Task Force: Lash winked into existence just outside of the Sedratis System.  Several weeks ago, the Duke had been in system conducting a recon in force.  They were now back to finish the job.  Ice Cat squadron was flying CAP while the rest of the Duke’s wing flew escort on the Lambdas.  Driver wanted the beings that had found a way to crack the VE’s most secure comm code, and he wanted them badly.  Before he was summoned to Rrulinn to help Stormz deal with the New Republic incursion, he’d latched on to a signal that had held promise.  Now, weeks later, he knew not if he’d find that particular needle again in this rather large haystack, but he was willing to try.  Caerbellak hadn’t shown his face yet, but he would.

Atrasin’s thoughtful amble was interrupted by the harsh static of a half-formed transmission.  Rarely do capital ships receive underpowered messages, even in the heat of battle.  They either come through, or do not.  This one was trying its damnedest to not come through.

“What the hell is this? Punch this up to my holo Mr. Vis.”

Vis began to protest, but resigned himself to doing what had been commanded, the voice he recognized immediately – as he did the shitstorm that would follow.  Resigning himself to it, he dutifully pulled the signal through to its full strength and relayed it to the main holo.

Standing before him was a human, mid to late thirties, uniformed in Imperial gray, he questioned, “If I am cut, do I not bleed Commodore?”

The temperature of the Star Destroyer’s bridge fell perceptively as Driver leveled a hard stare at the man, “Who are you and what do you want?”

Smiling, “who I AM is Captain Wiril Macrosh, of the Standardbearer, what I WANT is to ask a single question; why are you in my Moff’s space?”

“We are here on orders from the Vast Empire High Council, doing routine stellar cartography.  Never hurts to have updated charts of this region.  One never knows when they will be needed. Shipping, trade, you know, the ‘Lifeblood of the Empire’ and all that.”

“Wonderful,” he stated with a sardonic grin, “Moff Caerbellak was worried that you meant him ill, given that you’ve brought an entire combat patrol with you and you’ve launched a full wing of fighters.  Expecting some hostile quasars in this system?”

“You should know Captain; it never hurts to be prepared for ‘contingencies’ that may arise.  And where are you at this moment, I would like to invite you aboard the Iron Duke for hospitality and a parlay.”

Vis recognized the thin smile on the Commodore’s face; it usually bode ill for the receiver.  His comm unit flashed silently, a text message from the Commodore himself scrolled across the screen.  Driver had accessed his cyborg circuitry to relay orders to his bridge officers while he was making nice with the good Captain.

[Scan all sectors find me that ship.  All squadrons, Tactical Alert ‘Krayt’.  Lambdas, recall post haste. All craft tune to Atoran Fleet channels.]

“Ah now Commodore, where would be the fun in revealing my location.  I far prefer watching you scramble your fighters and light up local space trying to find me.  I think I’ll skip the reception for now.  Be aware:  Moff Caerbellak is NOT a fan of yours or your methods.  Your last ‘survey’ was ill advised, and your return more so.  We advise you to recall your fighters and depart NOW…before something ‘unfortunate’ happens.”

Frantically, the bridge searched for the transmissions source, tracing the signal from relay to relay until Vis fed the final answer directly to the Chief of Naval Operations and the Task force as well.

“But Captain, we have already set the table, and we really do insist.”

Breaking from its holding position on the far outer edge of Sedratis’ heliosphere the Bastion jumped to the co-ordinates that Driver had sent.  The gunship dropped in unexpected, shields at maximum, weapons hot and free.  The first volley caught Macrosh with his pants down, and it was enough.  His Lianna-class corvette absorbed the broadside, beam and missile, with maximum effect.  The Bastion turned to level another strike.  The Standardbearer squeezed off a token resistance, but the damage was already too much.  The second volley crippled the engines and set the ship to listing.

“Jam all transmissions and take that ship in hand.  I want Marines on her now, and bring me Captain Macrosh, alive.”

The particular emphasis on the final word conveyed a bevy of unpleasantries the fallen captain would experience at the cyborg’s hand.

“Helm, take me to the Bastion.”

The massive hulk of the Iron Duke dipped and lumbered forth.  Within minutes it was dwarfing the Bastion and the smoldering remains of its prey.  The Duke’s tractor beam latched on to the craft and pulled it into the main hangar bay.  The grapple secured the ship as the main bay door closed.  Before the hulk had cleared the magnetic shielding, Driver was on his way.  Once the seals had been secured he boarded his prize.  Chaos and damage ruled.  Wires hissed and sparked from open hatches, melted plas and metal ran down the walls like so many religious candles.  Klaxons blared warnings of hull breaches and meltdowns that were ongoing or eminent.  Marines marched their counterparts, cuffed and unarmed, down the passageway towards the Duke’s holding cells.  Med staff tended to the wounded and the dying, droids collected the dead, and the parts of the dead.  Slicer crews were already aboard and mining the ship’s computers for tactical and strategic intelligence that could hold potential.  The bridge and Macrosh awaited him.

The captain was found, manacled to a bridge station, blood and burnt flesh marring what once was a smug and haughty visage.  The fight had gone out of him, he was but a man again.  Driver had a way of dealing with ‘men’ that stood in his way.

“Ah, captain, how very nice to meet you face to face,” Driver relished the pun-ish reference to his captives wounds, “Perhaps we can chat for a bit.”  He sat lightly in the corvette’s command chair as he crossed his legs, cradled his chin, and smiled feral-like, “Tell me all you know about LIMEY, and PLEASE…be as uncooperative as possible – I do so need the exercise.”

OOC:

Things may get a bit meaty soon…stay tuned.