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  1. #1

    Thread Semi-Open Run, run as fast as you can

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    Mike was sure if he stared at the screen hard enough he could mentally force it to change, the thin durasteel of the professional class datapad flexing beneath his furious grip. Even without pushing the darkside into his muscles he'd have been mad enough to break this frelling thing. Today was a bad day. It was a horrible day. Today had not started off any better.

    His flight from Jovan had finally gotten him home - and an uncomfortable call on the way back to Mr. Prent was behind him from the day before. 'Yes, Mr. Prent. I'm sorry, Mr. Prent. I know I only scheduled a week off Mr. Prent. I was stranded on the wrong ship, Mr. Prent.' It had taken mentioning Captain s'Ilancy's name to get him to stop chewing the red head's ear off, and only just. It was a good thing it had been her ship he'd gotten stuck on and not someone else's. Their connection at least had been enough to turn the tide on a situation that had left him shaken afterward.

    Mike's mistakes when it came to the syndicate were... starting to build up, and he could feel the uneasiness of judgement upon him. His five year stint as a carbonite wall hanging had been strike one. Vanishing, again, while stuck in Alliance space and no way to securely contact his employers had been strike 2. He'd planned on coming into work today and putting that behind him, proving himself to Mr.Prent, Ms. Sasseeri and the rest of the syndicate. He'd even stopped by the local Stim cafe on the way to pick up drinks for everyone, a sign of good will and his way of apologizing. Instead his credit chit, on the company's account, had been declined.

    So he'd tried his private account, also ran through the company's systems. That, too, had been rejected. Finally he'd resorted to using what little he still had on hand from the vacation, as most of that had gone to securing a private charter back home. He wasn't about to put something like that on the company bill. The declined chits were probably just his pay being docked, or some sort of auto lock since he'd popped off the radar for too long. After his last stint he couldn't blame Ms. Sasseeri for any sort of safeguards she'd put in place. He'd get that sorted out at work. Except when he'd gotten to work he'd been turned away. Aggressively.

    It had taken every bit of resolve to not create a scene in front of the Casino. To not immediately give away what he was by throwing the bouncer through a second story window. Instead he'd smiled and nodded and walked home. Which is where he was now on the verge of snapping his datapad in half. His accounts were locked, but more worryingly so was his work log-in. That had set off warning bells. He thumbed the screen back to the built in comm-line and looked to see if he could have possibly missed any incoming communications. Nothing. The outgoing showed dozens of attempts in the last hour and a half. To Mr. Prent, to Ms. Sasseeri, dren at one point even to Mr. Olorin, just in case. Nothing. He was cut off, completely and deeply.

    He threw the pad down on the table and ran his fingers through his hair, attempting to reign in the ball of anger growing in his stomach. They couldn't have cut him out just for that. They wouldn't have. It was a mistake. It had to be. He threw himself from the chair and stormed to his closet. Frell this. He needed to talk to Ms. Sasseeri directly. He wasn't going to get through any other way, and that meant getting to Coruscant. He wasn't going to get there on what was left available to him, so he needed his bug-out bag. He wasn't sure where he'd heard the term originally, but it had stuck with him. A 'worse case scenario' kit. It didn't take much to pry off the loose paneling of the closet wall and drag out the rucksack behind it. He fished inside to double check the contents. Three credit chits, the amounts on them weren't mindblowing, but they'd get him off world at least. A couple of quick and easy changes of clothes, a fake passport, just in case, and the Holonet number Lancer had given him. You never knew when something like that could come in handy.

    He'd get to the bottom of this, damnit. He wasn't going to just give up the life he'd fought to build here. Not again. He wasn't going to lose it all again. He couldn't. He pulled the cord on the canvas sack and tossed it over his shoulder on his way out, the slam of the door behind him feeling far more final than he'd meant it to.
    Last edited by Michael Cline; Oct 26th, 2019 at 09:31:12 AM.

  2. #2
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    Terrebest
    - The Corellian Trade Spine -

    The last of the resistance was over. From orbit, the view of the terrorist base camp was of a dying ember in the fire, a single spot of dull red set against the night side of the planet. The enemy was isolated from population centers, making it easy to deal with them the moment they were found out. The Decimator had dropped into realspace nearly on top of the planet, allowing turbolasers to deliver instant retribution. The few fighters that were able to scramble were easy prey for his TIE squadrons, which were swarming the skies below.

    It was, the Captain surmised, a tidy operation. No need for a protracted affair, and no need to involve the Knight. Nevertheless, she'd be expecting his report.

    "All stations at yellow. Prepare to deploy to the surface to confirm eradication."

    "Sir." Commander Belgen nodded from the crew pit, resuming his attention with the gunnery team. A few more shots belted down to the planet, destroying what few targets of opportunity remained.

    Wygraant retired from the bridge, pausing just beyond the double-paneled doors at the aft deck to look towards the equally heavy doors to his right. A pair of Naval troopers stood like black statues as posted guards. Wygraant nodded, prompting one guard to insert his code cylinder into the door to open it. As the heavy metal doors slid back, Wygraant viewed a silhouette crouched in the floor, and the withering ghost of a hologram deactivating.

    "My Lady, surface bombardment has been completed. I'm sending a team to confirm the results."
    Last edited by Rolth Wygraant; Oct 26th, 2019 at 02:03:05 AM.

  3. #3
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    Vissica drew from her low crouch into a tall stance, pivoting fluidly to regard Captain Wygraant as the darkness of the room was gradually cast in light again.

    "We have a new mission. Leave your ground teams to inspect the base, and prepare to set course for the Anoat sector."

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    Such sudden course corrections had long-ceased to flummox Wygraant. Lady Vissica was brusque and direct, and she found any delay at getting to the point distasteful. Politeness aside, the Captain had begun to appreciate the kinetic way his taskmaster focused her purpose.

    "I'll instruct my navigator at once."

  5. #5
    Mike's head drooped back to rest against the headrest of the chair as he let a sigh roll out of his lips and the cup of caf in front of him grew cold. There had still been no returned messages, and no way to access any accounts associated with either the Casino or the Black Sun. He'd hoped that something would have come up while he was waiting here, a knot in his stomach keeping him from doing anymore more than nursing the drink in front of him.

    Prent had been upset, sure, but he wouldn't have been burnt over that, would he? Just cast out because of a damn gate error? No, it couldn't be that. He refused to believe it. He checked his chrono and groused, rubbing a hand over his face. He didn't have the credits for private transportation, so he'd had to book a ticket for the next shuttle to Coruscant. Nothing leaving till that evening, according to the attendant. He could have sworn there was an earlier flight, but she'd insisted it wasn't the case - that he had to wait. She'd seemed so nervous about the whole thing, too - his empathy telling him that she was on edge and anxious. Well it was a high-stress job. He didn't need to make it worse by screaming at her, even if his temper was boiling just beneath the surface.

    Maybe something would come up between now and then while he waited. A call, a message, anything. He had to hold out hope, other than time it was all he had to cling to at the moment.

  6. #6
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    Bespin
    -The Anoat Sector-


    The Delta-class T-3c shuttle cut stark shadows over pastel clouds as it descended through the upper atmosphere of the gas giant. Ahead loomed Cloud City, arrayed by its numerous satellite stations and tibanna processing facilities.

    Inside the shuttle, Lady Vissica focused her attention on a hologram of Captain Wygraant projected in miniature on the co-pilot's console.

    "We're in position now, my Lady." Wygraant's hologram flickered then coalesced into clarity again. "The outer moon's Lagrangian point should conceal us from any traffic to or from the planet."

    Vissica nodded curtly.

    "Good. Hold position there, and wait until summoned."

    Something troubled the Captain, judging by the creases on his face.

    "Begging your pardon, my Lady, but wouldn't showing the flag - as it were, be a more effective disincentive for the target to escape?"

    "The less our quarry knows of our willingness to capture him, the better," Vissica snorted, crossing her arms over her chest, "I will reveal force only when it is appropriate."

    The Captain nodded.

    "Of course. Decimator out."

    The commlink severed, and Vissica looked at the slowly approaching cityscape. Small specks on the sky grew larger until two TIE fighters became clearly visible. Each fighter flanked the shuttle as the copilot opened a channel to Bespin.

    "Cloud City command, this is Shuttle KN-4279, transmitting priority clearance code for landing permission. We are carrying a VIP who seeks audience with Baroness Tagge."

  7. #7
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    "Acknowledged, KN-4279. Proceed to the Administrator’s Palace, landing pad besh.

    Among the many pale spires rising from Cloud City’s upper levels, the palace was unmistakable, with proud, bold banners of the Empire hanging from its outer walls. Approaching a window that afforded her a view of landing pad besh, the Baroness Administrator caught her first glimpse of the Delta-class breaking through cloud-cover. A touch of heat rose to her cheeks as she breathed words that would not have been considered proper in good, Imperial company. She had indulged, for a foolish moment, in the notion that her important visitor might the Empress herself, but - no, it was only a matter of weeks ago that Miranda had come to Bespin.

    Just a hint of edge to her voice, Sanya signalled her staff in the lower levels of the palace tower.

    “Whoever it is, see to it that they are brought to me directly.”
    Last edited by Sanya Tagge; Jan 2nd, 2020 at 03:08:40 AM.

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    Within minutes, a trio of figures were escorted into the Administrator's palace. Two death troopers stood quiet as their namesake, standing tall with the soft lighting glinting off their menacing armor. The figure in the middle somehow dwarfed even these specimens. The Selonian's alien proportions seemed out of place in the bastion of Imperial power, but if she noticed the incongruity, it did not appear to impact her - save for the simple custom of removing her helmet. It was a courtesy she afforded very few people.

    "Baroness Tagge, I am Matatek Sel Vissica. Knight of the Throne."

  9. #9
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    The administrator's offices were ample in size, yet the presence of the Imperial Knight and her troopers, alongside the complement of Stormtroopers who kept watch over Cloud City, made the ordinarily spacious room feel… not cramped, but tense. The Imperial Knights were not dispatched on trivial matters, and so the arrival of the creature before Sanya did not bode well for Bespin.

    “It is always an honour to meet a member of your order,” Sanya said, her expression as cool as nightfall on Hoth. Seated behind a broad desk, she did not rise to greet the Selonian.

    “How can I be of assistance?”

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    Vissica tucked her helmet under one paw, while the other paw's digits curled under the bottom seam of her cuirass.

    "I have reason to believe that a rogue force adept may be residing on Bespin. I suggest that you begin preparations to discretely close all ports."

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    Sanya touched an input on the desktop terminal in front of her, waiting for a moment for the connection to establish before speaking.

    “Control, implement orenth protocol.”

    While the Wing Guard began the process of sealing off access to the city’s ports, Sanya considered the implications of this news. During the years of active warfare with the Rebellion, a number of Force adepts had established secret base of operations in Cloud City. Their presence predated Sanya’s appointment as Baroness Administrator, yet she could not help but feel mingled shame and anger on behalf of her predecessor. How had they been so careless, to allow the Jedi to live right underneath their noses? Stars only knew how many of them had slipped through the Empire's grasp.

    “Do you know the adept's name?”
    Last edited by Sanya Tagge; Jan 2nd, 2020 at 03:09:40 AM.

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    Vissica's ears perked slightly at the immediacy of the Baroness's actions. She should expect no less of a capable administrator so close within the Empress's circle.

    Withdrawing her paw from its hold on her cuirass, Vissica retrieved a holographic projector disc, thumbing it to life to produce a three dimensional profile of their target.

    "Michael Cline. He matches a description in old Inquisitorius archives of a rogue adept seen near known associates of a group known as the Sith Order."

    The projector passed the distance between them with the aid of the force, until it came to rest on the Baroness's desk.

    "Are you familiar with this man?"

  13. #13
    Time seemed to move at a crawl as he sat in the small cafe. He glanced at his chrono again and noted that no more than 15 minutes had passed since the last time he'd checked, though it felt like hours. He let his chin rest on his palm and glanced at his now cold caf, considering if he should down it and get a refill before turning to people watch. It was about the only hobby he could find in the building, as glancing back at his pad just left him anxious hoping for a call from Mr. Prent or Ms. Sasseeri.

    Muffled voices from outside drew the red head's attention as a small stream of people began to leave the port, most of them angry. He could feel it wash off of them like an odor, it was so strong. Anger, frustration and an undercurrent of... fear? His brow knit at that. What could happen at a space port to cause that sort of a...

    A chime from his datapad drew his attention away instantly. Finally. Finally He snatched it up in hand, a lump growing in his throat, hot and solid and making his breath feel ragged and weak as he hoped for good news. Clicking and swiping through he found it was an automated message from the shuttle company he had booked his flight to Coruscant on. He tried to focus on the words, reading over them repeatedly, mouthing them under his breath as he tried to get his head around what he was seeing.

    His shuttle had been canceled, with a promise to reschedule as soon as possible. He clicked through the information, exceptionally vague. It didn't seem to give a reason it was cancelled, simply that it was. He clicked a few links and attempted to get to a schedule to rebook from. Everything was grayed out. He glanced back out at the throng of people in front of the port, some were staring at their own datapads, others were talking angrily, and loudly to one another. Bits of conversation, "I don't know." "They can't do this." "But I HAVE to get back." all of them painting the same picture.

    The port was closed. Mike flipped through his datapad, moved to check one of the other ports... and found the same apology notices, the same grayed out schedules. Paranoia bit into him and he leaned in to think, hands resting against the table.

    First he was cut off from resources, then from work, now from leaving. It was ridiculous to think that something as serious as major port closures was about him, it couldn't be. That was just anxiety eating away at him. The syndicate had a lot of influence, but something like this was bigger than the syndicate this was Imperia....

    He felt his blood run cold in his veins at the thought.

    Timeline, the timeline of all of this. Cut off today from everything. Phone calls last night to the company. Arrived home yesterday from... Jovan. From Alliance space. Oh dren.

    He downed his caf and tapped the table to get the server's attention for another. He needed time to think.

  14. #14
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    Though the Knight’s open use of the Force sent a strange little shiver crawling up her spine, Sanya regarded the flickering holo image with an unchanged expression.

    “I am not.”

    Her eyes lifted and met the Selonian’s inscrutable gaze.

    “If there are resources that I can provide to expedite his capture they are yours, knight-captain.”

  15. #15
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    One of Vissica's broad forepaws pivoted slightly in deliberate motion. The holoprojector changed images on queue, showing a hologram of less quality, but with added context.

    "This local image was taken two weeks ago. A figure that appears to be Mister Cline can be seen entering what appears to be a casino. My source says it is called Cumulus."

    Another subtle movement of the hand deactivated the projector. Vissica regarded the Baroness fully.

    "I suggest deploying your resources there, Baroness."

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    “Cumulus?”

    The Baroness knew the name, of course. The Cumulus was one of the city’s largest casinos, run by a man named Sanis Prent. If Prent was knowingly harbouring a fugitive adept, his time as one of Cloud City’s most comfortable businessmen would soon draw to an end. Sanya gestured to one of the Stormroopers, who wore a coloured pauldron to signify his seniority of rank.

    “See to it that this Cline does not escape, captain.”

    The ‘trooper nodded and Sanya heard the indistinct buzz of comms chatter as the captain left the Baroness’s office.

    With that, Sanya returned her attention to the Imperial Knight.

    “I would be grateful if you would keep me informed on the progress of your investigation.”

  17. #17
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    "I shall keep you regularly apprised, Baroness." Vissica curtly nodded, taking her cue to leave. The Selonian promptly seated her helmet atop her head, striding with purpose as the doors closed behind her.



    *** Ten minutes later ***

    A trio of LAAT/le gunships descended upon the priority landing pad of the Cumulus Casino, disgorging a squad of stormtroopers each without their skids hitting the deck. The troopers quickly formed a perimeter, while two other gunships covered the service entry points of the building. One of the squads formed up as Lady Vissica exited the final gunship, and they moved into the casino en masse.

  18. #18
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    "Pick up, Getti, pick up."

    I was on the comm with my inside man the moment I saw the gunships making an approach on the casino. Front door and the back door. Brazen and open, and with force. This was a mess, and I liked to keep things tidy.

    A hologram flickered to life in the midst of my office pacing, and I stopped to look at the man wearing Imperial Greys.

    "Getti, what in the hell is this?"

    Lieutenant Braylen Getti squirmed like a worm on a hook. I'd pity his bad position if I wasn't pissed off. Maybe I wouldn't. He was an Imperial, and bought and paid for, or so I thought.

    "Five gunships on my doorstep, and I'm the guy calling you instead of the other way around."

    Getti glanced left and right, obviously sensitive to getting this sort of call at the office. When he felt comfortable having the conversation, he spoke.

    "Look, it's news to me, I'm just getting it through dispatch!" He whispered forcefully, shaking his head to emphasize his ignorance. "Whatever got sent out, it wasn't through garrison protocol. My guess is direct from the Baroness."

    That was a chilly thought. I frowned, cinching my tie slightly. I had what I'd considered until today to be a decent working relationship with Baroness Tagge and the rest of the upper crust goons of the Anoat sector. This wasn't how things were handled. It was un-neighborly.

    "I don't pay you to guess! Find out something I don't know ten minutes from now, and let me know five minutes from now! You're not the only Imperial officer here who owes the house. Don't make me shake things up."

    I was already out the door, and the hologram terminated.

    Two minutes later, my wrist comm pinged. Getti got the fear of the almighty in him.

    "I can't talk long, so listen. It's something coming in sudden from offworld. Went direct to the Baroness, then direct to you."

    The lift had nearly brought me down to the lobby. Through the seamless glass, I could see a lobby with twelve stormtroopers, one Selonian, and fewer customers playing the machines than were there a few minutes ago. Storm on the horizon.

    "Got it. Keep digging. Gotta run."

    Killing the conversation again as the elevator slowed to a crawl, I stepped out across the seko-tiled floor, headed directly towards the phalanx. Stormtroopers reacted predictably like trained kath hounds, triangulating their blasters towards me in unison. I didn't take immediate offense.

    "Is there a problem...officer?"

  19. #19
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    Vissica closed the distance, towering over the man in the pastels and white coat. She curled her broad fingers under the seam of her cuirass.

    "Knight."

  20. #20
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    "Ah."

    I tried not to grimace or take a step back at something oppressive suddenly rank in the air. I was at least successful in not giving up any ground to the giant alien. Not to be fussy about it, but when you wear designer fragrances from Naboo, and you pay a consultant a few thousand credits to concoct a proprietary blend of aromatic botanicals, and pipe them into your casino's air circulation system at a few dozen parts per million because there's evidence that those specific smells make people subconsciously less risk averse, then yes, you now have the right to be fussy over whatever the hell I was smelling now.

    "My apologies, Knight."

    She wasn't speaking for the moment, so I continued with the initiative.

    "My name's Sanis Prent. I'm chief of operations here at the Cumulus Casino. Now, is all of this," I gestured slightly to the stormtroopers "really necessary? I'd love to cooperate with you in any way I can, in a more, uh, private venue."

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