It was three hours before local dawn, and a late-night squall had settled over the central landmass of Tilsec Prime, concentrated over the capital city of the planet, from which the leaders of the Imperial Dominion ruled their interstellar polity.  Most of the metropolis’s residents slept fitfully, under curfew in their homes, but in the middle of the broad avenue fronting the Governor-General’s Palace, a lone figure stood defiantly, braced against the gusting wind and staring at the mansion’s ornate façade.

To an outsider, the mysterious man with the athletic frame and the hard look in his eye might have been mistaken for some rebel assassin, but no one born on Tilsec Prime could fail to recognize the familiar, striking facial features of the highest-ranked elected official in the Dominion’s government, Premier Donnel Zaqarian.  To all the citizens of all the planets of the Dominion, he was unmistakable.

But, though the Dominioners would no doubt have recognized the man (if they had been allowed to wander the streets at night in a time of war, which they were most definitely not), they would probably not recognize his behavior.  The career politician was always resolute on the holo-news shows, and comfortingly self-assured; the lone figure in the rain who wore Premier Zaqarian’s face seemed pitifully indecisive, in comparison.  He took halting steps toward the Palace’s front doors, before seemingly thinking better of it, and retreating back to where he’d begun.  And then he repeated the strange, pathetic little dance-like movement, again and again.

At length, he took a deep breath, and straightened to his full height.  Suddenly, the attitude from the holo-shows was back, and the figure crossed the avenue at a steady pace, marched up the long staircase, and knocked on the huge portal three times.  Almost immediately, the intricately-carved double doors opened, bathing Zaqarian in a bright light.

An E-3PO droid stood in the vestibule, as if it had been waiting.  “Welcome, Premier Zaqarian,” the droid said with its flat, vaguely prissy voice.

Zaqarian harrumphed, and shouldered his way past the silvery droid.  He shed his overcoat, and made a point of shaking off the rain directly over the hideously expensive (and aesthetically hideous) carpet, before handing it to the droid.  “Where’s Karstok?” he demanded curtly.

“Governor-General Karstok is expecting you.  Follow me, please.”

As the protocol droid tottered off with his coat meticulously folded over one of its arms, Donnel Zaqarian raised an eyebrow.  It was virtually unheard-of for anyone – no matter his or her socio-political standing – to “drop in” on the Governor-General at home.  It wasn't exactly prohibited by law, but it was more or less understood to be the way things were.  That Karstok was anticipating the Premier’s visit – despite that unspoken rule – underscored the gravity of the situation facing the Imperial Dominion, and the extent to which that situation had altered the balance of power on Tilsec Prime.  “He’s weak,” the Premier muttered under his breath, as his self-confidence soared at the realization, “and he knows it.”  A gust whistled outside, like the very winds of change, ready to transform the Dominion.  Zaqarian smiled at the thought, and followed the droid.

They passed through the main receiving chamber, which seemed cavernously empty in the gloom of the late hour, and then paced down a grandly appointed hallway until they came to a small room: Karstok’s private study.

The droid opened the door, and then stepped aside.  “Premier Donnel Zaqarian,” the silvery automaton announced.

Donnel scoffed, and then shoved his way past the protocol droid again.  “Governor-General,” he bit out, sketching an abbreviated bow.

Silence greeted him in response, and Zaqarian straightened to consider the scene, and his options.

Governor-General Vasilov Karstok was an impressive – and dangerous – man, Zaqarian knew.  The gaunt off-worlder had come to Tilsec twelve years before at the head of an Imperial Navy task force, and announced that he was Emperor Palpatine’s vice-regal representative.  He’d then laid out grand plans: the Unknown Regions would be explored and conquered, and Tilsec Prime would become the cosmopolitan capital of a full-fledged client state of the Empire.  The extravagant promises of prosperity and power for those who cooperated with his rule – and the thinly-veiled threats toward anyone who might've been thinking of getting in his way – were fairly typical of newly-appointed planetary overseers.  But unlike most new governors assigned by the central Imperial bureaucracy, Karstok had proven capable of actually following through on his words: he'd actually done everything he said he would do, and he did it all with a brutal efficiency.  Within a year, three new populated systems had been integrated into the Dominion, several trade agreements with regional powers had been finalized, and all domestic opposition to Karstok, the Emperor he represented, and the New Order Palpatine had ushered in had been ruthlessly snuffed out.

So, when Zaqarian saw Karstok, sitting behind an unassuming metal desk and gripping the desktop so hard his knuckles were shining white in the subdued lighting of the little room, his throat went dry.  Piercing, intelligent blue eyes stared back at him, from over a sharp, aristocratic nose and a cruel mouth, and the thin lips were not smiling.  The uncomfortable silence stretched out, while the protocol droid quietly hung the Premier’s coat on a hook near the door designed for that purpose, and then discreetly took its leave.

When they were alone, Zaqarian spoke again.  “No, Karstok: you can’t intimidate me, not this time.  I want answers.”  He drew himself up to his full height.  “The people of the Imperial Dominion deserve answers,” he amended.

The Governor-General’s eyelids seemed to flicker, but he never blinked.  “Premier,” he said, drawing out the syllables and relishing the triphthong, continuing the formal courtesy of the exchange-of-titles, as if the tension in the room had not become stifling.  He rose as he spoke the word, and bent in a stiff-but-proper court bow.  He sat again, and resumed his iron grip on the desk.  When he looked up, his eyes found Donnel’s again.  “Answers…”  He seemed to consider the word for a while before continuing.  “I’ve just received word from the fleet.”

“Well?” Donnel asked, impatiently.  “What happened?  Did we take out their command-and-control, or not?  Were our losses bad?  Tilsec Prime has bled for these wars… You can’t keep the Legislature in the dark any longer about the fate of our young soldiers!”

The Governor-General’s nose twitched once, and then he grimaced.  “I can’t...” he repeated softly.  He seemed to taste the words as he mouthed them, and a serene smile broke out on his face, as if the flavor reminded him of a favorite dish from his childhood.

Zaqarian’s eyebrow shot up again.  “What’s the matter with you, Governor-General?” he asked, unconsciously slipping into the formal mode of address as the thrill of power politics gave way to genuine confusion, and the first stirrings of concern.  “What’s happened?”

Still, the most powerful man in the Imperial Dominion remained stock-still, his hands clutching as his desktop, as if he were desperately afraid.  Zaqarian didn’t know what to make of it: Vasilov Karstok, scared stiff?  After long minutes of baffled observation, the Premier decided it must be shock.

For a split second, Donnel Zaqarian wished he'd brought the other leaders of the populist movement with him, so they could see the supposedly-omnipotent Vasilov Karstok brought low by fear.  But he instantly thought better of it: though he wanted desperately to reverse the balance of power between the Premiership and the Governor-Generalship, Zaqarian knew that it was not the right time to make his move.  The military was still fiercely loyal to Karstok personally, and only his access codes linked the Dominion's rudimentary HoloNet with the rest of the Galaxy's.  With the fate of the invasion fleet known only to him, it would not do to seize power from the man.  Not yet, anyway, Zaqarian thought.  But that doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun.

Resisting the urge to smile, Zaqarian walked around the desk, approached the shell-like husk that was once the feared leader of the Imperial Dominion, and pulled back his hand.  “Snap out of it!” he yelled, and slapped Vasilov Karstok hard across the face.

Or, he would have, if the cadaverous dictator hadn’t suddenly exploded up out of his chair with a well-practiced grace, effortlessly side-stepped the blow, and countered with a vicious right hook of his own.  Stars exploded behind Donnel Zaqarian’s eyes as Karstok’s fist slammed into his temple, and he suddenly found himself looking up at the ceiling.

A fuzzy round shape obstructed the view.  It was Karstok’s head, he eventually realized, and as it came into focus it started to speak.  “You 'snap out of it,'” the Governor-General spat, and he punctuated the final plosive consonant with a kick to Zaqarian’s ribs.  The Premier doubled over on his side, and vomited.

Karstok waited until the noise died down, and then continued: “The fleet is gone!  Gone!  Do you hear me?”  He kicked at Zaqarian again, and the man coughed as he nodded in the affirmative.  He heard him.  “The so-called Vast Empire knew we were coming.  They even guessed where,” Karstok seethed.  “Or, if they didn’t guess, they were told.”  He bent down, and again his snarling visage filled Donnel Zaqarian’s out-of-focus field of vision.  “Has your inexcusable insolence and insubordination driven you to outright treason, Donnel?”  A cold eagerness burned in his eyes, as if he were daring Zaqarian to confess.

“N- n- no, G-governor-General,” Zaqarian managed to stutter, through the miasma of his own sick and blood.

“We’ll just see about that,” Karstok promised savagely.  “The Vast Empire is a perversion of the New Order,” he continued, his voice feverish, “and someone – someone here – has betrayed us to them!  Xeno-loving rimward separatists!  And someone has chosen them over civilization.  So be it.”  The fuzzy face floated out of Donnel Zaqarian’s vision.

The room seemed to grow darker, and fear swept over Donnel Zaqarian.  “What happens next?”  The man who had been the most powerful elected official in the Imperial Dominion wasn’t sure if he’d whimpered the question, or screamed it at the top of his lungs.

“Next…” repeated the Governor-General, calculating.  “No doubt the Vast Empire will strike back, thinking their counterpunch will take us unawares.  And if you were ruling the Dominion, Donnel, perhaps it would.  Thankfully, you are not.”

Unseen behind Zaqarian's crumpled, battered body, Vasilov Karstok smiled.  “I rule, here.  And as long as that is true, the New Order will never be overturned.  Not by aliens.  Not by criminals.  And not by traitors who sully the name of Empire.  When they come - and they will come - I will be ready for them.”

OOC:

1,787 words.

After Action Report: After their fleet's defeat at the Battle of Abrae, the leaders of the Imperial Dominion meet.  Governor-General Vasilov Karstok teaches a pointed lesson to a populist politician, Premier Donnel Zaqarian.

Maroy sat in the squadron barracks, idly playing around with her datapad for the seventh time that day. The Naval Intelligence 'debriefing' crew had long since completed their interrogations into the disasterous shakedown run that brought Tuk'ata into contact with the Dominion cruiser Scythe. The revelation that the Scythe had returned to the battlefield undetected, and either knew the Navy's comm codes or could override their frequencies, visibly disturbed even the VENI officers. The Navy switched the codes again, as usual, but not even rumors of a follow-up mission came up. Even VENI operations tended to generate a rumor or two in the Navy's complex social web, so Maroy had to assume the matter was being ignored.

Hades in particular had developed a grudge against the Dominion captain. His shock at being called out by name by Lieutenant Vrail became especially poignant when their Squadron Commander, Ryn Kerdi, abruptly stepped down and requested an extended leave of absence. Hades, being acting-XO, was the highest-positioned officer of the squadron Vrail had openly mocked. The official paperwork for the SC, XO, and FL positions were still being processed, but Hades was effectively in charge.

The question of why their fighters were in such a bad state came to light quickly once the remaining members of Tuk'ata began investigating. The deck chief told Scral in private that he had discovered a few of the mechanics had been bribed to sabotage the fighters as a practical joke. The sabotages weren't supposed to have been life-threatening, since the mission wasn't supposed to involve combat. The source of the bribes refused to show itself, probably to avoid being tried for murder, but Maroy had a feeling the Razors were involved. Apparently one of the Razor's Avengers came up with a missing engine, but the deck chief refused to say more on that. The chief put the guilty crewmen to work repairing the fighters, which were now significantly more damaged than when they were brought in the first time. Command had sent another squadrons' worth of brand-new Interceptors which had only just arrived that morning. Hades planned on the squadron doing a full check on them later in the day.

Scral stepped out of the refresher, dressed in his flight suit. The two of them were heading down to the simulators to get some flying time in. Nothing drove them insane more than being grounded, and they hadn't been even been able to do patrol duty with their fighters nearly destroyed. Scral in particular had lapsed into his usual crazed mood, although he seemed to be slowly getting better as time went on.

The man cleared his throat. "Ready to go?"

"Of course." Maroy snatched up her datapad and slid off the bunk. "Any particular scenarios you had in mind this time around?"

"I was thinking we could try the Scythe run again. I think I know how we could have taken him out without losing anyone."

Maroy smiled. The entire squadron had come up with loads of ideas for taking out Vrail. Most of them had been fairly straightforward, but a few were almost Regents-level in craziness. "Sounds good."

They reached the complex without troubles, since luckily Scral knew where was going. As they queued up for the Interceptor simulators, a familiar face emerged.

"Maroy! What's up?" Lunei grinned.

The Twi'lek smiled back. "I was about to ask the same thing. What were you doing in an Interceptor simulator?"

"I was just doing some follow-up work. They just certified me for an Interceptor a few days ago!"

"Nice, congrats!"

A loud beep interrupted them. Maroy glanced around quickly and noticed that nearly everyone in the room was doing the same.

"Must be orders." The other pilots nodded.

She got her datapad back out and quickly scanned the message. Wait. What?

She glanced up and opened her mouth to say something, and realized that Scral and Lunei had done the exact same thing.

Scral motioned at her. "You first."

"I'm a Flight Leader, Tuk'ata's been transferred to the Brilliant, ol' Drac has been called away, Trykon is in charge, and we basically need to be there now." She motioned back at Scral.

"Same. It seems I'm Besh's FL now." He turned to look at Lunei.

She glanced down and read it again. "They must have gotten something mixed up. It says I've been transferred to Tuk'ata as Cresh 2, effective immediately." She looked up at Maroy. "Like I said, I only just got approved for an Interceptor!"

"Maybe Fat Dog or whatever his name was finally got sick of you." Lunei didn't reply, and Maroy suddenly realized that with Tuk'ata's survival rate...

"Well, I guess that means you're in my flight. We need to meet up with the squadron-" She glanced down at her chrono. "Run."

As they rushed toward the hangar where the rest of the squadron was probably gathering, Lunei ran headlong into a tall Blackguard pilot. He stopped walking and extricated the girl.

"Where are you going, Loony? Our Bombers aren't due for an inspection today."

"Didn't you hear? I fly an Interceptor now. Interceptors are cool."

He looked at her as if she was crazy. "Why? It's just another big hunk of grey."

Lunei jabbed right back. "Actually, I've been thinking about painting it blue."

"Why? You're not a doctor." The man stopped for a second and looked puzzled. "Wait, what?"

"Sorry, I must've hit you harder than I meant to." She smirked and dashed past him, with Maroy and Scral close behind.

They skidded to a stop inside the entrance to the hangar. Most of the squadron was already gathered there, and Hades was leaning back, with a snarky grin on his face. "What took you so long? We were just about ready to take off without you." He turned to the rest of the squadron. "Check in with your new flight leaders and then head out as soon as you get clearance. Captain Trykon is waiting."

Maroy noted the two newer pilots heading over to her. The human pilot had replaced Rathin, the Tuk'atan who had died in the engagement with the Scythe. The second, the Cerean, was Ryn's replacement. Both had zero combat experience.

"Names, ranks and callsigns."

The Cerean's hand shot up in a salute and he answered first. "Leading Crewman Vash-Ta-Nar reporting. Callsign Shadow."

The human duplicated the maneuver. "Crewman Jak Harkiss reporting, ma'am. Callsign Torchleaf."

Two completely green recruits. Wonderful. "I trust you two know how to do a preflight check?" They nodded. "Do it and get going. I'll be right behind you." The two pilots nodded, and Maroy motioned to Lunei. "You too, Petty Officer." She gave a brief salute and figured out which TIE was hers.

And Scral's flight is all vets. She sighed. Well, at least it'll be interesting, and I have Lunei.

OOC:

WC: 1138 (yes, that was on purpose. Totally.)
AAR: Recapped some of what the squadron has been doing lately and got everyone to the hangar.

"It will be done, sir." The young Squadron Commander responded, before the transmission was severed. The first thing he did was to access his datapad and send a memo to both Scral and Maroy, informing them of his choice of Flight Leaders and their current orders. He highly doubted they'd be pleased, but he needed veterans and with Ryn not around, he had to rely on them. A few other things -- like transfers to fill empty boots -- were on his agenda as well. Once he'd finished keying in the last transmissions, Hades grabbed his gear and broke out into a light jog on the way to the hangar. He had hardly any time to spare, but when he got there he found he was first.  The other members of Tuk'ata filed in eventually and Hades dropped easily into his newly repaired -- properly repaired -- Interceptor, running through a half-preflight check. He didn't have time for full preflight procedures.

"Running preflight now.." It was Maroy.

"Forget it, Maroy. We don't have time. Cut them short." He responded, quickly but not unkindly.  "Alright Tuk'ata, engines on." He was greeted in response by the muffled screams of the twin ion engines so characteristic of these fighters, slightly lessened by the cockpit of his own starfighter. Everything sounded good as the roar increased. "Engage thrust on three."

"Chief, I'm still waiting on one man." It was Scral, Besh Flight Leader at present. Disapproval was evident in his voice as he growled the perpetrator's identity, "My new wingman."

"Follow us as soon as you can." He replied after a short pause, before continuing. "Engage on my mark, Tuk'ata. Mark." Like a choreographed sequence, the squadron poured out of the Warrior's hangar bay, small ion engines flaring as the unorthodox squadron pulled away from their mothership and toward their new assignment. Hades decided it was time to elaborate a little on their objective. "Alright, Tuk'ata, listen up." He waited for the three green flashes of light that told him the channel was secure. "As you know, we've been reassigned temporarily to the VSD Brilliant under Task Force XO Lieutenant Wyl Trykon. Some of you may have heard or seen Trykon's transmission -- we are taking the fight to the enemy and retracing their entrance route."

As an afterthough, he added over the squadron frequency: "which, more than likely, is the same route Vrail used to come in." He heard naught but silence over the comm. His squadron members were still fuming over Vrail's escape and he had the unpleasant feeling that, true to Vrail's word, they would be seeing each other again soon. But next time we won't be so unprepared. Hades vowed silently.

"I want his head." It was Scral, a few moments behind them.

"All in good time, Scral." He murmured, mostly for his own benefit. “All in good time.” Hades was cut out of his vengeful reverie by an unfamiliar female voice squawking intrusively over his comm.

“Tuk'ata lead, this is flight control aboard the Brilliant.”

“Go ahead control.” Hades responded, slightly miffed that his reverie had been interrupted.

“You are cleared to land in the starboard hangar. It's a tight fit as you come in, so watch your speed.” Control warned. Hades smirked at the innuendo.

“I always do, control.” The SC responded, only partially joking. There was something familiar about that voice. “Tuk'ata lead out.”

“What was that about?” Maroy muttered suggestively. Hades grinned.

“Never you mind, Cresh Leader. Concentrate on flying straight.” He retorted cheekily, before checking his sensors – Scral and his wingman were finally on their tail, albeit a long way back. He estimated Tuk'ata would be out of their fighters before Scral touched down. He also noted that his new wingman – A-2, Dawn – was listing slightly the left “Dawn, tighten formation.”

“Aye Chief, my bad.” Dawn's voice came back, as Hades' sensors picked up Dawn easing closer to his proper position. Satisfied, Hades focused his gazed forward. He could see the Brilliant now, a slate-grey spear jutting into the endless darkness of space, as if trying to tear the mottled black asunder.. An imposing ship to say the least. Hades had always preferred the look of the Victory-class; much more fearsome, in his opinion, with more sharp angles and such. Yes, he mused, like a spear. The dangerous visage that the Brilliant bore was made all the more fearsome by the reputation of its commander. While Hades had met Lieutenant Trykon twice – once as a green senior crewman aboard the SMC Surprise and again as a Training Officer with VENA – he barely knew the man, but knew of him. Sufficed to say he had an outstanding reputation for cold efficiency.. A shiver ran up and down the young Squadron Commander's spine.

“Brilliant's dead ahead.” Hades spoke to Tuk'ata on their frequency, eyes still glued to the fearsome apparition that was the Brilliant. Everybody had seen a Star Destroyer before, but seeing this one here, just sitting there alone was spooky to say the least. The ship looked deceptively quiet. Hades knew that it would be a hive of activity aboard, though.. Trykon probably chose the position of his ship very, very precisely. “Scral, how far behind us are you?”

“I'll land around thirty seconds after you've touched down.” Scral came back.

“Tuk'ata, be advised,” The female voice of Brilliant's flight control. Hades picked up an energy spike coming from the very same ship and noticed a flare in the engines. They're moving! He realised with a flash, “the Brilliant is underway. Get aboard ASAP.”

“Understood, control.” Hades replied tersely, before raising the rest of Tuk'ata on the comm again. “You heard the lady. We are running out of time,” He gritted his teeth as he increased speed, “step on it, Tuk'ata.”

His sensors picked up the rest of Tuk'ata matching speeds with him, but now they were flying at top speed which meant that Scral would not be able to catch them unless they slowed down again. This will be a close one. The Brilliant loomed ever-closer in his viewport, and he could now see the hangar designated for Tuk'ata. He indicated it to the rest of Tuk'ata and aimed the four sharp points of his solar-panels toward the small entrance-way. “Tuk'ata lead, we recommend reduced speed.” Flight Control voiced loudly. He could see that some of Tuk'ata were falling back, not game enough to go in as fast as Hades.

“If I had a credit for everytime a girl thought that,” he muttered to himself. He reduced speed a little, but the hull of the Brilliant now filled his viewscreen, framing the rectangular hangar. He began pulling back on the throttle now, slowing down – but for all intents and purposes, it looked to be too late. His fighter was still hurtling toward the hangar. Milliseconds before he plowed into the rear wall of the Brilliant's fighter bay, Hades' fighter came to a complete stop. “Another perfect landing.” He could hear people chattering across the comm – some people berating him, others cheering him on. Flight Control and the rest of the Brilliant were silent, though, which led him to wonder whether or not they kept track of what went on inside their hangars. The bright-eyed man climbed out of his fighter rapidly, an easy smile on his face as the rest of Tuk'ata began to land.

----

“Sir, Tuk'ata Squadron is..” Martell hesitated, not quite sure what to say about Tuk'ata. Fighter Pilots were reckless, but it seemed their Squadron Commander had a larger dose of that insane juice.

“Is what, Mr. Martell?” Lieutenant Wyl Trykon asked calmly, cool tone enough to send ice into the veins of even the warmest soul.

“Mostly aboard, sir.” Martell ventured, still not quite sure what else to say.

“Mostly?” Trykon raised an eyebrow, a hint of annoyance creeping into his tone.

“The majority of Tuk'ata came aboard at unbelievable speed. Especially Tuk'ata lead.” Martell let acid lace his words, making his disdain for the recklessness of Tuk'ata obvious. “There are still two pilots en-route. They said something about being delayed on the Warrior, sir.”

The Task Force Executive Officer contemplated in silence for a moment, calm gaze regarding Martell. “As you were, XO.” He responded finally, as if nothing had happened.

Delak Martell turned away from his Captain, slightly disgruntled that he had not exacted harsh punishment on the troublesome Tuk'ata squadron, but intent on overseeing preparations for their hyperspace journey.

OOC:

Wordcount: 1,421

AAR: Tuk'ata is aboard the Brilliant, with the exception of Scral and his new wingman. Hades contemplates a few things en-route and comes screaming into the hangar recklessly. Delak Martell, the XO, makes his report to Lieutenant Trykon.

Hades knew from the moment the sound of boots on the deck had caught his attention that there would be trouble between himself and Av'Vast. His knowledge was affirmed by the way the man spoke, the way his fur rippled imperiously; hell, even the way he stood identified him as a threat to Hades and Tuk'ata. A rival, albeit four pay grades above the Commander of Tuk'ata. As befitted the addressing of a Warrant Officer, Hades saluted sharply -- a skillful show of drill and ceremony which would undoubtedly surprise Av'Vast, given his evidently low impression of Tuk'ata. Hades began his rebuttal politely

"Thank you for the warm welcome, sir. We of the Tuk'ata Squadron are also looking forward to working with the Dire-cats," He paused for emphasis, "and perhaps watch you follow in our footsteps of becoming real pilots. A learning experience for us all!" Av'Vast's fur rippled dangerously, and Hades could tell he was infuriated by the younger, more handsome Squadron Leader's impertinence. "Tuk'ata, on me!" Hades called back, offering Av'Vast a sweet smile before brushing past him amid curious glances from the Dire-cats. Hades' cheerful walk and confident manner almost literally bounced around the hangar as he called to no-one in particular: "Ah, such fun to be had!"

Av'Vast was fuming. He turned around to shout after the man, but thought better of it. Now was not the time to try some petty revenge stunt. He caught one of his pilots furtively -- admiringly -- glance at Hades and snapped. "Crewman Mayn, eyes front if you please!" The crewman in question immediately snapped his gaze back forward, allowing a ripple of satisfaction to ease through the Chief Warrant Officer. He knew they were the better squadron, even if Hades was popular with the pilots. Meanwhile, Hades broke out into an easy chuckle as Dawn hurried to catch up with him.

"Chief, you showed him!" Dawn stated, a hint of awe in his voice.

"That I did." The SCO responded light heartedly, before adding "Now pray to whatever greater power you believe in he doesn't try and court-martial me for insubordination.."

A few laughs emanated from behind them before a hush fell over those following him. For a moment he thought Av"Vast had come after them, but his fears proved to be unfounded as he turned to see the newest addition to their squadron loping after them. Scral's wingmate. Hades craned his neck, but could not see Scral. "Crewman!" He barked, "Where's Chief Petty Officer Scral?"

"He was right behind me sir, but he said he was having engine troub-"

"Son of a.." Hades swore. Just like Scral to pull something like this. Hades had taken the liberty of checking over all of their fighters before coming aboard. There had been no faults at all, especially not engine trouble. He saw the Crewman looking up at him in what appeared to be fear, and the rest of the squadron waiting to see his reaction. "Alright. Good to have you aboard, Crewman."

Without waiting for a response, Hades set off again in the direction of their bunks. His boots clicked against the finely polished hallways – the corridors aboard the Warrior and indeed the Atrus had been immaculate, but these were somehow.. more immaculate. It spoke volumes for Trykon's focus on discipline. His eyes darted around the corridor and caught on a woman coming the other way up ahead. She had blue eyes and black hair – for a moment he was reminded of Ryn thanks to those blue eyes, but when he met eyes with the woman he instantly removed the Ryn-likeness. There was.. well, nothing in her eyes other than eyeballs. No emotion, no thought.. nothing. It was like looking at a blank file; you simply couldn't read her. Her uniform denoted her as a lowly mechanic and Hades narrowed his bright eyes subtly as she made eye contact. Her gaze held his for just moment before she averted it, just like any other mechanic when faced with an NCO of Hades' position.

He shrugged the thought of the woman off and recalled the voice he'd heard. He knew her from somewhere, if he saw her face he'd know her even better. But where was it from.. Hades snapped out of his thoughts as his eyes registered a sign he had made sure not to miss – one that denoted the quarters assigned to Tuk'ata. Funnily enough, there were quarters opposite as well that looked to be inhabited by Dire-cat squadron. A mischievous smile crept across Hades' handsome features as some not-so-legal ideas popped into his head. He shook them out – but retained the smile – and entered the room. It was smaller than their quarters on the Warrior. The SCO's room doubled as his office and the XO's room as little more than a walled-off bunk. Communal refreshers were just outside. All in all, it was a step down. Tuk'ata was never too concerned with that anyway. With a shrug, Hades marched into his room and dumped his bag on a small chair. He picked up the datapad that sat on his desk and examined it briefly before stowing it with his other assortment of datapads and chips..

With an exasperated sigh, he let himself fall back onto his bed. It wasn't too hard or too soft, so Hades was pleased with his quarters. His pleasant mood was lightened even more by that fact that DeepSix and his beloved Razors where going to be far away for the duration of this mission, aboard the Warrior. Given the trouble that Tuk'ata had been and the amount of paperwork that, by effect, got sent to Deep's desk, he had no doubt that their WC was just as pleased as they were. A quiet knock on the door broke into his pleasant mood. “Come in” he called easily and sat up. It was Maroy. “Ah, Master Chief. Do you happen to know anything about Scral's-”

“No.” Hades raised an eyebrow at her firm response.

“Are you su--”

“Scral didn't tell me anything, but maybe it was engine trouble. Did you consider that?” She retorted tersely.

“Cut the crap, Maroy. I checked all our fighters; there were no malfunctions whatsoever. What he did is considered desertion and he's liable to be court-martialed once I transmit back to Abrae what happened.” Maroy's lekku twitched. Was that surprise?

“You haven't contacted Abrae yet?” It was evident she thought that Hades hated  – or at least held a grudge against – her and Scral.

“No, and I don't plan to.” Hades let out a sigh, “Scral is unstable. He's smart too. So that leads me to one of two conclusions; First is that some form of trauma, a fear of combat or similar led to him shirking duty.”

Maroy seemed uncomfortable. “And the second?”

“The second is that he deliberately faked engine trouble to benefit Tuk'ata. Given the way his mind works, I wouldn't put it past him.” Hades gauged Maroy's reaction. Her lekku twitched. How distinctive, Hades thought bitterly. He couldn't read Maroy like he could others. Twi'leks..

“Thank you, Chief.” Maroy murmured quietly, and a tense breath she had been holding seemed to release itself and lower the tension.

“For what?” Hades got up and turned away from her, pacing to his desk and rummaging through some of his stuff.

“For not condemning him.” She said simply. Hades paused in his rummaging. He could tell by the faint sound of the door closing that she was gone, and he let out a sight. What are you doing, Hades?

OOC:

Wordcount: 1,278. Come on, Tuk'ata -- get to posting!

AAR: Hades sees Av'Vast in the same way that Av'Vast sees him -- a threat, a rival. He has a short exchange with the CWO before heading to the crew quarters. En-route he learns of Scral's deception and ponders women, before confronting Maroy in the barracks about Scral's intentions.

Scral jumped ship. It still hadn't quite sunk in, after all they'd been through. He'd explained it all to Maroy well in advance, of course, but she'd never really accepted that he was actually leaving. Now that he was gone, though, the feelings of loneliness that had dominated her days after Cayden died started to creep back in. She didn't know the guy Scral was supposed to be sending them, although she'd heard of him from an acquaintance, and she couldn't really call anyone else in the squadron a friend. Lunei was there, of course, but she had more things to worry about than her flight leader. Maroy smiled briefly, in spite of her mood. In fact, she already seems to be making some friends of her own...

-----

Lunei bent over her bunk, laying out the contents of her pack of belongings. She glanced over at the bunk next to hers and noticed the boy sitting there, the new pilot assigned as Scral's wingmate, was staring at her. He immediately averted his gaze, becoming intensely focused on a small medkit he had pulled out of his pack. Lunei gave a mental shrug and continued to unpack. She pulled out the final item with a flourish, and glanced over to catch the pilot looking at her again. He went back to studying the medkit, but it was obvious he hadn't actually pulled anything else out yet. The girl smiled and swung her legs over to face him.

"Need any help unpacking?"

The pilot shrugged and hesitantly made eye contact. "I think I can do it myself. Thanks."

"What was your name again?"

"Tracen... I mean, uh, Tracen Klitopm. But everyone calls me Mynock." He looked down at the ground.

"How come?"

"I specialized in field medical training, back on Lotaith, before I signed up to become a pilot. I... tend to get carried away when I'm looking after a patient." He sighed. "People get exhausted just watching me, sometimes."

"Come on. It can't be that bad." She smiled again and held out her hand. "The name's Lunei. Lunei Taneg."

He met her gaze again and shook her hand. "Nice to meet you."

A third human pilot swung in between them, carelessly dropping down on the girl's bunk. "Pleased to meet you too, Lunei." He smiled roguishly. "Oh, and you too, Mynock." Tracen cringed slightly and looked down again.

Lunei chuckled a little at the newcomer's audacity before shoving him back off the bunk. "Excuse me, but you might want to at least introduce yourself before assuming you can share my bunk."

The man got up off the floor and grinned. "Jak Harkiss at your service. Callsign Torchleaf." He sat down next to Tracen and casually looped an arm over the latter's shoulder. "Sorry about that little jab, bud. It was rude of me. How can I make it up to you? A drink, maybe?"

Tracen seemed startled for a second, but eventually he picked his gaze back up to meet Jak's. "You could start by getting off my bunk."

Jak laughed and stood back up, leaning against one of the corners of Lunei's bunk. "Tough crowd, you lot." He smiled mischievously. "I was planning on going over and playing a little prank on those Dire-cats across the hall. I've got a 'malfunctioning' mouse droid that I was planning on letting loose. Either of you in?"

Tracen shied back again, but Lunei looked up at Jak with a skeptical but not wholly hostile expression. "You realize how much trouble you'll be in if they catch you, right?"

The prankster's grin widened. "The trick is to not get caught."

"I'd say there's a roughly 47% chance of that happening." Vash-Ta-Nar, the Cerean, walked over. "I would report you, but the most likely outcome of that would be an even bigger degradation of this squadron's reputation."

Jak's tone betrayed his annoyance. "Come off it, Vash. You know Corellians have no use for odds."

"I guess that's why you Corellians are so eager to join up with the inferior New Republic."

Lunei stepped in. "Well, I'm from Corellia too. Maybe I can even those odds a bit." She matched Jak's earlier grin. "I'm in."

"I thought that accent sounded Coreward." The male Corellian resumed his own smirk. "Looks like it's just you and me, then. You get the vents."

"I'm on it." Lunei grabbed a hydrospanner someone had left out. "Oh, and Jak?" She tossed the hydrospanner. "Don't get any ideas."

He deftly caught it. "Wouldn't dream of it. It would be a shame if you beat me up just so Tracen had someone to practice on."

"You're crazy, you know that?"

"Oh yes. If I wasn't, this would never work."

-----

The panicked yells of Av'Vast's normally orderly squadron indicated that the operation was a complete success. Doubtlessly someone would come by and investigate later, but they wouldn't be able to pin anything on Tuk'ata. The two pranksters had covered their tracks well.

OOC:

WC:830
Just a quick bit of CD expanding on some of Tuk'ata's NPCs. I promise I'll do an actual serious post at some point.

Two silent shadows watched the assembled squadrons file out slowly. First came half of Tuk'ata squadron, then Dire-cat followed them in orderly lines. To Joamer they seemed to be trying a bit too hard to show everyone they were united, try as they might they could not completely mask the sideways glances some of them gave members of their own squadron. Over the next two minutes the rest of Tuk'ata squadron filed out.

"You see those last two?" The voice of Rain said quietly a few moments after the room became quiet. "They did not even care what was happening."

He could only nod a few times, he felt a tiny tug on his shirt as Lurk uncoiled herself from behind him and climbed her way up to his shoulder. Preening much like a cat would she surveyed the nearly empty room as her eyes found the man known as Wyl Trykon. He heard her grumble low in her throat, to him it had the sound of acceptance. Though, it could of easily been mistaken for her stomach growling for something to eat.

"You know if you two plan to become part of that bulkhead, they do get cleaned weekly." Trykon said as he continued to study a few notes scattered on the table in front of him.

Shaking his head slightly Joamer ran one finger over Bright's hand for a single moment before pushing off the bulkhead and walking down towards the man. He felt Lurk crouch down on his shoulder as she studied began studying him as they walked down, he hoped she would not do something drastic and go for his face. Sadly, she was prone to do that at random. Some people she just refused to like no matter how hard they tried.

"I would ask if that thing bites, but judging by her eyes I know the answer." Trykon said as he reached into a bag mostly hidden by the table. "Luckily, I was told you two would be bringing them. Rumor is, the only thing harder than separating you two is keeping you away from those critters. As such, I will simply bribe them both."

Dropping two saucers onto the ground he leaned over and poured milk into both, nearly instantly Lurk glided down from Joamer's shoulder and landed near one of them. A moment later a sleepy Shadow crawled out from inside Bright's jacket and did the same. He knew Bright would be smiling, and trying very hard not to laugh lightly. Shaking his head he said, "Traitors, both of you. Bribed by milk."

"Good intel, saves lives." Trykon said mostly to himself, it sounded like a lesson learned the hard way a long time ago.

Nodding in agreement Joamer stood up a hair straighter and said, "Reistlin Joamer, Chief Warrant Officer number 36706. Tuk'ata Squadron."

Stepping forward and standing a slight bit more at attention Bright said, "Rain Alli'A'isha D'Jonoc Te'Reistlin, Warrant Officer Second Class, Callsign Brightstar, Tuk'ata Squadron."

"Yes, I know who you both are. Naval personnel don't wear military issue jack-boots, or wear jackets that hide their ranks from their own squadron. So, recon first before joining them openly. Sneaky, but judging by both your records it's to be expected." Trykon said as he glanced at the Strills who began growling over the last few drop of milk that ended up on the floor. "Reistlin, Hades will no doubt confirm this with you but you are assigned Besh Flight Leader, Besh 1 or Tuk'ata 5. Miss Reistlin you are Aurek 3, or Tuk'ata 3."

"Call me Brightstar, please." Bright said as he bent down to pick up Lurk and Shadow after they had thoroughly cleaned up the milk.

"I believe you two have a squadron to meet and flight suits to be put on." Trykon said as he turned back to one of his charts laid out behind him.

Turning to Rain he motioned slightly and let Lurk climb up onto his shoulder were she began cleaning herself while making sure she got every last drop of milk stuck to her fur. Reaching the door he held it open while she walked through, he heard Trykon say from inside the room "One last thing, that finger rub you gave her. What did it mean?"

Starring out into the hallway, and glancing at his wife for a long moment he considered not replying or even lying to the man. He never liked people in authority who got the job because they knew someone. However, to him Trykon seemed like someone he could learn to trust.

Turning back into the room he looked at him and said, "A few things, in this context just watch." He saw Trykon look down for a moment as he digested this new tidbit of information about the two of them, a moment later he turned back to his charts.

Looking around the room one last time Joamer stepped into the hallway and stepped up next to his wife. Staying quiet for a few seconds he looked over at her as she seemed to be thinking about something, he knew in time she would tell him so instead he simply said, "Well, let's go meet the troops."

OOC:

WC- 875. Bright and Joamer meet Trykon, and discover a little secret about Dire-Cat Squadron. They also learn their Strills can be bribed, however I still suggest not trying it.

As soon as Hades had walked away, Bright turned to Joamer and let out a heavy sigh. "I know you are only here as a favor to Scral, and that you have no intention of making any friends," She started, looking up at her husband with violet eyes. "But could you please refrain from making enemies on the first day?"

She knew that it was likely that he wouldn't listen to her, Joa had always had his own way with people. Not all interactions were good, some were, but at this moment she could tell that he was still trying to adjust to being back on active duty. He looked at her with a raised brow, an expression that she knew was telling her that she should know better. She rolled her eyes and started walking toward her fighter.

"I thought we were both here as a favor to Scral." He said bumping her shoulder with his own.

She shook her head. "No, I am here to keep you from doing something stupid like getting yourself killed." She smiled up at him. "Hades doesn't seem so bad, I actually almost like him."

He gave her a look and she continued to smile. Shaking her head again as she reached her fighter she shooed him away to his. They were here to do a job after all. There was no point in waisting time.

Bright watched as he made his way to his own fighter before she began to get ready to climb into her own.  Before she had the chance she caught a glimpse of a man walking steadily toward her. He was army, he had to be with that long striding gait and the tense way in which he carried himself. He didn't openly look around, but even at this distance Bright could see his eyes taking in the entire hangar.

He wore the standard issue flightsuit like it was a foreign article of clothing and he ran his finger around the collar of it. Perhaps it chaffed him. As he drew closer, Bright could see that he was as tall as Joamer with a smaller build. His face bore a series of burn scars and she wondered how he'd gotten them. Finally he stopped three feet in front of her.

"Can I help you?" She asked, putting on a mask of polite intrest once again.

He looked at her with piercing brown eyes and nervously ran a gloved hand through his military cut brown hair. "Name's Fallon Mirinis, callsign Edge." He said in a voice that was softer than what Bright had been expecting. "I guess I'm your wingman."

Bright looked him over. The rank on his flightsuit indicated that he was a Petty Officer first class. Meeting his eyes again, she saw in them recognitions of sorts. Had she met him somewhere before?

She sighed and held out a hand. "I'm Bri---"

He cut her off as he took her hand to shake, "I know who you are. Only ever seen holo-pics of you, but how many groundpounders out there have bright red hair and purple globes?" He smiled at her, a sad smile. "It's nice to finally meet you in person Brightstar.

Bright blinked and then nodded. "Uh... Nice to meet you too, Edge." She said. Well at least he hadn't saluted her. She'd hated the formality in the Army and she already didn't care for it in the Navy. "Look we better load up, before they leave without us. Can't have that now can we."

Fallon nodded and turned sharply to head to his own fighter as quickly as possible. Bright shooke her head againg and took a deep breath. "Somehow I get the feeling that this is going to be a long....ah hell I don't even know how long we'll be here for." She scowled as she plopped into her seat and shoved on her helmet.

She ran her preflight checks with practiced ease and thanked whatever deity was listening  for the time she had put in in the simulator. It wasn't like she'd never piloted an Interceptor before, it had just been a long while. She'd been pleased when the routine had come back to her. All her check came up green and she smiled with a nod.

“Alright, Tuk'ata,” Hades voice announced over the comm as red lights began to flash, indicating their proximity to System 1138. “Let's get this show on the road.”

"Tuk three ready to go boss man." Bright replied. Might as well be ready for anything.

OOC:

Word Count: 761
Bright has a conversation with Joa indicating that she doesn't want to make enemies or even rivals so soon. She meets her wingman, Fallon Mirinis aka Edge, who is also another transfer from the army. Now she is ready to get rolling.

On the bridge of the Vast Imperial Victory II-class Star Destroyer Brilliant, Lieutenant Wyl Trykon stood at the forward viewports and stared out toward the distant sun of the uncharted 1138 System, frowning.  The Brilliant was holding position at the extreme edge of the system; 1138’s sun was so far away it was only marginally brighter than the countless stars which surrounded it.  The twelve pilots of Tuk’ata Squadron – who had launched some hours before to scout the star system – had long since passed beyond visual range, but still, their commanding officer stared after them, worrying.

Trykon knew that while he stood stoically staring, the officers and crewers behind him were surreptitiously stealing glances at him.  He hoped that they would write off his hours-long vigil as a quirk of personality: another example of the calculating strategic thinker’s occasional aloofness.  But he knew that the longer he held his position, the more some of them might begin to suspect the truth: the Kuati was concerned about Tuk’ata, and their mission.

The twelve TIE Interceptors were almost due back in sensor range, according to the plan, and Trykon was anxious not only to see them again, but to hear from them: what had they seen on their long, arcing orbit around that distant sun?

Chances are good that this system is empty, Trykon told himself, not for the first time.  Most likely, they’ll return with nothing to report.  But even as the thought ended, his anxiety waxed full.

As if on cue, a subdued beep sounded from the communications foyer at the bridge’s aft, followed a moment later by the hurried footsteps of Delak Martell, Trykon’s Executive Officer.  Trykon turned around, and asked preemptively: “What is it, Lieutenant?”

Martell kept his tone even and professional, but it was obvious from his expression that he was struggling to contain his excitement: “Tuk’ata Lead reports signals traffic, emanating from the fourth planet in the system.  Lots of traffic,” he added.  “He was reluctant to guess, but when pressed he estimated a fully industrialized world with multiple settlements.  Obviously, the TIEs were out of sensor range to view the planet directly during their pass, but the sheer volume of communications they picked up is pretty convincing.”

“Did they record it?” Trykon asked tersely.

“Yes sir.”

Trykon was already moving, pacing down the command walkway toward the comm foyer.  Martell hurried after him.  “Play it for me.”



While the Tuk’ata pilots came aboard and were debriefed, Trykon listened to the audio recordings they’d snagged from the space around System 1138’s fourth planet.

System 1138 is decidedly not empty, his mind concluded in an I-told-you-so tone as he switched off the playback.  It appeared that the fourth planet – which the locals apparently called “Kammlott” – was a thriving world of some 1.7 billion inhabitants, all Humans.  Their heavily-accented speech was still recognizably Basic, and the soundscape Tuk’ata had recorded included bombastic advertisements, a constant stream of updates about something called “Clout Levels,” and several inexpertly encrypted governmental transmissions from the planet’s two major nation-states referring to “the offworld delegation.”  Trykon drummed his fingers on the comm station desk, as he digested the new information.  “1.7 billion people, likely the descendants of a lost colony from the days of the Old Republic, are living on a resource-rich planet a single hyperspace jump away from the Vast Imperial Navy’s headquarters on Abrae, in a star system we didn’t even know existed until we managed to capture the flagship of our enemy’s invasion fleet, which, by the way, means those enemies do know of its existence,” he said aloud, just to make sure he could sum it all up in a single sentence.  He sighed.  The mission to scout the Imperial Dominion’s invasion route into VE Space had just become a lot more complicated than he’d hoped.



Back on the bridge, Trykon’s doubts were well-hidden, as he barked orders to his crew.  “Ms. Le Roi, my compliments to Tuk’ata Squadron: they did well.  Recall Dire-cat Squadron, now, but have all fighters on alert.  Mr. Martell, I want a hyperspace jump, if you please, taking us as close to the fourth planet – as close to “Kammlott,” I should say – as we can get, then full power to sublight engines.  All fighters will launch the moment we return to realspace.  I want a show of strength, people, and then I want to send a message to the planet surface: tell them the captain of the Victory II-class Star Destroyer Brilliant wants to speak to the Kammlotti with the highest Clout Level.”

OOC:

761 words.  Sorry to rush this, but real life waits for no man.  See discussion thread for details.

After Action Report: Tuk'ata Squadron returns from their scout run with astonishing evidence that the fourth planet in the 1138 system is inhabited by an unknown human culture.  They call their world Kammlott, they have a strictly hierarchical society (based on a system of power-and-prestige measurement they call "Clout Levels"), and not only does the Imperial Dominion know about them already (which we can infer from the ID fleet having passed through 1138 on their way to Vectra), but it also appears from intercepted transmissions that there may be ID representatives in negotiation with the planet's leaders!

The slingshot around the sun was slightly less uneventful than his squadron commander had reported, but to someone like Joamer and for the members who had been doing this for too long it was nothing quite out of the ordinary. Walking back to his fighter he looked at the starboard side solar panel and grimaced as his wife stepped up next to him. She was not saying anything but he knew she was fuming currently, he had done something to save another pilots life but it had nearly cost him his own. The issue he had was he had done it without thinking, he had risked his life for people he did not care about.

"What's the butchers bill this time chief?" Joamer said as the deck chief squatted below his fighter and removed a panel. "Half your starboard panels are electronic toast, two of the main harnesses are scorched, and one looks to have internal damage. Starboard engine is a bit sluggish on start up now. My recommendation is to strip her down and rebuild her starboard side from scratch. But, since we are jumping in six minutes, we'll get the engine back up to green status. Surviving what comes next with negative feedback and reduced power levels is up to you."

"Thanks chief, do your best and I'll try to bring her back in one piece this time." Joamer said as he turned to see Maroy walking up drinking something.

"Let me get this straight, Vash from my own flight started his approach a degree off center and was then losing thruster control. So, instead of letting him become a burnt piece of bantha toast you dropped inside his orbit and pushed him back out." Maroy said quietly, she seemed to be going over the maneuver in her head trying to improve upon it.

He did not need to look at Bright to know she was now trying very hard not to hit him with something hard. Maroy on the other hand looked like she was consulting some mental book of things, trying to figure something out. Joamer himself only waited, he knew if he spoke again it would probably be the spark that ignited an inferno.

"You know, if I did not know better. I'd say that was a Regents maneuver." Maroy said quietly with a frown.

He looked at Bright for a moment before saying, "It was at one point, it was removed from their flight books because it proved to be... how did old Dax put it. 'Too insane, and vastly too stupid to ever try again.' Scral was not born with the insanity of Regents, I had to teach him that."

"Of all the hair-brained, half-witted, stupidly insane things to go and do!" Bright said through clenched teeth. "You were never a Regent, oh yes you wanted to be them. You even helped turn RAIDERS into an army version of them, but you were not one of them. Now, stop trying to bring back their legacy!"

Stomping off he watched her go over to her fighter and fight the urge to punch the cockpit window hard. Maroy only nodded slightly as thought about what he had done again. He knew she was trying to work it into some mental log about maneuvers they could do again and survive the trip.

He watched as the man who called himself Edge spoke to Bright for a moment quietly, Joamer fought the urge to go listen on on their conversation but he knew the temper of his wife needed to be cooled by someone that was not him. He saw the man chuckle slightly before walking towards them slowly.

"You two going to be ok?" Maroy said softly, so no one but they would hear.

Looking down at her, he smiled briefly before saying, "We'll be fine, we used to do stuff like this all the time. It's just, in the two years we've been married we've both changed so dangerous things are not as well liked anymore."


"Your wife has a temper, how you tricked her into marrying you, I don't know but you have a wild Gurrcat on your hands with her." Joamer looked at his wife and smiled for a moment as he remembered his first meeting with a Gurrcat. The man looked at Joamer for a moment then nodded, "I was right, your file does not list your home planet with any real evidence but that proved it for me. You are a Corellian, I knew from the way you fly but that proved it."

Joamer looked over at the man and said, "I was, a long time ago."

"Did I mention he was a Wraith before he was a RAIDER?" Bright said as she walked up and stopped in front of all of them.

Shaking his head he looked over at the countdown timer and grimaced. "Time for chatting is over. All pilots, three minutes till jump. I want green status and exit upon immersion from hyperspace. Move it, squadrons!" Joamer shouted as he looked over the hangar bay. Walking back to the group he nodded to Edge and Maroy as they both ran to their fighters.

"This is not over, boy." Bright said quietly, "Don't get yourself killed today, otherwise I will be very angry with you."

"I'll try my best, little girl." Joamer said as he half smiled and climbed up the gangplank behind his fighter. Dropping down into the cockpit he keyed on the start up sequence and felt the starboard engine shudder slightly before slowly reaching green status. Snapping on his helmet he said, "Tuk 5, show two green."

"Tuks, upon exit I want a show." Hades said.

The moments passed quickly as Tuk'ata squadron keyed in that they were ready. Joamer idly tapped his fingers on his leg as he waited, a few moments later he felt the ship perform the micro jump then barely a second later they jumped back out into normal space. Punching the throttle he was only a second behind Hades as they shot out of the ship.

"Not fast enough, old man." He heard the voice of Bright in his ear a few seconds later.

Smiling he said, "Besh flight, on me on me. razzel dazzle, let's go up and over." The Academy trick was old, and normally only used during ceremonies but it was fun to watch. The ship command had said they wanted a show of strength, well to him showing off was strength. It proved you did not worry about whatever forces on the ground would throw at you. Right now, he only worried about one thing and it was not the people on the planet below.

OOC:

WC-1117. Joamer looks over his damaged fighter, and has a conversation with Maroy about the insane maneuver he pulled off to save a pilot. Bright gets angry, and Edge finds out a secret about Joamer's past.

Bright never thought she would see the day where a Nova maneuver was used outside of a simulator. So it was both surprising and awe inspiring when she witnessed Cresh Flight take the innitiative and actually perform it. She may not have had time to get to know the pilots of Cresh, but her respect for their abilities grew drastically, she also thought they were all crazy, but that seemed to be just about the norm in this squadron.  In the back of her mind she knew that if she'd been given the choice she would never have attempted such a risky and dangerous maneuver, and perhaps that made her weak, but at least she, and the person she was performing it with, would be alive.

"And here I though Joa was insane." She muttered not realizing that she was still broadcasting to the rest of Tuk'ata.

"You married him, doesn't that make you insane by association?" Edge's distinctly calm voice asked, the distortion of the comms making it seem as if he were laughing.

She rolled her eyes, but realized that he couldn't see her. "You should ask him how long it took me to marry him, Army policy not withstanding." Bright replied wryly.

A few moments later the whole of Tuk'ata was inverted and mirroring the flight path of Dire-cat. Looking down at Dire-Cat three as he flipped her off, made a smirk rise to her lips. Instead of goading him on, she mearly shrugged in what she hoped appeared to be apologetic. Not that she was, she just didn't want to make any enemies unless she was forced to.  She was actually relieved when the formation was over.

"Okay Tuk'ata form up on Captain Trykon's shuttle, Staggered Diamond." Hades voice carried through the channel. It was commanding, but edged with amusement, lending to the belief that perhaps he'd found pleasure in showing up the Bothan SC of Dire-Cat. 

Grinning herself, Bright took her postition to Hades left as Dawn formed up on his right. Edge, her wingmate fell in easily behind and to her right. Aurek Flight was formed up in front of the shuttle, so if anything came at them, they would be the first line of defense. She shifted in her seat and kept her eyes focused on both her viewport and her scope. Today was a bad day to be just getting comfortable in a fighter once again.

She couldn't be sure where Joa and the rest of Besh Flight had fallen in, but she hoped vehemently that he didn't do anything else that would qualify him as insane. Two years of marriage were not enough to break him of such tendencies. Bright would have liked to say that she didn't worry about him, even at peaceful moments, but she would be lying.

They hit atmosphere with no resistance. To some pilots that might be great, and they would likely be feeling safe, but for Bright it was worrying. "Too easy, I don't like it." She said.

"Ah too many years pounding the ground Brighty, relax a bit." Dawn said, his voice grating on her last nerve.

Amazingly the violet eyed woman bit her tongue and didn't respond. Maybe it was because she'd spent so many years as a Stormtrooper. But she didn't think so.  As they continued down she wondered if maybe she was just paranoid. It wouldn't be the first time she'd been accused of being so. Granted, at those times she'd had every right to be.  "Scope is still empty." She said over the comms.

"Same here. Keep your eyes open, efectively we are in hostile territory." Hades replied. He seemed all business now, his voice short and clipped.

It didn't take them much longer to reach the surface. Tuk'ata followed Trykon all the way down before Hades ordered them to all pull up hard full throttle. "Make 'em scream boys and girls."

Naturally Bright did as she was told and pulled hard on the yoke before she rammed the ground and shot back up hot on Hades trail, her twin ion engines literally screaming behind her. She'd hate to be on the ground having to hear that. Her own ears were sensitive enough, even with the helmet on. She didn't want to imagine what it would be like outside of her Interceptor.

"Well at least she knows how to scream." An unfamiliar voice said, voice distorted by the frequency of the comm channel. Bright's jaw clenched, was he saying that she couldn't fly.

"I'm...I'm so staying out of that one." Joamer replied with a stuttered crackle.

"Not likely!" Obviously the laughing voice of the Twi'lek Flight Leader of Cresh.

"I'm so glad I can be of some amusement." Bright replied drily.

"Cut the chatter Tuk'ata. Lets head back to the Brilliant." Hades once again sounded in control.

Following her SC back up through the atmosphere and through the cloud bank, Bright wondered if her flying was so bad that she deserved that comment about knowing how to make her engines scream. Up, up, up, they continued until they burst out of the upper atmosphere of the planet and into orbit. There was the Brilliant waiting for them in all it's glory, and for the first time, Bright thought that maybe it wouldn't be so bad living on a star destroyer.

Closer and closer she loomed, and finally the entrance to the hangar bay was visible. Almost there. The red head hoped that she wouldn't have to do another stunt before she was free of this suddenly constricting cockpit. She was relieved that they were allowed to just simply land on their racks and lock down. She was beginning to think that Joa was right about these machines. Coffins with shields. And she was suddenly unsure of her own ability to fly it.

OOC:

WC: 972
AAR: Tuk escorts Captain Trykon down to the surface of the planet and returns to the Briliant. Bright suddenly begins to second guess her ability to pilot her interceptor and we discover that she may be phobic of small spaces.

Despite the otherwise morbid mood surrounding Dawn's collapse, Maroy couldn't help but smile over Tracen's frantic behavior. I guess that's why they call him Mynock. Tracen shouted orders at the nearby medical personnel, several of whom were so surprised that they obeyed without protest. He was a blur of motion, constantly scanning his patient or fiddling with a drug injector. After a few minutes he slowed to a stop.

"What's the verdict?"

The medic looked back up at Maroy, abruptly back to his usual awkward self. "Huh? Oh. I still have no idea. It doesn't seem to be space sickness or some kind of physical trauma."

"Well, we did just spent a dangerous amount of time exposed to the raw output of a star. Did you try treating him for solar radiation poisoning?"

He stared at her like she was an idiot. "Of course. That was the first thing I tried, but it doesn't seem to be having any effect. Was there anything wrong with his TIE that might have caused it?"

Maroy whipped out her comlink. "Tuk'ata, this is Maroy. Is anyone in the hangar at the moment?"

Vash-Ta-Nar, the Cerean pilot in her flight, responded. [[I am, ma'am.]]

"Can you do a quick inspection of Dawn's fighter for me? Let me know if anything's off. Especially the shields."

[[Right away, ma'am.]]

She put the comlink away and cast a worried glance at the prone form of Dawn. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Until I figure out what's wrong with him, there's nothing I can do."

Maroy wandered back to the squadron's barracks to wait out the comparatively short journey to the next system. As soon as she reached her bunk she checked her datapad and noticed a very recent message from Joamer. The message was an invitation to join him and Bright over a few bottles of Corellian Whiskey, and while the Twi'lek didn't quite approve of drinking so soon before they were all going to climb back into TIEs, she did want to take the time to discuss some things with them. She replaced the datapad and prepared to leave the room.

"Where are you and your lovely lekku off to in such a hurry?" Jak walked in through the doorway with his usual grin.

Maroy felt a pang of loss at his words, and her hurt expression quickly removed his smile. He was quick to apologize. "I'm sorry, I didn't know." Silence reigned in the room for a moment. "Have you seen Joamer by any chance?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I just thought I'd just say hello and introduce myself."

"Actually, I was on my way to-"

She was momentarily interrupted by Vash contacting her. [[I completed the inspection as ordered, ma'am. The only things outside normal deviations were a few hairline fractures in the fuel housing and an outdated driver for the Target Acquisition Realtime Display and Interface System.]]

"Please, just use the acronym next time. So no problems with the shields?"

[[Negative, Master Chief. The shields were functioning within a typical five percent of normal parameters.]]

"Okay." She sighed, and was about to put the comlink back away when a thought struck her. "Wait... did you say fractures in the fuel housing?"

[[Affirmative, Master Chief. One of the deck crew insisted that they were probably harmless, though. Is there a problem?]]

"Hopefully we just averted one. Tell the crew chief that Dawn's TIE is not fit for use until those fractures are fixed. Maroy out."

She quickly made her way to the medbay and burst through the door. "Tracen? I think I know the problem. Scan for the kinds of radioactive gasses used in TIE fuel."

He quickly selected a different scanning device and began altering its settings. The machine beeped at him, and his face lit up. "Yes, I'm picking up a significant amount of radioactive gas in his system."

"Can you treat him?"

"I can treat it, easily, but it will take a while."

"How long?"

He shrugged. "A few weeks, if we're lucky."

"We'll be arriving at the next system in just a couple hours." Maroy sighed. "Can you at least let the actual medical staff take care of him for a while? We can't afford to lose two pilots."

"Umm... okay. Yes ma'am."

"Don't forget. We don't know what's in this next system."

OOC:

WC:725
AAR: Just a bit of CD, and identifying the cause of Dawn's collapse.

Tilting the silver flask back slightly he let the amber coloured liquid flow over his tongue for a moment before swallowing. Lowering the flask he caught the deck chief starring at him for a second before walking over slowly. Resting the flask on his leg he felt the fabric of his flight suit rub against the port-side solar panel of his Interceptor as he rotated his shoulder, trying to work out a kink brought around by old age.

"I've known hotshots aplenty in my time here, ones that thought they were the best, ones that tried to be the best, and ones that just got others killed." The man said slowly as he stroked an upper part of the same solar panel like an old friend. "You however, you just go against the regs full bore. None military issue side-arm, worn openly at all times, an open marriage to someone in your same squadron, both parties having very dangerous pets, and not to mention drinking outside designated areas."

Smiling slightly Joamer offered the flask to him before resting his hand on his life-support equipment sitting next to him. "I was pulled out of retirement and forced into this, least they can do is cut me some slack."

Raising the flask in acknowledgement the chief took a slash before closing his eyes and savoring the liquid. "Whyren's Reserve, never thought I would taste this again in my lifetime."

"Retirement taught me a few things, one I am way too rich to be doing this job, and two I have very expensive tastes." Joamer said as he shut up the datapad he had been working on.

"You forgot rare tastes." The man said as he took another slash before handing back the flask. Not missing anything he added, "You've been in here for hours staring at that pad, what's got you troubled enough you would be away from that lithe wife of yours?"

"For one she is sleeping, or fixing something in the engine room." Joamer said as he tucked the pad behind his belt. "Orders from someone high up in the food chain, apparently a few of us are to come up with a plan to teach pilots how to be army dogs."

"Now I know why you are drinking something that rare." The chief said as he sighed slowly while looking over his hangar bay at the various tasks being performed by his crew. "Not full on tactics I hope?"

"Luckily no, just more on ground survival in case they are shot down over land." Joamer said as he finished off the flask and slipped it into a pouch on his weapons belt.

"No, don't stack them like that you are... stupid fraking rooks." The chief said as he waved at Joamer and stormed off.

Shaking his head slightly Joamer watched the man walk off as he felt the ship preparing itself to exit out of hyperspace. Most people could not feel it, but to someone like him that had spent most of his earlier life aboard one ship or another you could just tell the subtle nuances that preceded entrance or exit of hyperspace.

Staring at the closed external hangar bay doors for a moment he again wondered what he was doing back in military service before he noticed the trio of Dire-cat pilots walking into the hangar. Their once perfect synchronization was now broken slightly by one of them seeming a bit off kilter, his blood shot eyes told of a late night and a few too many drinks. Watching them beginning a preflight check before their combat aerospace patrol he went down to pick up his things but stopped as he heard the ship wide broadcast signal from the captain.

"Exiting out of hyperspace, CAP pilots exit once preflight is complete. All others pilots report to briefing in one hour... Belay my last." A long three seconds went by before the captain shouted, " Action stations! All pilots scramble, set condition one throughout the ship. Port side guns open fire!"

Feeling the ship shudder for a second he saw the external blast doors opening to the port side of a ship continuing to fire on them. Bending down he grabbed his life support equipment and began strapping it on as the chief walked up and began an emergency cold start of his Interceptor.

"That's something you don't see every day, an Nebulon-B escort frigate taking on a Victory II and thinking she can go toe to toe." The man said as Joamer locked his helmet into place and climbed up the walkway before sliding inside his fighter.

"You never know, she may get a lucky shot off." Joamer said into a frequency used by the deck crew. Setting the fighter for an emergency cold star he felt the engines kick out quicker than normal as the reactors spoiled up to nearly overload. "Tuk 5, show two green. Launching."

Punching the throttle he narrowly avoided two of the other squadrons fighters as everyone raced out of the hangar to begin fighting back. Switching his weapons systems on he angled over the Brilliants main gun batteries and began searching for something to shoot.

"Chief, I'm seeing fluctuations in the hangar bay field down there. What happened?" The voice of the Captain said over the comm link Joamer was still monitoring.

"Those blasted sons of Bothans got off a lucky shot, main generator is shorting out. Shield is failing, blast doors are sealed. Two minutes till we can launch more fighters."

"Guess I'm going solo." Joamer said to himself as he angled his Interceptor around and followed the trio of Dire-cats.

Checking his scanners he saw multiple red blips flying towards them as the larger vessels began pounding each other at close range. Angling in beside one of the other pilots he adjusted a few power settings as they raced towards the enemy.

"I know the Victory II is a powerful ship, but you have to admire the beating that Nebulon frigate is taking and what she is dishing out." Joamer said to no one in particular.

"Agreed." One of the Dire-cats said a moment later. "Wait, I just agreed with the army brat."

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone." Joamer answered as they closed in one the other fighters and broke off into smaller flights to open fire.

Flipping his Interceptor around he saw no one was behind him so he angled back around to close with one of the Dire-cats that were alone currently. Following the fighter he watched as the man tried to get a firing solution but was constantly denied due to being too close to his target.

"Cat six, break hard right when I say." Joamer said as he adjusted his weapons power settings slightly.

"I don't take orders from you." The man said angrily.

"Either break right when I say, or I'm going to get out of this cockpit, come over there, rip your arms off and beat you to death with them!" Joamer shouted at the child pilot for a moment. "Now, break hard right!"

He saw the other Interceptor hesitate a moment before it broke right fast, squeezing the trigger gently he watched as green bursts of laser fire reflected over the shielded enemy Interceptor for a moment before they cut through and ripped into the cockpit. Breaking to the left he felt the shock wave from the fighter exploding as he joined back up with the lone Dire-Cat.

OOC:

WC-1250. Joamer drinks expensive whiskey. Random mutterings about things, and finally some action.

Ignoring the fighters in front of him, and the bombers now beginning a run on the Brilliant, Joamer closed the distance between himself and the enemy cruiser. He refused to consider the thought that she may well be the Pax Magellanic. He knew that ship, he was there at the Fall of Arcadia with the Million Voices, and her sister the Halcyon Promise. He still saw the Midian Breach on fire when he closed his eyes at night. She stayed behind to ensure they escaped, five thousand souls burned so the survivors of Arcadia could make a run into the unknown regions.

Bringing his Interceptor in dangerously close he saw the deep cut markings on the port-side of the ship. Triple row scorch marks that looked like a wild animal had taken a furious swipe at her. In fact it had been pieces of the Hunter Gratzner exploding as she collided with another ship to protect the Pax Magellanic. That had taken place two years before the fall of Arcadia though, long after the Clone Wars had run their course, and the Empire had taken full control over the Galaxy.

"Good to see you again, old friend. Till the sun rises, and the night reigns." Joamer said after he made sure his commlink was turned off. Swinging his Interceptor around in a tight arcing loop, he wondered if anyone inside that ship was looking out at this moment, and if one of those eyes recognized the maneuver he was doing. If so he hoped they still remembered the Fall, and the innocents claimed by a senseless need and desire.

"Besh flight, this is Lead. On me, let's take out those bombers." Joamer said as he clicked his commlink on.

Clearing his mind as the fighting continued, he tried to forget the faces that continued to come to him from the past. Things that still haunted him, and things he could never change came to him unabated and unchallenged. Lost in the memories he cursed as a bomber got a shot off at the Brilliant, tapping the left rudder he brought his Interceptor in line and fired, a moment later the bomber became nothing more than space dust.

"Brilliant, you fraking morons. You want to get off your rear ends and actually join this party? We could use some fraking help out here!" He shouted into the commlink after his frustration got the better of him. This battle had been going on long enough this should of only been a quick survey mission before they jumped back into hyperspace.

"Fine, you want help then how about this army boy. All fighters, emergency landing." The Captain's voice said over the commlink a few moments later.

Spinning his Interceptor around he saw the Brilliant coming around quickly in line with the Pax Magellanic. Narrowing his eyes he noticed the intercept point would be the connecting spar of the smaller ship. He knew the Victory II would survive, even be able to jump into hyperspace afterwards, but the bombers would be the biggest threat.

"Oh frak me, don't tell me they are doing what I think they are doing." Hades said after a moment.

"Looks like it." Joamer said slowly.

"All ships, Guarded Burn!" Maroy shouted suddenly.

"Most of us don't speak Regent, Maroy." Hades growled slightly, now a bit annoyed with the constant talk of the dead squadron.

"Frontside escort formation, punch a hole through to the Nebulon, then go over or under. If you survive, combat landings." Joamer said as he saw Besh flight getting into formation in an outstretched diamond.

Looking at his screen, he saw even Dire-cat getting into formation around them. Which was not easy due to the surviving enemy bombers and Interceptors still buzzing around them. Every few moments someone would break formation and do a short chase, sometimes scoring a few hits before retreating to the escort line.

"She's closing in, all pilots maximum burn, full shielding on front. I'll see all of you in tartarus, Joamer you are buying the first and second rounds." Hades said as the two squadrons began their escort and attack run.

"Not likely, I'm not going to die today youngin." Joamer responded.

OOC:

WC-704. CD, then the Brilliant who has an insane captain decides to begin a ramming run on the Pax Magellanic. Can anyone else spot how many times I referenced a certain TV show? Cause, I lost count... Love those ship names though.

The oppressive atmosphere of the typical naval bar annoyed the older man sitting at a table alone. The off-white walls, the bright lights, the cheery music, if you could call it that coming from the jukebox in the corner, even the light banter between crew members annoyed him. He avoided them like the Naboo plague, talked to no one, and openly drank from his own bottle of whiskey corellian make.

The routine of this lifestyle, coupled with the regular stale missions had his patience worn thin. Even the last surprise attack did little to bring him out of his stupor of hatred and annoyance. He saw only one or two people toasting the recently dead crew members who had been sucked out of the hangar bay doors as the forcefield failed. In the army they remembered the dead, learned from how they died and kept them alive in memories and songs sung in bars. Here, though, the dead were forgotten and life went on as nothing happened.

He hated it, and he hated them. More pointless deaths, crushed and forgotten beneath the jackboots of the Imperial legion. Draining his glass he closed his eyes and wished he could just leave this place, but he had given his word and in the end that is the only thing a man had he could depend on. Honor has its own price, that price is only seen in times of stress. He had forgotten who first said that to him, but the man's voice came back clear as day now he could just not put a face to the words anymore.

"You drink alone?" It was not really a question Maroy said quietly as she walked up. He knew she would eventually show up, she wanted more information on Scral and how they were connected. Out of everyone in the squadron he thought she would be the more likely one not to forget the dead.

"The past haunts me, Corellian whiskey helps quiet the ghosts." He said softly as he pushed the second glass towards her he had prepared for when she did show up. Closing his eyes again, he tried to block her out like he tried to block everyone else out.

"You know I've read parts of your file, nothing there said you were like this." She said quietly as she took another sip of the whiskey.

"Like what, actually human?" He said as she opened his eyes and looked at her for a long moment. "I've had a lot of commands in my life. Looking back the Clone Wars were the least of my ghosts, you know I was there at the fall of Arcadia? Bet my file does not have that tidbit of information in it." Looking down he poured himself another glass and raised it to his lips, "Someday I may even come to terms with that." He said very quietly.

"What happened?" She asked.

"Delta base zero." He said simply.

"My Gods... how many?" She asked as she drained the glass in one swallow.

Shaking his head he refused to answer, he knew the answer but he would not speak it out loud. It was something he would have to live with for the rest of his life, and someday he would have to answer for. For now though, he drank to keep the ghosts at bay. It worked better when he was not annoyed with his current situation.

"Wonderful, it's the kittens again." Maroy mumbled loud enough to be heard halfway across the bay. Pouring another glass she glared at the squadron just entering the bar. "Don't forget your synthohol, don't want you girls to be unkempt." She nearly yelled across the bar as she raised her own glass and downed it.

"Easy now, this whiskey goes to your head quickly." Joamer said as he filled his own glass.

"I propose a toast!" Maroy said as she stood up, "To the honored dead, long memory to those left behind. God speed, may your travels bring you a tall ship and a star to sail her by." The toast left most of the room quiet, but those few who understood the reference stood and raised their glasses Joamer included.

After everyone drank Joamer looked over to see the Dire-Cat squadron glaring at both of them, none of them had stood or even acknowledged the toast nor the well wishes for the dead. Draining his glass, he sat it down and walked away from the table. After a moment he noticed Maroy next to him quietly say, "What are we going to do?"

"I'm going to pick a fight, enough of this posturing."

Walking quickly over to the ground he looked around for a moment and settled next to a man nursing a frilly pink drink of some type. Breathing out quietly he settled his feet lightly on the ground and motioned around the room then said, "Everyone here but you lot, gave the dead one last honor. What makes you more special than the rest of us grunts? What makes you above the men that died so you could be here sipping your pink umbrella drinks?"

Leaning down to the man in front of him he said, "You know what I think it is? I think you believe you are prettier than I am. I'm going to fix that by breaking your nose on this bartop." Standing back up he grabbed the man's head and smashed it into the bartop three times before tossing him into his friends. "Next time anyone proposes a toast to the dead, you give them the courtesy and respond. Or it will be your neck next."

Grabbing his mostly empty bottle of whiskey from his table he walked out of the silent bar with Maroy close behind. After a few minutes Maroy asked, "Is this what it's like being in the army?"

"No, that part comes later when they get drunk enough to come find us. Or we get thrown in hack for damaging imperial property, but that is fun too." Joamer said as he handed Maroy the bottle and continued to walk.

OOC:

WC-1022. Joamer deals with ghosts of his past, and picks a fight with Dire-Cat squadron.

A few hours ago,
En-route to Bloodmoon
------

"Damn it!" He slammed the hydrospanner against the curved solar panel of his TIE Interceptor angrily as his efforts resulted in failure again. A qualified Starfighter Mechanic, Hades knew how they worked and better still, knew how to upgrade them. Precisely what he was trying to do here was unclear until one saw the datapad that was plugged into his fighter's main computer. In most vehicles, you could personalise the various settings for a better or more efficient experience. Tweaking, or tuning a TIE Interceptor was notoriously difficult, and playing with the levels -- between acceleration and speed -- could be dangerous. If you fed too much into the engines, they would overheat without use and the cables would melt, but if you fed too little they wouldn't start at all.

Right now, the Squadron Commander was trying to coax as much acceleration out of his TIE as the Interceptor made possible -- potentially more. To do this, though, he'd have to sacrifice some power to his weapons and increase power to the weapons -- again, a difficult task due to the sensitivity of power outputs and such. The young pilot bit his lip, preparing to hurl his hydrospanner across the deserted hangar and this dastardly datapad with it. He'd just noticed his ordnance launchers were drawing far more power than he thought prudent, and was about to adjust it when he heard the hangar bulkhead hiss open and the sound of boots on the floor. Click, click, click. Hades was in no mood for pleasantries and he knew most of his Squadron were at the bar or recuperating, so he slid silently into his interceptor and closed the hatch behind himself.

Watching out the viewport, he could see someone at the far end of the hangar. He appeared to be a mechanic, playing with one of Direcat's own fighters. Intriguing, Hades thought as he leaned closer to his viewport to get a better look. He was doing something to the ordnance launcher, it seemed. While Hades didn't wish Direcat well for their orderliness, their discipline and the hydrospanner they seemed to have stuck up their behind, he didn't hate them - they were his allies. The mechanic left the fighter and went on his way, while Hades opened the cockpit and climbed out quickly, jogging toward the Dire-cat Interceptor. It was then he heard a quiet beeping emanating from the ordnance launcher. His features creased into a frown and he bent down so he could see -- a shaped charge placed inside the missile tube! More than that, it had a countdown.

Ten seconds to go! Hades turned and sprinted the direction the mechanic had been, diving over some crates and huddling against them as he counted to zero. At zero an explosion rocked the hangar. The Interceptor's warheads had been destroyed, as had the fighter itself. It was enough to vaporise the Interceptor and damage the next in line, but not more than that. Hades cursed as he saw the damage and now sprinted after the mechanic. Left or right? Hades followed a hunch and went left, heading toward the 'freshers.  The young Squadron Commander caught up to him just as he was leaving the 'freshers -- now dressed as a bridge officer! -- and tucking a compact hold-out blaster into his uniform pocket. He saw Hades and offered a polite smile, evidently hoping that the man had not seen anything. Hades was not swayed quite so easily.

"Give me the weapon." Hades ordered. He only realised he was unarmed when, as he got within a few feet of the man, the mechanic-turned-bridge officer pulled the blaster and aimed it squarely between the young Squadron Commander's eyes. Hades cursed himself for being so stupid. He also noticed the hold-out blaster had a silencing attachment on it, and in fact it was a disruptor. Things went from better to worse, then.. Not quite. The man had made a mistake by allowing Hades within arm's reach and as he flickered his gaze over Hades' shoulder to see if he'd been followed, the cross-trained fighter pilot slapped the pistol out of the way and tackled the man low, lifting him up by his legs and slamming him down against the solid floor. The disruptor scattered away and Hades moved over the saboteur for a finisher, only to meet with a kick to the face, which sent him stumbling in the same direction as the pistol. He cursed and ran for the small weapon, but found his legs pulled from under him by the saboteur, who'd not yet stood up but was trying to.

Hades kicked back with his foot, impacting the man's nose and eliciting a bone-shattering crunch from the impact area. Poor guy, probably wouldn't breathe properly ever again. Hades kicked out a second time, knocking the saboteur away and scrabbling toward the disruptor. As he reached for it, a boot planted itself in his stomach and Hades felt the air knocked out of him. Not letting that deter him, he placed his hands on the ground and scissored his legs to sweep them under the saboteur who, with blood pouring from his nose, slammed to the ground. Hades finally grasped the disruptor and whirled it in the direction of the saboteur, who'd managed to get back to his feet. Wiping the sweat out of his eyes as he stood up as well, Hades glared at the man. "Don't even think about running. I'll put two in your arse and one in your head for good measure."

With that in mind, Hades pulled his comm from his pocket and raised the bridge. "Bridge, this is Senior Chief Petty Officer Aita. I have a saboteur in custody."

"The explosion in the hangar bay was deliberate?" The man on the other end hissed. "Very well. Watch him. I'm sending a team of marines to take him into custody."

Hades lowered the comm back into his pocket. It was at the moment that the comm in his ear squawked -- one no-one but him and another aboard this ship knew about. "This is Ensign Grey. I've already located his quarters and uncovered his orders from the Imperial Dominion, along with a lot of juicy information. He is no use to us alive." The voice was clear, crisp and female. "Eliminate him."

Hades grimaced, wondering if the man was more use to them alive. But it was true, they knew his objective and his origin, there was little else they needed him to tell them. While moral debates between non-existent sentient right's activist raged in Hades' head, his resolve had hardened and pulled the trigger. Thwap, the man dropped without a sound. Perfect head shot. Nudging the body to see if there was any semblance of life in the saboteur, Hades face remained expressionless. Even as the Marines arrived and the Warrant Officer in charge glared at Hades.

"He was supposed to be alive!" The man fumed. Hades regarded him with an unmoving emerald gaze, cold and piercing yet unemotional.

"He ran." Hades lied simply. Orders were orders.

----
Present,
Arriving in the Bloodmoon system
----

Word had gotten around quickly, how Hades had stopped a saboteur from his attempt to kill the bridge crew -- for why else would he be wearing a Bridge Officer's uniform and carrying an illegal disruptor? -- but also how he had killed the man. Rumours were spreading that it had been in cold blood, that the saboteur hadn't run. The XO had berated him personally for losing such a valuable asset. Apparently, the marines had searched his quarters and found no intel of value. Hades had simply taken the lecture stoically. As he entered the hangar, he received one or two glances of disgust from Av'Vast's group, a few fearful from mechanics and a number of unsure, wary glances from his own Squadron. "Alright, Tuk'ata, we have our orders. Scout this system for a reported Imperial Dominion presence, nature unknown. Mechanics have managed to clear the wreckage of Direcat's destroyed fighter, but unfortunately for us-" Hades placed emphasis on unfortunately, making sure they knew he was being sarcastic as he smirked, "-Direcat still cannot get out of the hangar. When they do, they'll be assigned to.."

Hades coughed quietly and his smirk grew, stifling a laugh exaggeratedly, "escort duty. An important job by all means." His smile showed he didn't think much of it. "Anyway, in your fighters Tuk'ata! Make your engines scream, just to show we are feeling sympathy for our Direcat.. 'relatives'."

Amid a few laughs and gazes, Hades paced to his fighter and dropped inside the cockpit, running a pre-flight check. All systems came up green, and the usual chatter of Tuk'ata was somewhat subdued. Either from the knowledge of a Saboteur or indeed from the fact Hades had killed him, Tuk'ata was pondering a few things. A drop in his stomach told Hades that they'd arrived, in addition to the appearance of proper, unstretched stars outside the hangar bay. "Alright Tuk'ata," Hades opened a Squadron-wide comm. "Let's make some noise!"

OOC:

Wordcount: 1,525 -- and I'm back!

AAR: Hades encounters a saboteur and engages him in hand-to-hand combat before managing to secure the disruptor and receiving orders from the XO of the Brilliant to keep him alive, amid orders from Ensign Grey to kill him. He kills the man then uses the excuse that he was running. A few hours later, rumours have started to spread and the Brilliant has just come out of hyperspace.

Hades has ordered Tuk'ata to essentially 'rev their engines' to exaggerate the fact that Direcat is still grounded. Get to work