Decent Days and Nights

[Dasquian Belargic]

This is a brand new problem, a problem without any clues
If you know the clues it's easy to get through
But you look confused and you don't know what to do
It's hard to get an answer when you haven't got a clue
If you work it out tell me what you find

If the least you can do is show some restraint
Then the most you can do is get carried away

I can see that you look confused and you don't know what to do
Say what you see, what you like
If you work it out tell me what you find
We can have a few decent days and nights

If you're meant to be here and you want to be late
The best thing you can do is get lost on the way

I can see that you look confused and you don't know what to do
Say what you see, what you like
If you work it out tell me what you find
We can have a few decent days and nights

We can have a few decent days and nights
We can have a few decent days and nights

If you want to make a guess you should know its not a game
'cause you'll never get another chance to make a guess again

This is a brand new problem, a problem without any clues
If you know the clues it's easy to get through

But you look confused and you don't know what to do
Its hard to get an answer if you haven't got a clue
If you want to make a guess you should know its not a game
'cause you'll never get a chance to make another guess again
If you work it out tell me what you find

***

A matter of hours had passed since the arrival of the Serenity. After meeting with the yachts crew and passengers, Rebel operatives Dasquian Belargic and Grace Van-Derveld had been afforded a rare moments peace. They had retired to their shared quarters, and were enjoying the luxury of a home cooked meal...

“I smell smoke... are you sure you don't need a hand with the frying pan?”

“Oh, very funny,” Dasquian appeared in the doorway of the kitchenette, smirking, and shot a glare at Grace as she lounged out on the sofa. “Only a couple more minutes and it'll all be ready.”

Thinking it only right that they should dine in style on their night off, Dasquian had volunteered to cook some traditional Hapan cuisine. He emerged from the kitchenette with two plates in hand, a surprisingly pleasant aroma following him. The dish of the day was fish, prepared with a Hapan sauce. Sat opposite Grace, Dasquian looked on with a grin – waiting for her verdict on her first bite.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Over the years that they had known each other, Dasquian often threatened to cook a Hapan meal for her. The situation, thankfully, never arose because there were never enough hours in the day to actually prepare a meal that he mentioned. Then there were the many months that they were apart on separate tasks.

The delectable fish that just melted in Grace's mouth made her wish she wasn't so opposed to his cooking! And the sauce! It had a little kick to it that brought out the natural flavor of the fish.

An agreeable look came over her face but soon melted into a chiding smirk when she noticed that Dasquian was scrutinizing her. "Okay, I'll admit. You really do know your way around the kitchen."

She tapped at the fish on her plate, "The meal is delicious."

She popped the cork off of the bottle of Corellian Chardonnay and poured them each a half glass, enjoying the peace and quiet that was bequeathed them today. She really had to think when was the last time the two of them had, literally, nothing to do. Laprovik was debriefed, finally. Their guests were comfortable and there was no place that Dasquian and Grace had to be. All missions were assigned and accounted for. It would probably be at least another two years for a day like this to come around again.

[Dasquian Belargic]

As if reading Grace's mind, Dasquian asked: “Can you remember the last time we sat down like this, and talked about something other than some far fetched plan?” He took a sip of his Chardonnay, and a thought sprung to mind. “One thing I can remember... is the last time we had this,” he said, holding the glass up for appraisal. “Undercover, posing as Arhan ambassadors to the Wroonian Royal Gala... I think I had just about had one sip before the whole room erupted in blaster fire!”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace laughed and was forced to chew quickly before choking. "I know. That was intense and unexpected!"

She took a quick sip of wine to wash down her morsel of food. "Hard to predict terrorists crashing the party from a rival clan. We barely made it out of there with the contact we were supposed to meet!"

The harrowing escape caused her to laugh once more. "Do you think they ever forgave the Alliance for the stain glass window we broke during our escape?" The window Grace referred to was the one they jumped through to protect their Wroonian ally. Unfortunately, it also cost about 250,000 credits to have replaced. Thankfully, it wasn’t a one of a kind piece.

[Dasquian Belargic]

“Considering I saved the Prime Minister from choking on a cocktail olive, you'd think they'd give us a little bit of slack. Anyway, what's the price of one glass window compared to the price of democracy,” Dasquian replied with an impish and knowing smirk.

“Sometimes I wonder if we aren't jinxed. It seems wherever we go, something priceless ends up exploding, set on fire, falling into an abyss or in the belly of some sea monster! I'm surprised that our dinner hasn't been interrupted by a roaming band of space pirates.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

She cut Dasquian off curtly with a shush and pressed a finger against her lips, "Do you want to jinx us?"

For several moments, the two of them sat silently, waiting for the inevitable armada jumping from hyperspace with blaster fire lighting up the room.

But nothing happened. Not even a peep from Command. Grace threw her napkin across the table into her partner's face, "You're lucky. I won't have to kill you now."

[Dasquian Belargic]

Dasquian crumpled up the napkin, resisting the urge to throw it back. “Oh, come now... what would you do without me? If nothing else, you life wouldn't be half as much fun... or half as dangerous, but that's beside the point. We should focus on the positive!”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"Ah, the positive! Let's see." She leaned back and counted off, "I know how to use a frying pan as a weapon, have had to give a Rodian a lap dance in exchange for the Bounty on your head, and was forced into hypothermia on Hoth in order to survive a near fatal wound that penetrated my lung."

Her lips curled into a smirk and winked, "Lovely positives."

Dasquian was the only one that had been able to break through Grace's cold interior. Very few Agents really had the opportunity to see this side of the Assistant Director.

[Dasquian Belargic]

“You're thinking about it all the wrong way. It's character building! That pan has helped you to become more resourceful in the tools you choose... the Hoth business improved your survival skills and the lap dance, well...” Dasquian paused, as he cast out a mental line, fishing for any possible way to continue. Sadly, he was drawing a blank. “Never mind! What's important is that I feel we have both learned a lot of valuable things from one another, and I think that deep down, beneath that rock hard exterior you put up, you're rather glad it was me that was sent to find you on Corulag.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Her cheeks started to tinge red, bordering on an out right blush. The only thing that really bothered Grace about that was if she was blushing because of the mess she had found herself in on Corulag or was it because she found herself happier then she should be that it was indeed Dasquian that rescued her..

She quickly dismissed such a silly notion and her rosen cheeks vanished. "Oh please." The Agent sipped her Chardonay. "I think the title of Director of Intelligence has finally gone to your head. I think the Force only allowed you to save my life so I could save yours."

That sparkle in her eye had returned. "I do believe you were in quite the precarious position on Prakith."

[Dasquian Belargic]

“We're playing oneupmanship again, eh?” Dasquian clucked his tongue and shook his head. “I'm sure I would have wriggled my way off that spit in my own time, given half the chance. You know, it'll take more than an impromptu lava barbecue with the Inquisitors to put me down.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"They were just about to throw you into the pit!" she exclaimed. "You had seconds to try and wriggle yourself loose, as you claim, before you became fried roasted Hapan."

[Dasquian Belargic]

“You make the fatal mistake of underestimating me, Miss Van-Derveld.”

Dasquian shook his head and sighed, before taking a small sip of his Chardonnay.

“I thought you of all people would know better than to do that.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"Okay then." She held up her hands and then brought her elbows onto the table, leaning over her laced fingers in challenge. "I will admit that if not for you I would have probably died on Corulag. So I'm curious as to how you would have gotten yourself free if I hadn't of arrived."

[Dasquian Belargic]

“Well...”

It had been little over three years ago when Dasquian had made the decision to journey to Prakith. As a known base location for the Empire, in particular their Inquisitors and intelligence department, it was the perfect target for the Rebellions on information gatherers. Although the Deep Core world had been discussed before, no missions had been deployed to its surface, on the grounds that it was far too dangerous. Amongst the operatives of Rebel Intel, it was something of a holy grail. The trainees revered it as it presented a challenge worthy of the most brilliant of spies.

Though in the process of rising through the ranks of the department, Dasquian Belargic had yet to achieve the title of Director. It was a mantle that his superiors had already begun to groom him for, however, though he was not the only potential candidate. What was needed was something to set him apart from the others, something that would stand out in their minds when they weighed up the pros and cons of each potential successor.

It was reckless, there was no denying that, but safe bets rarely paid off. Forewarning only his partner, whose duty it became to tell her superiors of Dasquians plan, Belargic found himself alone in Prak City, with only a bundle of clothes and a credit chit to his name. It was his intention to integrate himself into the society there, assuming some rudimentary role – carpenter or some such – that would eventually allow him to gain access to the Inquisitors. He sold his identity as an immigrant come to find honest work amongst honest Imperial citizens, with aspirations of someday working for the Empire themselves.

The mission plan allowed for months, perhaps even a year or more, to pass. Dasquian had been sure that it would be a long haul, that Prakith would be a tough nut to crack, yet it seemed his arrival had been timed to allow the opposite to become the truth. Imperial Intelligence were recruiting, having a necessity for scouts to be planted across Prakith's inhabitable surface. Many were taken in, though Dasquian knew that only few of them would progress. It was the Empire's way of thinning the wheat from the chaff. They would observe the scouts to see who among them had promise, and among those who could be trusted with the dark secret of the Inquisitorius...

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Several days before Dasquian had left for Prak City, the two of them had argued continuously about the dangers of what he was proposing. Yes, the knowledge that could be gained from infiltrating the Inquisitors was immeasurable but the risks involved were three times as deadly. Many of the Inquisitors were Force Sensitives. To hide the truth from them would be near impossible. Even High Command postponed any plans for Prakith until they were sure that the individuals chosen for the deep cover operation had a chance of success.

But that wasn't good enough for Dasquian. He was utterly convinced that he could succeed but any plan brought to the table had been shut down by his superiors, much to Grace's gratitude. Eventually the matter was dropped, or at least she thought it had until a pre-recorded time message was heard in her quarters that informed her that Dasquian had already left to Prakith.

After a short bout of swearing and proclaiming that she would kill him before the Inquisitors did, Grace informed the Director of Intelligence just what her insane partner had done. Considering that she was the only one that had worked so closely with Agent Belargic and knew of his plans so intimately, she was ordered to head to Prakith herself and retrieve her partner by any means necessary ...

[Dasquian Belargic]

Life on Prakith was easy to settle into. Dasquian had been assigned field missions before, but he was surprised to find that thus far this one in particular required the least effort. Prior to being recruited as a scout, he spent much of his time working as a handyman. It was by regularly offering his services as a mechanic to a young Imperial cadet that he managed to gain some attention. The two became casual acquaintances and would go drinking together of an evening. The cadet invited Dasquian along to Imperial get-togethers and after one too many ales the recruitment officer offered Belargic a position as a trainee scout.

It was a simple post. It was Dasquian's duty to routinely patrol designated areas on the planet. He worked alongside another trainee, and the pair were expected to catalog any disturbances or unusual occurrences. It was rare that anything out of the ordinary happened without the Imperials knowing about it. On the few instances that something was worthy of note, Dasquian was almost certain that it had been an event staged by the Imperials to assess how the trainees reacted – how their moral and ethical codes were aligned. Dasquian responded to these situations accordingly, as he suspected the Empire would have liked him to. Just as he predicted, it gained him favor.

“You're doing well, Davik.” Davik was the alias that Dasquian had taken. The man speaking to him was his regular patrol partner. “I've heard that they're going to give some of us a promotion soon... I bet you'll be up for it!”

Barely a month had passed and already their superiors were proposing a promotion. It was all rather sudden, but then it made sense. The Inquisitors would have wanted their fresh meat as soon as possible. 'Davik' shrugged off the comment with a smile. “I'm just happy to know that we're doing a good job... all in the Emperor's name.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Prakith was a Deep Core world, heavily influenced by the Empire, which would make Grace's job of hunting down Dasquian even more difficult. She would have to be doubly cautious to make certain both of their identities were not compromised.

The part of the Rebel fleet she was currently stationed at was far into Out Rim territory. It would take close to a month to reach the world due to travel time and procuring the proper papers to allow her access there. The entire situation was nerve wracking and made a promise to herself that if the Inquisitors didn't kill her partner, she would!

Halfway through her journey, she met with a contact on Ryloth. Limi'sin was a reliable slicer that had dealt with the Rebellion in the past. Not a Rebel himself, he was secretly a supporter ... coupled with the right amount of credits. The work he did was dangerous so the Alliance was glad to pay his fees. The green Twi'lek was putting himself at risk incase the documents he created were traced. He was more worried about the Agent's safety.

He was hunched over an ID card when he made his feelings known. "I do not know about this though, Van-Derveld. Prak City is dangerous. Leaving your friend would be wiser."

"I know that. And I know he thinks he knows what he's doing, but he isn't. Belargic will be able to fool them for a while, but not indefinitely. They're going to sniff the truth from him eventually." She slammed the desk, jiggling datapads and random computer parts. "Blasted fool!"

"Calm down, Van-Derveld." Limi'sin grunted and put the ID back in place.

"I'm sorry."

"You are usually much calmer then this. Why is this Belargic causing you such concern?"

Good question. "He saved my life and because of that, I have a chance to make a difference. I have to save him. I just have a really bad feeling he's in trouble. Or will be. He's always managing to get himself into it."

"Ah, I see." He said with a canine grin.

Grace narrowed her eyes, not liking the connotation of that smile. "What?"

"Oh nothing." He flipped the eye shield over and went back to work.

The smell of burning rubber tickled her nose and left the workroom. By her calculations, she would arrive on Prakith in twelve solar days. She only hoped that would be enough time to find her wayward partner and safely remove him from danger.

[Dasquian Belargic]

The tests continued. It was the way of the Empire to use a 'foot in the door' method to desensitize their recruits. In laymen terms, this meant that the duties 'Davik' and his peers were given were relatively mundane to begin with, though as time went on they were tasked with doing things that would force them to make a moral judgment. First they would be exterminating animals, then hunting down prisoners, then interrogating them, then torturing... eventually it would get to the point where it would be difficult for the agents to refuse killing in cold blood, as they had already done everything but.

Unusually, Dasquian seemed to be exempt from a lot of these dilemmas. At first he had thought it was because he was performing well enough that the Empire already believed he would do their dirty work for them, without brainwashing, but as time went on he began to become suspicious.

One afternoon, the officer in charge of the city outpost called Dasquian, and a handful of others, into his office. They were being assigned a special mission, to travel into the more remote areas of the planets wilderness. They would leave in two days, for the volcanic regions in the north. The others seemed excited at the prospect, yet Dasquian knew that something wasn't right...

[Grace Van-Derveld]

The Imperial scout ship quietly hummed through hyperspace as its only occupant mediated inside her bunk. It was a ritual Grace had obtained to calm her nerves before having to take on a persona for a job. But this wasn't just an ordinary run of the mill 'job'. She was going into the heart of Imperial space to rescue her friend and the odds were not in their favor. They would probably both end up dead. A reality that Command knew and accepted, otherwise Grace would not be here.

Her chronometer beeped, alerting her that the ship would be exiting hyperspace in ten minutes. Rising to her feet, she finishing dressing in her stolen Imperial fatigues, slapped on her weapon belt and headed to the cockpit.

Six minutes left.

With controlled poise, Grace waited patiently until it was show time.

Then the buzzer and warning light went off, and the ship broke out of hyperspace and was instantly hailed.

Scout vessel. You are on our scopes. Please transmit clearance code and state business.

"This is Major Saavmi of Imperial Intelligence. Transmitting clearance code now and verify quickly. I need to talk to the General on a matter of urgency." Now would Limi'sin's hard work pay off.

Code has cleared and a vector approach has been sent your way. I will inform General Skylier immediately.

So far, so good. She eased the ship down into the atmosphere and hoped that this charade would continue to work until she found her wayward partner.