fall and the responsibility fell to me. Like you have already noticed, chaos laps at our door and even within our own ranks. The wolves have already come for me and I am left with a choice, to bare my fangs and destroy they that stand opposed and with it, the faith of the Rebellion and the billions who follow us; or, to see that the justice I know, more fitting for the Rim than the Core, be carried out without sullying the names of those who so valiantly fought for where we now stand.” Vangar released the cylinder into Beck’s hand, drawing his own back. “I leave the choice to you though. You seem much more suited to such a choice. The question is will you take it? Take upon the mantle to serve this Alliance in my place? Serve as the head of this great and lead these free people into freedom and prosperity. Slowly, the great Barabel stood, his chair grating across the cobbled stone floor. He stepped to the side of his desk and stood watching the naval commander.

The newly established command office that Vangar possessed was devoid of most of the pomp and frills normally demanded by such a position. A few green and gold Tetian tapestries hung over the bare walls. An ornate scroll tube sat atop an intricate gold filigreed stand at the front center of the desk. The highly decorated tube held the orders of the former Empress appointing the holder to act in her stead, the orders that had propelled Vangar into this very office. The empty room was otherwise occupied by a simple synth-desk with a single simple wooden chair behind it and a pair of folding chairs before it. In the corners pairs of filing cabinets, locked and filled with both Imperials files and files carried from Vangar’s personal stores from his time overseeing the Anoat Sector. Behind the desk, the large reptilian crown regent sat hunched over, his fatty clawed digits clacking away at a keyboard. The comm atop his desk dinged as the secretary manning the gate at the bottom of the lift notified him of an arrival. Pulling up the cameras on his viewscreen, Vangar acknowledged the comm. “Let him up.” As the heavy blast doors that stood guard over the lift entrance across the chambered office rumbled open, Vangar turned from his keyboard and looked up at @Beck Pilon. Slowly, as if with deep thought, he stood. He had been intending to send for the admiral, but he had not yet done so. He knew how busy the man was with his work in the Core. “Admiral Beck Pilon, A pleasure,” the Barabel gestured to one of the flimsy folding chairs, inviting him to sit as he retook his own, no better seat. ”My apologies. The war effort and the rebuilding has sapped our budget when it comes to some of the finer things. The niceties once expected by our position . . . “ Sliding his keyboard aside and jabbing the power button to shut down his screen, the bulky lizard turned his full attention, his heavy tired brow weighted with the thoughts of the last few days. “What can I do for you sir?”

Vangar’s retracted claws clacked against the stoney crenellation as he leaned on it. His eyes stared out at the sky as he listened to the words of the Kaleesh. Slowly he spoke, his voice heavy and slow, any fire or vigor gone from it’s slow steady grumble. “Perhaps I have misjudged you Qessax,” he used the being’s first name instead of rank, showing the closeness that he held the man in. A tone of sadness wafted through his tone. “Perhaps too much was asked of you, of your people. But the people of Bespin, of Anoat, my people, are not yours Director.” ”We honor our oaths, even now. Even when it is a sacrifice but to keep our word, we honor it.” “May the people of Kalee flourish under your father’s guidance and wisdom.” The words hung in the still air for several long moments before Vangar sighed heavily. His mind played out a dozen scenarios, each one evaluated and then discarded for want. “Unless your father breaks our accord, such peace between Kalee and Bespin still stands. Return to your quarters, to your wives. Pack your belongings. Return to your home and tell your father of what has transpired here. Serve your people, those you love, and do it with a full heart and clean mind.” Vangar slowly inhaled and exhaled a plume of smokey breath into the cold night air. Finally he turned to look at the Kaleesh, his body still tensed as if Vangar might attack him without a moment’s notice or a second though. “My friend,” the word almost hurt to say it as he looked at the tensed lithe lizard. “You are dismissed.” “I relieve you of the burden I should never have places upon your shoulders. The mantle of Kolchak was too heavy a burden for you to bear. For that, I am sorry.” Vangar looked down towards the smooth stoney floor and then turned to stare back out into the night sky. In the distance a ship flashed for a moment before the darkness returned. The great Barabel slowly reached up to flick a tear from his eye as he blinked, staring off as if he could see beyond the stars themselves.

Vangar’s eyed rolled back in his head with frustration. He had thought the explanation while vague was simple enough. Members of his tribe had sought to terrorize and kill the innocent of Bespin, of Cloud City, in an effort to have their whole species exiled from the cities in the clouds. All Vangar had done was see that those improvised explosions were repositioned to where nobody else got hurt. Mining accidents happened, regardless of the safety procedures in place. ”You are a fool Qessax Jal Todda,” Vangar growled in exasperation. “And I will treat you as such. The Wing Guard are not ruled through fear, nor are the people of Bespin, and it is not how my tribe will be ruled. Loyalty to the man beside you, to your people, to those you see day in and day out and those you do not; not to some far flung ideal. Loyalty to see the best for your neighbor next door or across the cosmos. That is what I desire for the people of this galaxy. The Sith cared for none but themselves and look what they did for the galaxy. The Republic and Empire of old sought patriotism, a rule of fear, and they too fell; their rule faltering when their iron grip or golden ideals were found wanting. No director,” Vangar scowled at @Qessax Jal Todda, “your shallow ideals do not build a lasting peace any more than one man may, any more than the Sith did. It is only together that we all can secure a peace that lasts beyond the reign of one force.” Vangar looked out across the citadel below and the world beyond. Whispering he closed, “And any who cannot do that, who seeks to destroy their neighbor, will be culled.”

The barabel’s eyes flashed in the moonlight as his muscled form shifted subtlety at the Kaleesh’s accusations. He would forego addressing the acting assumption of the Empress’ death. If they were to act as such, why was he only the Crown Regent and not the Emperor? No. That was for another time, possibly. This moment was reserved for accusations of dishonor. “Like the people of Kalee and unlike the softer races of this galaxy, we have expected standards. Standards your people violated tonight.” Vangar turned, pondering his next words. “Honor. Pride. Strength. Family.” He left the final word to hang in the air. He stared out at the strange sky dotted with a few stars and largely consuming nebula of a far off black hole. “Have you ever been to Barab I? Whet am I thinking, of course not; a cushy Imperial and dignitary’s son doesn’t go to such worlds by choice. Nor would any sane being return there to live out his days or force his children to do the same. We were afforded a great chance. It was a chance those too shortsighted could not see.” Vangar turned to look at @Qessax Jal Todda, “Exile.” He said the word with disdain. “Cast off for crimes against those who took them in.” He balled his clawed hands into fists, his muscles flexing and tensing with anger. “To kill the soft. Teach them to fear us. It is a despicable way to live.” “Mining accidents. Ha! Medicine of one’s own design. They just did not know they were taking their own dose.” Vangar raised a heavy eyebrow and smiled, a toothy unnervingly predatorial look. “Why do you think the Wing Guard is so effective?”

Vangar paused as @Qessax Jal Todda hurried to catch up. He stood silently as he listened to what the Kaleesh had to say before turning and walking away. He began to speak, a clear indication the being was to follow. “Additionally to one’s household and office, a director of intelligence does not scurry. It is beneath the station. If your family and people are in too much turmoil, you can be dismissed.” It was a statement more than a query; a barely veiled threat of what could be accomplished with a simple pen stroke. He paused to push open a great wooden door. It creaked on it’s hinges before slamming into the stone wall behind Behind it was a spiraling stone staircase that circled upwards out of sight towards one of the towering parapets of the citadel. As they proceeded upward, their feet clacking on the worn stones, the Barabel continued, his voice a slow rumbling growl, “What is patriotism but a sour excuse by which to encourage men to die on the battlefronts of political dissidence? I have little interest in blind fanatacism. Loyalty. To one’s family, brotherhood, clan, people, world, and even galaxy. That is what I desire. I will not chew my words again Director. You know of my accomplishments; and of all the moffs, I was chosen to take the crown when our Empress was taken in battle. I will claw my way out from whatever abyss any seek to cast me in. The peoples of this galaxy are my responsibility and I will not allow any to stand in the way of their prosperity.” Reaching the end of the staircase, another solid aged thick wooden door swung open to the cool cloudless night above. Narrow crenellations were all that separated the flat-topped area from a plummeting descent to a certain death many stories below. Vangar stepped into the cool air, his thick skin and fat layers insulating his coldblooded heart from the chill of the breeze and cool night air. Stepping out into the moonlight, he cast a forbidding shadow on the weathered stoney roof. He stepped towards the crenellations and stopped, standing as bear the edge as he could. “What good does my being here do for the people of Bespin? What have your assets told you of me Director Jal Todda? Why did you invite me to dinner for your wives to ambush me over fish? Perhaps,” he gestured for Qessax to stand beside him, “I may ask you of your loyalty to the Empire. What have you found of our beloved Empress? Her whereabouts? Her fate?” Vangar turned, slitted eyes regarding the Kaleesh with a predator’s hunger. Here, high above a city covered by nightfall, there was little chance they would be noticed and even slimmer a chance they would be overheard.

Vangar leaned heavily on the table. It creaked beneath his weight as the wife of @Qessax Jal Todda leveled accusations of ignorance his way. He was used to it; so to where the claims of the uniformed, those who he still protected with his blood and blade. It was one of the burdens of leadership. One, he knew Qessax’ father would understand all too well. When she finally quieted her harpy’s tongue, Vangar stood, his breathing coming slow and controlled as he felt the rage at such accusations cut him from who he thought an ally. Slowly, Vangar stood to his full height, his massive claws sparking as he drug them across the table. He turned his head to face Qessax. “The head of Imperial Intelligence should be expected to control his household affairs as well as his office.” His words hung in the air, an uneasy feeling rolling off of of then, one that seemed to imply nothing, not even murder, would be off limits. “Imperial leadership demands nothing less. See to it that this does not happen again or I shall remand you to the custody of the rulers of Kalee and appoint a more capable custodian.” Without another word, Vangar turned and stalked towards the door. As it opened, he looked back at Qessax’ wives and growled. “Fourteen you say? A shame.I mourn their sacrifices. The peoples of the Anoat Sector lost thousands.” And with that, Vangar swept out the door, his cloak swirling behind him as he stalked back through the New Iron Citadel. Fishing his comm unit from his pocket, Vangar held it to his mouth and whispered. “Prepare an Oku-Gutretree team immediately.” “Aye sir. They will be ready at daybreak.”

The question drew pause from the fierce predator as he paused mid-chew, his face recoiling in on itself slightly as thoughts and ideas, memories of his family flooded his mind. Vangar shot a sidelong glance at @Qessax Jal Todda before returning his gaze to Bolda. Swallowing the large mouthful of fish with a gulp he responded with a soft almost threatening chuckle, “You have never been to Barab I have you? The world itself tried to kill all upon it and if the world does not succeed, many of my more traditional kin have been gunned down by squishy beings compensating for their lack of power with weapons of absolute destruction. Someday I will return. Perhaps someday,” he turned to Qessax, “we shall return and put an end to these evil hunts.” He had no more finished when Qessax’s second wife butt in with all but an accusation of disloyalty. Vangar paused as his eyelids flickered across his cold eyes. Slowly he turned to face Lor. “Excuse me? I do not like what you are auggestint,” he hissed. The chair squeaked against the floor as he stood up, pushing it back, leaning forward heavily on the table towards Lor. “Do I, as THE Longfang, care for my tribe far from our traditional homeworld? As Chief of the Bespin Mining Guild did I care for the bottom line of the companies that employed me and for the safety of those who work the tibanna mines? Perhaps my track record can speak for itself. As Baron Administrator have I not done all in my power to see that all within the city I call home are safe and prosperous? Do I care about the ranks of Wing Guard who follow my every order, who put their lives on the line to ensure the safety of the people that took them in? You have but to take a walk across the cloudy skies. As Guildmaster of Bespin, do I not serve and advocate for everyone who calls our skies and clouds home from Barabel to Ughnaught to Human? As Moff of the entire Anoat sector did I not see that stability remained when Black Sun was driven out? Did I not see that the ravages of the Sith Empire never scorched our people under my watch and that they were driven out from Ozu to The Ring? That the people’s of a sector openly defying the Sith lived in prosperity and wellness,” Vangar’s voice rose as his irritation crescendoed, his slitted eyes squinted into a glare as his head twisted slowly toward Qessax. Barab and Kalee culture were similar in several ways, but differed in others. One of which seemed to be the image of family and Vangar realized this. “And you would dare to question my loyalty to the people of the Alliance? After the sacrifices made by the people of Bespin, of the Anoat sector, in defense of an alliance unable to defend itself! How dare your family, your father’s representative accuse me of such shallow weakness?! After all I,” he beat a fist against his chest with a thump, “have done for him, for your world, a world I have never seen. “Look around, even now, in my brief tenure, the Sith have been beaten back and the peoples of the Alliance are being freed from the yoke of oppression. So yes,” he turned back to Qessax’ wives and snapped. “I still serve.” “Everyone who places his or her trust in me.” He spat as the table groaned beneath his bulk as he pressed down on it angry at the implied smudge upon his honor.

The husky Barabel bowed his head deeply in gratitude to both Lor and Bolda as he was served a dish of steaming fish. Taking note of how the others ate, he dug his clawed hands into the flaky fish, pulling it apart into bite-sized chunks that he scarfed down noisily. The pomp and decorum of formal state dinners was gone as lizard dined amongst lizards. The dainty silverware and customs of many squishy species were as painful to adhere to as @Qessax Jal Todda boots, but amongst a galaxy rules by the soft one adhered to them out of respect. Still, it did not mean that one did not think of them as quaint, antiquated customs that prevented the survival of the fittest and the adherence to the lowest common denominator. No, the people of Barab I treasured their kind and strove to ensure that their families were the strongest they could be. Vangar raised a heavy brow at Lor’s words. They sounded lime the start of an apology. Swallowing the mouthful of fish, the Barabel went to speak, but the first of Qessax’ wives was cut off by the second, who was much more direct as she asked about his family. Smiling sinisterly with his hutting underbite and exposed fangs, Vangar sat back, dipping his clawed hands in the water and flicking them dry. He pondered for a moment, analyzing the question for ulterior motive or a desire to seek a weakness in the Crown Regent’s facade. Finally, after several moments of heavy silence he replied. “ My entire family left Barab years ago. For a lifetime, we have fulfilled our contract to the people of Bespin and even today, we serve . . . and thrive far from our home.” He added almost menacingly, his voice a low rumbling grumble. Leaving his brief explanation to hang in the air, he dug his claws into the mountain of fishy flesh before him and scooped up a bite to shovel it into his mouth.

The meeting with the Mining Guild was, in truth, a series of meetings and negotiations with several different factions. Bartering, wheeling and dealing, and sometimes outright shows of force were all par for the course. So when Vangar was interrupted going to and fro by a droid emissary claiming to have a request from @Qessax Jal Todda, he nodded in agreement more intent to get the droid off so he could return to his tasks at hand than actually ponder the bot’s request. His tasks would not conclude until well into the evening when at last the entirety of the board had assembled alongside representatives of the Tetan Royal Court. From there it was a mere matter of pomp and circumstance as the backroom wheeling was formalized. As the Baron Administrator of Bespin, Crown Regent of the Imperium, and Viceroy of the Galactic Allie stepped out of the grand meeting hall under the cloudless sky, he felt the cool breeze against his face. His stomach grumbled, a deep rumble that sounded more earth-hewing than anything. He was hungry, having not eaten at all since they had entered the system. It was only then that he recalled the invitation from Qessax. Fishing out his comm unit, he radio’d the Kaleesh intel officer to see if the offer still stood. Seeing that it did, the hulking lizard smiled and set off into the night. Finding his way back to the New Iron Citadel, Vangar was pleased to see how well it had come along in just a day. Offices had taken shape, security measures customized to Alliance and Imperial protocols, and the new home of the Alliance born anew in the safety of a strong allied world and still, as he moved though the fortified city within a city, he was pleased to see that given the late hour there were still those hard at work. Finding bis way to the private quarters of the Kalee representatives, Vangar knocked loudly. Once allowed access he looked around, noting the two women with Qessax and took the offered seat.

Vangar turned, his clawed hands clasped in the small of his muscled back, to surveil the entourage @Qessax Jal Todda had compiled. Rebels in their earthen brown uniforms, the starched pleats of several local militaries who had contributed greatly to the cause of freedom, the contrasting blacks and whites of polished Imperial plastoids and cloth, even the cloud blues of Bespin Wing Guardsmen stood assembled in columns. His eyes passed over them all. Most were strangers. The few he knew, the Baron Administrator would trust just slightly further than he could throw them. Still, for what they were facing, this lot would do well. Professionals, soldiers, each of them; trained in combat and excelling in intelligence and other areas of forward command set up and creation. Vangar looked at Qessax and nodded curtly before spinning on his booted heels and walking into the waiting ship. As soon as the entourage had bordered and stowed their gear, the ship would take off accompanied by a small fleet of supply vessels. Everything that would be needed to establish a new base of operations. —————————————————— After receiving appropriate clearances and flanked by a small squad of TIE fighters and sleek Tetan local defensive craft, the lead freighter bearing the Viceroy of the Galactic Alliance and his retinue descended to a formal landing pad. Thunder pealed across the sky as the craft swept through the storm. A pair of fighters streaked overhead across the thunderstruck sky as the remainder of the craft were escorted to nearby landing areas to begin offloading their gear and supplies. As Vangar’s freighter touched down, the landing ramp lowered seamlessly. At the edge of the platform, rows of rigid armed soldiers standing at attention in polished green and gold, the royal colors of the Empress Tetan Dynasty. At their front stood Captaib Xero Han. Removing his helmet, Captain Han offered a brisk salute as he stepped forward to meet Vangar as the Barabel descended to Tetan soil and advanced between the ranks of Alliance forces and operatives. Stopping at the end of the Alliance colums, Vangar returned to salute before stepping forward to offer a firm handshake. His hand completely enveloped the alien Captain Han’s. “The Emperor regrets that he is unable to meet you upon upon arrival. Pressing matters of State.” He offered as his only explanation. “He has instructed that we are to see you and your team to the New Iron Citadel, which the Tetan people offer up for use by Alliance Command for as long as it is deemed necessary. It is an honor to serve the galaxy in such a way.” Vangar nodded in understanding. The Emperor had a kingdom to oversee. He had sent his emissaries to offer aid to a fledgling Alliance born from the amalgamation of a sprinkling of failed, rebuilding, planetary, and rogue groups. His generosity more than made up for his lack of meeting. His gift enough to acknowledge the legitimacy of the Alliance’s claims. “We look forward to the start of a long and prosperous alliance.” Vangar gestured for Qessax and his few top level commanders to join him as they fell in alongside Captain Han. Flanked by a phalanx of Tetan soldiers they began to move through the winding windswept streets of the city-world. ”The original Iron Citadel was home to the Krath, dark sorcerers of yore. The royal palace now sits atop its remains containing the dark histories and lingering curses beneath layers of specially sealed duracrete.” Han described, “The New Iron Citadel is built in the tradition of classic Tetan culture. The fortress is heavily fortified. We have the means to have the slabs of stone wired as you have need. Currently we have a team of Imperial Marines securing the facility. All offices were moved offsite weeks ago in preparation for your arrival. The Mining Guild Council is anxious to meet with you Baron Administrator; once you are settled of course. They are currently in board meetings.” The commanding officer explained as they moved, dual columns of Alliance soldiers falling in amongst the Tetan forces. Continuing on, the looming shadowy walls and towers of the New Iron Citadel materialized from the horizon, large, imposing, and powerful. Thick walls, towering spires, crenellations, imposing gargoyles all of it led to an aura of command that oozed to everything that was overshadowed by the Citadel. “All of this,” Captaib Hans gestured, “Is at the disposal of the Alliance.” ”You and your emperor have our eternal gratitude,” Vangar responded in deference. “The Emperor’s generosity is only rivaled by his goodness.” Captain Han nodded. “I will leave you and your men to it. These soldiers will ensure that you and your men remain unbothered by any of the local rabble.” Han saluted and the with his personal entourage set off. Turning to Qessax, Vangar did not take his eyes off of the Citadel. “Begin your analysis of the area. We need to know any weakness inside or outside the walls. See to it that the intelligence officers are established in the lowest levels near the holding cells.” He pointed to a pair spiraling towers each isolated from the main sprawling stone keep. “Those will be for the Imperial Knights and the Jedi respectfully. Offices are to be assigned under standard Imperial protocol Osk-Orenth-3. I have a meeting with the Mining Guild. With any luck, this arrangement is more than an attempt to secure better trade agreements with the Bespin Mining Guilds.”

The perilous course deep into the core was guard enough, or so one would think. Even so, when The Bespin Storm dropped out of hyperspace, it was met by a fleet of home guard warships that would rival the entire capacity of the Sith armada or Alliance navy. Vangar Longfang stood on the bridge adorned not in his titanium power suit, but in the finest the Imperial Remnant and the wealth of Bespin had to offer. The Aeien silk cloak of blue and unique silvered belt buckle denoted his rank of Baron Administrator, his rank pip atop his crisp black Imperial uniform; but none of that compared to the air of authority with which the Barabel carried himself, a ferocious predatory aura that radiated outward encouraging al around him to naturally redouble their efforts for fear of failing the newly appointed leader of the free galaxy. All about him, the crew worked tirelessly. Wing Guard, Imperial navy men, former Republic sailors, and Rebel-aligned spacers worked together flawlessly since being assigned to the newly minted The Bespin Storm outside of Cloud City. The holocomm fuzzed to life filling the viewscreen overlooking the bridge. On the display was a single Tetan Marine Commander. “Captain Xero Han,” the soldier stated by way of introduction, “It is an honor to welcome The Bespin Storm and her cree to Empress Teta. On behalf of His Royal Highness the Emperor, we are prepared to authorize the immediate landing of your envoy and to offer you escort to the Iron Citadel.” Vangar Longfang stood up even taller and straighter if that was possible. He returned the brisk salute, nodding in acknowledgement. “Thank you Captain. I and my men will plan to arrive planetside within the hour.” The Barabel pointed a flawed finger to his comms officer, a clear signal to cut the feed. After the relay was stopped, Vangar turned to face @Qessax Jal Todda who had been standing nearby. “Commander, prepare an attachment of our finest commandos and attachés. We want to look the part should we meet the Emperor.” _________________________________ “Commander Blane you have the conn,” Vangar called out before spinning to leage the bridge. “We will send for the rest of the gear when a base is established.” ”Aye sir.” The Bespin Storm could carry enough men and supplies to besiege all but the strongest holdout world for months on end. Empress Teta was one of those worlds it could not. It did not matter because that was not why they were they and it was not for what the Storm was loaded. Of course it still stood battle ready on the edge of the system; but it was packed to the pods with all the necessary staff, soldiers, computers, and supplies to set up a completely new base of operations. In essence, if the people were the heart of the Alliance, The Bespin Storm carried the makings of the Alliance’s spine. _________________________________ The shuttle was worn but pristine, an Outer Rim dignitary’s property seized by the Wing Guard when it was found to be smuggling polstine spice. A pair of burly Whipid Wing Guard stood guard, watching the loading of the initial supplies that were to be planet-bound. A Rebel supply clerk checked and double checked every grav-sled and supply crate before it was moved aboard. Vangar Longfang approached the ship with a smile. The hustle and bustle of the crew even without his overwatch spoke volumes to the dedication of those who had been handpicked to crew the vessel. As he approached those less in the know offered salutes. Those of the Wing Guard that knew stayed focused on their work. He could board the ship and wait for the others; but Vangar knew how cramped such a vessel would quickly become. As such, he remained outside waiting for Qessax and the hand-picked finest the Alliance had to offer.

Vangar turned to regard the Kaleesh intelligence operative. “A Crown Regent and a Viceroy has many commitments. Shadowy operations to retrieve wayward warships are few and far between. Now, I must resume my public persona.” He shook his head as he began to walk, signaling the warrior to walk alongside him. As they neared a hallway, he continued, “The galaxy has been torn asunder. Even as peoples begin to rebuild, they will look to the Empire, the Rebellion, and the Alliance for guidance and, at times, assistance. It will be up to us to see that we present a face of strength and compassionate resolution.” Reaching a docking chute, the Barabel stopped. He ran a gloved hand over the glistening durasteel as he pondered for a moment before continuing. The muscles beneath the armored weave rippled visibly as he clenched his fist and rapped it against the bulkhead. “Nar Shaddaa has been destroyed. The Empire has been decapitated. We may have won, but at great cost. We too must rebuild. An unlikely ally has offered us a new base of operations in the Deep Core. We will proceed there to build relations and secure a headquarters to work from; but first, I must return to my home on Bespin. We need to put our best foot forward. If you would send for a regiment of your finest regaled soldiers, you may accompany me. Provided, of course, you are not needed elsewhere commander?” Vangar keyed open the door to the waiting transport. He smiled to the Kaleesh as he gestured aboard. “Perhaps your father would lead the men, an envoy of strength on behalf of the Alliance.” Waggling an eyebrow ridge, he chuckled softly before disappearing aboard the waiting craft. He would check in with the ship commander and direct them towards Cloud City and The Bespin Storm.

IN ORBIT OVER HOSRA: The streaks of hyperspace resolved to pinpoint pricks of starlight and distant worlds. Standing on the bridge, Vangar breathed a sigh of relief. He had half expected some hidden vigilantes to cause problems midflight. There had been vigilantes, those who refused to take the opportunity to go home. Most were gunned down without remorse by responding security droids aboard the ship. One group managed to almost make it to the bridge; the jammed doors prevented that for long enough a time for forces to respond. By the time the ship dropped from hyperspace, Vangar Longfang was certain the ship had been cleared of dissidents. Slowly the Lucrehulk spun into position high above the agrarian world. A dozen transports hung in orbit, slowly moving towards the former Trade Federarion warship. Once they had docked teams of Imperial and Rebel naval teams, marines, and soldiers boarded. They would assist in moving refugees and prisoners offsite and begin assessments of the vessel, moving it to a new secure dockyard. There the retrofitting would be complete and the ship entered into Alliance service. Vangar and his team remained on the bridge until the damaged doors had been opener. At that time, one and a half dozen naval troopers and technicians poured into the bridge. Removing his helmet, Vangar turned to face the new arrivals who offered salutes. He returned the salute as a grizzled Rebel commander stepped forward, “Lieutenant Commander Hays Krile here to relieve you sir.” Vangar smiled, “So relieved. The ship is yours commander. We will depart within the hour.” Vangar turned to @Tilt07 and his men. “Well done men. You are relieved. Report back to HQ after you take a few days R&R.” Keying his comm to the rest of the team, Vangar announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, mission accomplished.” His smile was audible across the airwaves. “Unless you wish to remain aboard and are authorized as such, we should be off within the hour.” Vangar then strode from the deck, flanked by a duo of paired marines, 2 Imperial, 2 Rebel. Finding the remainder of the crew, he smiled and offered a brisk salute. “Well done each of you. The Alliance has need of you all. The Sith have left this galaxy in a state of turmoil. It is up to us to put it right. From here, I will adjourn to the Deep Core. Our allies have offered us a secure base of operations from which to act from. If you are not otherwise assigned, you may accompany me.”

It did not take much more. The activation of a droid army was the encouragement for numerous slaves, those not yet too brainwashed by unspeakable horrors and tortured, to rise up against their slave masters. Those Umbarans who could not make it to an escape pod post haste were met with brutal revenge. Cleaning bots would mop up the worst of things. Anything that remained would be sanitized by specialists when they got to safety. On the bridge, Vangar regarded the scene before him. Clones, a Wing Guard, and the preverbal leader of the free galaxy dressed as rogues, pirates. He smiled behind his helmet. Life had a way of stating interesting. “Can you ensure that recordings are erased any any automatic outgoing transmissions jammed?” He queried as the Wing Guard technician shook her head. “Thats a tall order boss. It is gonna take the entire team . . .” The Barabel nodded. “So we keep our buckets on til we get there. Set course for the Burnin Konn System, Anoat Sector. We will meet up with the reclamation team and offload the slaves to Hosra, from there, the Knights will assist them reintegrate into society.” Vangar flicked his tongue activating his helmeted comm relay to the remainder of the boarding team, “Buckle up everyone. We’re about to jump. Any hostilities left aboard need hunted down and detained. We’re not in the clear yet. Not until we sweep the ship for bugs and outgoing transmissions.” Minutes later, as the last of the escape pods cleared the massive carrier ship and the Lucrehulk burned away from the nebula and the Umbaran homeworld, the countdown for the hyperspace jump began its countdown before streaking into the future.

Vangar smiled. It was an invisible and unintentionally fearsome visage lost behind the mirrored helmet. It was time to go and time to cause a little chaos too. The pair of opposing techs easily slid the console back into place. It wasn’t a challenge after assessing the mostly peripheral damages wrought by the latter’s flamethrower. Standing up Chrissie symbolicaly brushed her hands off, “a simple day’s work boss. Now what?” The Umbaran was more hesitant, shooting several worried glances over his shoulder at his downed former-commander and now the other commandos who had fallen into view. Chrissie clapped him on the shoulder, startling him back to the reality of the moment. Vangar nodded to the clones before turning to face the entire group. “Gentlemen?” He said as a catchall for the group, “The ship is ours.” He turned towards the bay of consoles and stepping toward the main control console. “If you will assume the positions, we will make our break for the freedom of the stars. Captain,” Vangar pulled a drive from his thigh pocket and tossed it to the clone, “this should overwrite any remaining Confederacy or Federation orders and give them something more,” he hissed a moment, “chaotic. They should be able to encourage any stragglers to make for the e-pods.” The drive would activate the deactivated droids within 17 seconds, less than 2 later the new programming would overwrite their programming. The Lucrehulk served as the command post and conduit for the droids. The takeover would be quick and complete. ”Fire up the engines again there chief,” he pointed at the Umbaran. “They’ll work this time.” His voice carried a sarcastic tinge of a smile to it. Chrissie traded looks with her fellow tech. She offered a nod of encouragement before stepping to a bank of screens. With a flourish of keystrokes the consoles illuminated; readouts of systems across the whole ship. Chrissie whistled, impressed by what she saw. “Looks like these phantoms knew what they were up to boss. Maybe when we come and take them over we can use their skills.” The Umbaran tech paled. Quickly he began to bring the engines online. Across the drifting ship, power began to surge through long dormant lines, exceeding the long-used emergency lighting and power that they had been operating under. Lights began to flicker to life bathing the interiors of the ship in sterile white light. Occasionally a panel of fixture burst into a waterfall of sparks as the long dead electronic was unable to handle the surge of life-giving power. Engines rumbled to life as reactors warmed towards a functional level. Within minutes the entire vessel would be back online, including the automated internal and external defensive mechanisms, shields, turrets, turbolaser batteries, and shield walls. Grabbing a comm mic, Vangar depressed the ship wide broadcast button. For those speakers that were not completely garbled by the fuzz of static, the voice of the Galactic Alliance’s new leader resounded across the craft. “Attention all, this ship is now under the control of a sovereign military order. All Umbaran nationals will be allowed to vacate the ship by way of the nearest escape pod provided they offer no resistance and lay down their weapons and tools of oppression and war. Anyone held in servitude or wishing to make a new life for themselves are instructed to surrender themselves to any patrol of operatives or battle droids. Resistance will be met with force. Do not endanger anyone else.” Releasing the button, Vangar turned to the clones, “give us a ten minute countdown eh?” Then he turned to the sole Umbaran on the bridge, his eyes wide with fright, “and as for you?” The technician shook with fear before turning to bolt towards the doors, which were sealed shut. He crashed into them when they did not open. Twitching on the floor, he stared up in shock at the sealed doors and back at the attackers. He quaked, completely overcome by his fear.

Vangar sighed. He shook his head at the so-called captain. This would not be doable at all. With a steely booted foot, he stepped forward and kicked the commander solidly in the head. A cognitive reset might do the fellow good; but for now, the Umbaran’s eyes rolled back in his head as he went unconscious. “Thank you.” He responded turning to look at the mechanic and take the comm chip. “Now if you will secure your commander here, you may yet be of use to us.” Vangar moved to one of the not-smoking consoles. “We’re gonna have to fix that,” he commented on the entire section he had managed to boot out into the bridge when he entered. Inputting the communication code and chip, a ship wide evacuation began to sound. Across the entire station, klaxons began to sound. In a half dozen different languages, Nemoidian, Muunish, Huttese, Skakoan, Goss, and Koorivian pleasant robotized monotone voices instructed anyone and everyone to make for the nearest escape pods as the ship’s integrity was compromised. Red warning lights circled and flashed. Vangar nodded. That ought to do it. Hearing Tilt’s communication, Vangar responded, “The front door might be busted. If you come through the heat vent we made a door, either way; come on in.” As the alarms began to sound, the hunters that were looking for Chrissie quickly abandoned their search. Survival was much more optimal. They turned and hurried away towards the nearest means of escape. Chrissie breathed a sigh of relief. “I hope you did that.” She hissed into her comm unit. “Yeah that was me.” ”Be right there.” Chrissie began to carefully climb back towards the catwalk. From there she finagled herself precariously to the heat vent and onto the bridge. Looking at the unconscious ship commander and the cowering injured mechanic, she raised an eyebrow. “Ran into trouble boss, and they’re still alive? Looks like you’re going soft.” Vangar chuckled. “We’ve gotta act civilized now. Besides,” he jerked a thumb at the mechanic, “as long as he stays useful, might as well let him help. Now how about you two get the bridge back online?” “Come on,” Chrissie sighed, rolling her eyes as she gestured to the mechanic. “Don’t get stupid.” She added tapping the pistol in her waistband. Kneeling by the smoldering console, the two began to piece things back together.

As the Umbaran captain spoke, Vangar slowly lowered his weapon. He did not even think about it as he returned his blaster to it’s holster, leaving his hand resting on the weapon’s back strap. From within his bulbous and reflective helm, the leader of the free galaxy regarded the Umbarans before him, his other arm held loosely before him as he listened and watched, waiting for any sign of hostilities. He hoped that they could end this peacefully yet. He bit his lip as the man called him a brute. It was an assumption so many made about his kind, even of it was usually the other way around. That they were just brutes. Well it was true, Barabels were brutes; albeit intelligent, calculating and deadly ones. So when the captain struck, Vangar allowed his extended arm to be directed away and towards the mechanic. He moved with the blow, spinning away from the secondary blow as he blasted a cone of ear-splitting disabling noise towards the mechanic as his hand found a songsteel blade at his back. Spinning around, the Barabel threw his full weight into the Umbaran captain and slicing the weapon deep into the captain’s gut with an animalistic snarl, splitting the man’s abdomen wide. He did not stop there. Pulling the blade back, he flicked a trail of blood droplets across the ground and a spray across the consoles. The warrior stepped backwards blade held in one hand as he pointed at the mechanic with his ruptured and bleeding eardrums. One more movement and he would be engulfed in a superheated gout of flame. Meanwhile, a faint whistle played through the air as the targeting array brought a single micro-rocket online and it targeted the captain. ”I guess its a good thing I brought a crew of my own then. A crew that is not self-serving and lead by selfish ambitions of glory.” The Barabel flicked his helmet comm switching from broadcast vocabulator to comm relay, “Got ambushed on the bridge. Any time someone wants to come and help fly this heap.” He growled, his transmission inaudible outside his helmet as he eyed the downed crewmen. “Nobody else has to get hurt. Now; how do I broadcast an evacuation signal?”

At the edge of Cloud City, there sat a small cafe. It’s seating was all outside and they specialized in Dianogian Tea and Robto Wrap. The proprietor, a tall and elderly Duro, along with his daughter ran the place. It had been a busy lunch hour. The two worked in tandem clearing dishes and washing tables as the billowing pink clouds of Bespin rolled fluidly mete yards away. As many came for the relaxing view and smell of electric power in the air as they did for tea and sandwiches. There were not many left. The last stragglers mopped their plates to lap up any dropped liquid and cradled their warm purple drinks in their hands as they stared out into the seemingly endless clouds. In the distance a peal of thunder rolled across the clouds, a sign of a storm perhaps? The storms on Bespin were not something to ignore. This high in the atmosphere, floating on repulsorlifts in the sky, the people of Cloud City knew how to ride out such storms. It was not sitting on the edge sipping tea. With a somewhat confused look at her father and a knowing nod, the two Duro began gathering up chairs and tables. They’d have to be stowed inside and quickly. The few remaining customers quickly bussed their own and helped stow their own chairs and tables before scurrying off mumbling about the strangeness of an afternoon storm at such a time of year. Once everything was stowed, the elder Duro stood looking out at the clouds. They just did not look like a storm was brewing. The man scratched his bald blue cranium as flashes of lightning illuminated distant clouds and thunder continued to roll across the vast open skies. It rolled until it became almost a constant. The proprietor’s daughter joined him. She looked from her father out to the sky “Weirdest storm I’ve ever seen.” She mumbled. ”Yes . . . “ the elder responded hesitantly. “We better get indoors. No telling when something like this might hit.” And then, it happened. In the distance, the bridge of a ship broke the clouds followed quickly by the angular body of an Imperial Super Star Destroyer. The clouds seemed to roll off of it’s new glistening hull as it shimmered in the afternoon sun. The Duros’ jaws dropped. It was no storm, not a natural one at least. Aboard THE BESPIN STORM, Commander Vincent Blane stood at the helm. All about him, Imperial navymen and Wing Guards worked tirelessly. The ship hummed flawlessly as the nearly two and a half mile craft lifted from her moorings and slowly began to ascend to her celestial home. “Notify the Alliance,” the Commander spoke, instructing his comms officer, “The storm of Bespin is ready to serve.” The ship continued to rise, her thunderous engines drawing the attention of half of Cloud City. Pedestrains and shopkeeps, executives and gamblers alike turned their eyes to see the surprising sight. It was a testament to the will of the people of Bespin, the dedication of their protectors to ensure peace and prosperity across the Anoat sector.

Even inside the sink, Vangar heard the dull yelling of the commander on the opposite side of the computer consoles he was nestled behind. He wasn’t sure what was being said, but clearly his actions had warranted a bout of anger. The comm settled it. Even if he had bought a little time, it might not be enough. With some effort, the large armored lizard worked himself around in the shaft. It sure was hot. He moved until he had reversed. His feet faced the fried panel and he began to kick. One. Two. Three. The panel screamed as it screeched outward and tumbled to the deck plating inside the bridge with a crash and clatter of broken bits. Raising a wired hand overhead, the warrior gave a minute blast of his rocket glove. It sent him skittering through the opening where he flopped to a standing position before the shocked duo still inside. Without a word, the armored warrior pulled his second relby from it’s holster and blasted the door controls causing the doors to snap shut with a loud clang. With gun hand still raised, Vangar turned the bulbous amorphous face of his armor to the captain and his man. “Captain. Surrender now.” He raised an open palmed hand forward in a stopping signal. “Nobody will get hurt.” All it would take was one potentially hostile or reactive movement and he would activate the wrist-bound sonic projector and cripple the pair with pulsating vibrations. “We are taking over the ship.” ——————————- Below on the catwalks and walkways within the bowels of the ship a line of 8 Umbaran troopers were quickly making their way to where the arthropodic droids had gone off line. Chrissie’s eyes grew wife as she snapped her computer shit and shoved it back in her satchel “Looks like I’ve got company. Time to go dark.” She hissed into her comms before swinging from the railing out over stories of dark open space to grab at relays of wires secured to the opposite wall. There she began climbing, gloves hands testing each handhold before she moved upwards out of the dimly lit walkways and into the cold dark bowels of the vessel.

Apparently the bay they had landed in was not one of the main bays at the end of one of the arms of the lucrehulk, as Vangar had assumed. Moving along the walkways outside the walls of the usual hallways and rooms, the Viceroy-incognito moved like a predatory cat. A half dozen steps behind him, Chrissie followed, her eyes darting from a handheld console to the walkway before her. “Looks like we’re a lot closer to the bridge than we thought boss. Somebody’s getting nervous though. They locked all access ports.” Behind his mask, the barabel’s heavily muscled brow furrowed. Somebody had slipped up. Little did he know the prowling assassin droids, murderous sentinels aboard a highly mechanized ship, and their demise, may have been the cause. He picked up his pace. They were on the clock. He hopped the others had heard the message and were effectively making their way towards their goals. Slaves needed their harnesses deactivated, tracking beacons needed shut down, hostiles neutralized or removed. All of that needed to happen before they left the nebula. If they were given away before that, things could get quite sticky. And that was what it came down to. Standing there with a gloved hand against the smooth metal wall, Vangar knew the bridge was on the other side. Who knew who was in there or what they were packing. Looking around, Vangar nodded well out of reach above, directly over the yawning abyss tangled with walkways and wiring was a vent; an exhaust port to a large heat sink that helped cool the computerized consoles of the command bridge. Pulling a silvery K-23 from his drop holster, he pressed it into Chrissie’s hand even as she objected. She was already carrying a drop gun. “Just in case. I’ll let you aboard once it is secured.” With a carefully aimed wrist, the Imperium’s Crown Regent caught the grate. Hitting the rewind, the grate easily swung free. ‘Memo to self. Secure those.’ Vangar noted to himself. Once his hook was nestled flush back with his wrist, Vangar’s booted and palmed rockets fired, short bright blue conical flames that lifted him upwards and outwards towards the hanging grate. Alighting to the opening, Vangar pulled himself inside. It was a tight fit and his gear scraped lightly as he belly-crawled inside. Slowly, carefully, Vangar pulled himself arm over arm through the heat sink. His under weave and armor worked to wick away the excess heat. Even so, the lizard felt his blood warming beneath his fatty layers. He did not stop, turning left at the Y in the shaft. He kept moving, only slowing as he approached the dead end of the sink, the back of the computer core that relayed into a bank of screens and equipment. “Well, that wasn’t what I hoped for.” he grumbled. “Druk.” He flicked his tongue turning his comm back to Chrissie, “Relaying my helmet feed to you. What do I gotta pull to get some attention inside?” Flicking his eye in a preprogrammed pattern, Vangar allowed his HUD view to be accessed by Chrissie. Chrissie pressed her earpiece further into her ear, not wanting to miss a word. Keying in a string of alphanumeric monikers into her datapad, she authenticated her Wing Guard identity and accessed the HUD feed. “Hmmm.” She stuck her tongue out and chewed on it, judging the gentling hovering feed before her. There were certainly a lot of wires and switches. “You’re not gonna like this.” She sighed ”What?” Vangar breathed, knowing the answer was going to instantly complicate their operation. “There is no way to know what will lead to what. The wiring is third party and not standardized. Anything I tell you would be a total guess.” ”Kriffing druk.” The barabel swore as he stared at the hodgepodge of electronics, his body warming more and more with each passing moment, only mentally accelerated by the countdown. As he canted his head, Vangar considered his possibilities. Then he raised an eyebrow, an idea puncturing his heat-filled brain. Scrambling backwards, Vangar instinctively shielded his head behind one arm while extending his other towards the core. “Fair warning. Not sure what this os about to do. Probably going to get some attention.” He voiced into his radio for the others. With a squeeze of his palm, depressing the sensor within a 5 second gout of flame arced from his wrist, blasting the core in licking superheated flames; flames that bathed every nook and cranny of the already uncomfortably warm machine in hellfire. Hopefully it would cause the entire core to shut down; maybe it triggered a fire suppressant, maybe it didn’t. If anything, Vangar hoped it bought them all some more time as the engineers scrambled to figure out what went wrong, and where. It was a huge ship.

“Bloody hell!” Chrissie hissed, nearly dropping her computer as she jerked herself forwards around a blind corner of the catwalk. A pair of softly clinking robotic insects scurried down the wall from higher up in the catacombing catwalks . Only the Wing Guard’s hostile-mobile-armaments sensors soft buzzing had tipped her off in time. Still, her hiss seemed to have drawn the droids’ attention as they paused, their sensors sweeping the area. At the entryway, Vangar watched across the darkened bay. Everyone on his team seemed to be functioning properly; a surprise to say the least. The slaver that approached their ship would beed to be dealt with. He hoped that Qessax’ agents could handle it. His shotgun at this range would be more a distraction than needed. And the. It happened. Above them, in the dark, a beam seemed to break loose. The faint bending of worn metal was all that foretold the rapidly plummeting chaos. Vangar’s eyes widened as he ducked back into the access bay. He slid the panel shut in front of his very eyes. It sealed with a hiss as if he had never even been in the hangar bay at all. It was then that he heard the faint clatter as the telltale scan of the patrolling assassin droids pinged in his ear and across his heads up display. With a pneumatic hiss, Vangar slung his scattergun. In the same motion a pair of elongated songsteel blades found their way to his hands, drawn from the back of the warrior’s waist. A red light began to flash on one of the miniature droids as it sensed the threat that the obscured Barabel presented. Meanwhile the second continued to scan, convinced it had sensed another. Springing forward, Vangar was airborne in an instant. A momentary burn of his rocket boots carried him the extra distance even as the droid raised it’s electrified tail to strike. The Barabel did not need the force, a lifetime of combat training and hunting having honed his skills. His blades flashed in tandem. His left hand lashed out in a jabbing arc to bisect the tail from the body of the droid; all the while his right plunged forward, driving straight through the insect-sized bot leaving nothing but a sparking front and back of the droid as it clattered over the railing and down into the depths. Clink. Clank. Pitter. Patter. He did not stop to admire his work, the second droid whirring about, it’s energized scorpioned tail lashing forward. The electricity arced across the elegant silvery blade as Vangar brought both blades across the second droid sending pieces of it in opposite directions. Spinning about and dropped into a predatory stance, the Barabel’s eyes and sensors looked for other threats. He did not see any, for the moment. ”Are you alright?” He hissed to Chrissie as he lowered his blades. ”Aye,” she nodded, eyes slightly widened at the surprising dissolution of the immediate threat. “Thanks boss.” She pointed up a runged ladder nearby, her finger running a path along a catwalk three stories above them until it intersected with a computer console. “Gotta get up there.” She moved towards the ladder and began to climb. Vangar moved towards the ladder as well, sheathing his blades once again. He waited until Chrissie was at the next level the he began to climb. As he reached the second level he paused, his HUD illuminating another insectoid droid a ways down the walkway. In the shadows, the Viceroy paused. He did not tense a muscle beneath his armor, as if that would do anything to hide him any further. It felt like an eternity before the droid moved onwards and out of sight. He began to climb again, not stopping until he made the desired landing shorty after Chrissie. The Wing Guard hurried forward until she reached the console. Carefully she began to examine the entire system. She ran her hands along the edges of the console where intersected with the wall. She dug her fingers into a panel that swung open at a push, fishing out a wad of wires. Standing on her tiptoes, the technician peered at the twisted wires. With a careful fingernail, she separated the third white wire from the others. Pulling a clipper from one of her numerous pockets, she cut the wire. Nothing seemed to happen. No alarms were triggered. Lowering back to her heels, Chrissie pulled her hacking equipment from her satchel and set it on a durasteel deck plate adjacent to the viewscreen. She set to work, her fingers flying from her equipment to the console and back, her eyes darting back and forth as she entered a trance-like state. Vangar stood a half dozen steps back, letting the woman work. He scanned the area cognizant for threats. It would take several minutes and then they would be on their way to their next objective. All Chrissie had to do here was input a couple strands of code that would disabled the locks across the ship. Then it was on towards the command station within the sphere. It was going to be a LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONG walk.

As the craft slipped to a stop in the lengthy shadows of the bay, Vangar stood, the helm of his titanium-imbued armor tucked under one arm. “Nice landing,” he growled in response, noting that somehow aside from some curious glanfes they had not activated any immediately apparent countermeasures or drawn much attention. At least nothing visible judging by the still deactivated droids. It was a work area after all. Apparently lights were optional. With a pneumatic hiss, the barabel fit his bulbous facemask into place obscuring his persona from the outside world. “Right. To work then.” He moved towards the open door as streaks of shadow blurred past him into the darkness. Only the ultraviolet sensors betrayed their very existence as they moved. A smile played across his obscured lipless mouth, a line of needled teeth twisted into a smile. He had little worry that the Imperial Knights could handle their own. His cohort followed suit, pulling her UV goggles down over her eyes to complete her shadowsilk crafted shadow suit. Tucking her computer equipment in a marching satchel, Chrissie swung it over her shoulder and moved towards the door. Clutching her muted relbly to her chest, the woman nodded at Vashak. She was ready to move. Stopping at the doorway, he nodded to the others. “Minimal casualties.” He reiterated before alighting to the deck below with a soft landing from a lifetime of hunting, generations of evolution into an apex predator. Chrissie quietly dropped into an athletic crouch beside him. Vashak moved, flitting from shadow to shadow until he too had circled about the dimly lit hangar, careful to avoid the sweeping headlamps of those hard at work. Chrissie meanwhile stuck to the edges of the room, skirting the bulk of the persons and droids in the room. She only stopped when she made it to the closed door leading from the bay to the interior working walkways of the ship. Not regular hallways mind you, but the circulatory system of the behemoth itself. Vangar joined her momentarily, his shatter gun and eyes sweeping the chamber as Chrissie set to work on the access door. With deft fingers the Wing Guard easily pulled the panel loose exposing a mess of wires. Counting quietly to herself she ticked off red, green, blue, and black wires until she came to a braided strand of twisted yellow-sheathed wire. Pulling a small pair of clippers from her back pocket, Chrissie took a breath and then cut. The panel slid open with nothing but a faint hiss. Slithering inward, Chrissie began a perilous trek down the causeways, catwalks, and ladders through the external ring of the craft. She knew what she was looking for. She just had to find it. Meanwhile, Vangar tucked himself against the opening in the wall, shatter gun held at the ready, covering until the rest of his companions were safely aboard. Truth be told, he had little desire to use the thing; but on the off chance, it was loud, it was violent, and it sure looked intimidating. Much better to slip aboard without distraction.

In a post-apocalyptic universe where everyone, every world and people, sought to define a new normal, to ensure their own safety into an uncertain future. With the fall of galactic fleets prowling the space lanes, the galaxy was ripe for the plucking to any morally compromised wannabe pirate with a ship and a blaster. Local security was one thing; but outside of the Imperial Worlds, worlds recently liberated from the oppression of the Sith, chaos had taken ahold. In systems no longer used to fending for themselves, like those in the Outer Rim, predators were abundant. They swooped in to exploit the vacuum while and where they could. Of course, not everyone exploiting the situation were hardened buccaneers. Such was the case with the dozens of private contractors tasked with procuring the immoderate amounts of raw materials and specialized equipment for the latest project undertaken by Nubia Star Drives. For the promises of upfront payment or protected shipping, many anxious financial officers were more than happy to stay in the black, even if it was not as deep as they might like. So across forgotten hyperlanes the galaxy over entire privately owned fleets of ore haulers escorted by armed frigates and heavily armed or fast freighters moved worlds of wealth and material without knowing any more than their small part. Payments came in cash or goods. Bigger clients were paid directly by Nubia Star Drives’ executive accounts. Compartmentalized to the highest degree, order confirmations came into NSDInc’s head office. Today that was a bank of empty offices covered by plain waiting room with a mural of N-1 star fighters on the wall. Those orders were checked by hand. The mustachiod man at the desk sighed, as his computer dinged, another confirmation receipt. Sitting up from his slouched position, the man grabbed his spectacles and slid then across the ridge of his nose as he slid a ledger from a discrete drawer beneath the desk. Lines of numbers and codes thats all it would look like to the uninformed. Keying into his computer, the man stared over his glasses at the screen. Reading the message he thumbed through the book, his finger running line by line until he settled on a lengthy string of different alpha-numeric designations. Tapping it, he pursed his lips. That was it. Opening up another program, the man’s arthritic fingers moved across the keyboard. More code. Confirmation. And with that he closed out of the program and slid his ledger back into the drawer. Setting his glasses on the counter, the receptionist returned to his holo book. Half way around the globe, a comm unit dinged. Standing up from her crouched position alongside a prototype land-speeder, Eleanor Rook, wiped her grease covered hands on a rag hanging at her waistline before shoving her goggles up onto her forehead. They pushing a stray strand of blonde hair back towards her ponytail as she picked up her comm unit. Nodding her head ‘Mister Jones’ smiled. That was the last of it. At least they could get started. Walking across the well organized workshop, Eleanor slid a separate comm unit out from a heavy metal composite lined toolbox; a simple man’s broadcast jammer. There were 3 comm numbers preprogrammed into the unit. Eleanor selected the second one. Across a galactic network of satellites and back trails and secure networks the signal bounced. It rang four times before a gruff alien voice answered in the other end. “Ya?” “Supplies have been stockpiled. Divert what you need to Duro. Hangars two through fourteen. Plans are on site.” Eleanor droned emotionlessly. Just another business deal. Then she hung up. The communicator went back into the toolbox. Turning the shipwright walked back over to her custom speeder. Pulling her goggles down over her eyes, Eleanor squatted back down and plunged her hands into the half dismantled engine core.