Wearing his duty uniform, and having shaved he looked at himself in the mirror and almost instantly regretted it. His memory had been more dashing than the guy in the mirror. Aeos hadn’t told him, but he’d seen it in her eyes. He looked like shit. All the years on Dar Soocha had torn into him like a hungry rancor. He had lost a couple of pounds, and deep frown lines marred his face. The shadows around his eyes were the finishing touch to make him appear like a dead man walking.
But at least he was a dead man walking with a clean shave. The crew cut would have to wait though until they had made it dirtside. He didn’t want his hair cut by a navy barber, seeing that it would cost him half a month of pay and most probably leave him with turquoise bangs.
On some level he was still expecting a court martial, but he figured, with all that was going on, he could maybe find a way to turn the situation in his favor.
He had grabbed a small bandage from one of the tables, which he now used to tie his mane of greasy hair back.
“Better, much better.”, he mused, and left the exam room, leaving behind his old armour, a dirty sink, and an irritated corpsman.
Stepping out of the sickbay he noticed that there was some commotion going on, with flyboys running left and right. Unwilling to be fazed by anything the navy did, more out of old and misshapen pride than for any logical reason, he started making his way towards the cantina. And slowly but surely, with each step he took in his uniform, with each officer he dodged, each private he shooed out of his way, he started feeling like himself again, started feeling like a soldier again.
And then, all this confidence, all this pride, it simply faltered when he turned a corner and ran into Aeos. He tried to play it down, threw her a salute, gave her his old cocky grin and drawled: ”Sergeant Al Bek reporting for duty, Ma’m.”
Old habits being what they were, or maybe it was the uniform she had changed into, she gave him a salute as well, but didn’t address him as the soldier or subordinate that he was pretending to be. Instead he jerked her head at him and said: “Cantina is that way, Evi, you coming with me?”
He just nodded, walking beside her, not really knowing what to say. But sometimes that was all it took, a walk together in silence.
It felt good, natural, to be doing this again with her, to be walking the halls of a Star Destroyer, trying to maneuver the hustle and bustle as good as they could. Somewhere in the background an alarm seemed to be blaring, but as long as no one was yelling something about action stations, he remained calm.
“You look like krolp, but I guess you know that.”, Aeos finally said with a joking undertone, to which Evis only all too happily replied: ”Right back at you, Ae…”
And before he could say anything else, she had already punched his shoulder, and muttered some more expletives under her breath.
This small exchange had, due to its familiarity, a huge impact on the two of them. By the time they arrived at the cantina they were displaying a good facsimile of their old interactions. Of course the two of them were more guarded when it came to the numerous conversational minefields between them, but at least they had been running their mouth about the navy, the state of the army, the universe in general. They had bickered, they had bantered, and they had shared the occasional laugh.
Stepping into the typical cantina air, Evis decided to add his part to it. He pulled out one of his trusty lungblasters, and lit it up, monitoring Aeos reaction closely.
She frowned, as she always had done, but then, in a surprising act of familiarity she grabbed his hand, and started to drag him towards the bar. Upon arriving there, she tipped onto the shoulder of a woman talking to two troopers. As the woman turned around, Aeos seemed to take a moment to compose herself, before she finally spoke: ”Ayme, this is D’kaleth al Bek, Callsign Eviscares. Evi, this is my Sister Ayme, she goes by the callsign Havock.”
Before he could say anything, the other woman snarled: ”I heard you were dead.” and he in his pigheaded ways could only reply: ”I heard you crashed your first three speeders.”

OOC:

This ended up being longer than intended. But it should be interesting to see how the bar reacts to the alarm. @Havock: Please go whatever direction you want with your next post. I figure that just because Drac is trying to get to havock doesn't mean he has to succeed.

As the turbolift ascended, the comm unit on the Admiral’s belt beeped several times. Drac politely averted his eyes as the wookiee retrieved the device and glanced at the message it was transmitting. Stormz huffed thoughtfully, then put the comm unit away, “[Something has come up that needs my attention, so I am returning to my office. Head to the aft lounge for now- our meeting will proceed once I’m done.]”

Drac nodded, “Will do, sir.”

They pressed the buttons for the relevant decks, waited with the usual awkwardness as the lift stopped at the deck that was no longer necessary, and nodded a goodbye at each other as Drac stepped off onto the deck that held the aft lounge.

A relatively short walk brought him to the aft lounge… or perhaps cantina might currently be a more appropriate descriptor. Drac smiled a bit at the combined clamor of dozens of conversations emanated through the open doors, and glanced around at the lowered lighting and press of bodies. Someone had to make the gathering as nonthreatening as possible to the large crowd of soldiers. And given the amount of cautious body language and the number of weapons still in evidence in spite of instructions otherwise, it seemed like that had been a wise choice.

The Mon Calamari shrugged to himself and headed for the bar. Technically it was his responsibility to attempt to compel observance of shipboard regulations…but to hell with that. In the current situation it’d be probably the dumbest thing he could do. And he could well imagine, and sympathize with, the massive amounts of paranoia pervading the room. Everyone was better left alone until the passage of time lent their new circumstances a greater degree a comfort.

‘Besides,’ he thought to himself, ‘it’d be just a bit hypocritical.’ Flexing his wrists, he felt the combat knives strapped into place within the sleeves of his flight suit. Not that he’d lied to Stormz whatsoever. But even his loyalty was not blind, and experience had taught him long ago to be cautious. He was just glad that self-defense had proved to be unnecessary.

Approaching the bar, he stepped around a small knot of Stormtroopers talking animatedly to each other, nodding slightly in General Havock’s direction as he did but not approaching her. Even without speaking to her, it was just nice to see someone he recognized here. Most of those present seemed to be troopers, and his roles and duties had never let him get to know many troopers personally. Havock, at least, was a slight exception. They’d been acquaintances at best, having never really encountered each other than at a few high command functions. But he knew of her skills and reputation and was glad to see she’d not only survived, but had chosen to return.

When he got to the bar he ordered a Lomin Ale. It took a couple minutes due to the demands on the overworked bartender’s time, but he got his glass of amber liquid and took a swallow through the thick foam. He’d barely lowered it from his lips when a shudder ran through the deck followed by the blare of an alarm.

He slammed the ale down on the bar top and fought the temptation to palm one of his knives, muttering, “Sithspit. Of all places and times.” as he looked warily around at the sudden flurry of hands moving to rest on weapons and wary eyes that had quickly become the most common trait among those in the room.

His own hand rose from his belt, and he saw several people tracking it, but it held nothing but a comm unit. He tapped a button for a higher-privacy setting and held it to his ear, opening the standard officers’ channel to ship’s security, and spoke quietly as the lounge burst into raucous noise, “This is Line Captain Mihawk. What is the cause of the alarm?”

A hurried voice responded, “Captain, an explosion was detected in the Admiral’s office.”

Ruthlessly squelching the urge to curse, he spoke even more quietly, hoping the security officer could still hear him, “His status?”

“We… we don’t know, sir. Our personnel are still en route.”

Drac rubbed at his chin, “Keep me informed, please. Who is second in command of the ship?”

“Yes, sir. Commodore Cortana, sir.”

“Please inform her that I’d like to speak with her.”

“Yes, sir. She will contact you, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Before he could move from his place at the bar, his comm unit beeped and flashed the channel coming from the Halcyon Warrior’s bridge. That’d be his second in command, Commander Gunn. He accepted the call, “Mihawk. What is it?”

“Sir, I thought you should know- the Adjudicator just reverted into the system, with a sizeable taskforce around her.”

‘Trikarian? Sithspit. One way or another, this just got bad.’ Drac thought to himself. Aloud, he replied, “Thank you, Commander. There has been an incident here as well. Please bring the Halcyon Warrior and her escorts’ shields up and signal battle stations. But do not fire unless directly fired upon. Understood?”

“Yes, Captain.”

He closed the call, then looked up at the chaos surrounding him. Even if the coincidence was benign, things might just fall apart regardless. They needed to try and mitigate things until they could learn more… where was Havock? Looking around, he spotted her nearby and started trying to get close enough to catch her attention. The lounge had gone from tense to incendiary in moments, and she might be the best bet to be found if they were going to avoid the situation blowing up completely.

From his customary place at the forward viewports of the Adjudicator’s command bridge, Zev Trikarian counted down the seconds in his head, as the ship reached the end of its hyperlight journey.  Raziel’s presence on board had been unexpected, but Zev had shaken off his initial disquiet at seeing his old mentor, and certainly he had regained his sense of power and control, once he’d returned to the command deck.  He reflected on the preceding two years one last time, as the swirling clouds of cerulean light that denoted hyperspace began to slow, and then fade: he had accomplished much, and he had faith in himself and in his crew.  Stretched-out lines of starlight appeared as the ship reverted into realspace, and they rapidly shrank into single pinpricks against the velvet black of space - each a distant sun - as the Adjudicator violently decelerated to sublight speeds.

He ignored the sensation that Raziel was watching him, from slightly behind him and to his left, and instead he turned to the starboard crew pit to address one of his communications lieutenants: “Report, Mr. Verne.”

Much to Zev’s annoyance, the younger officer’s eyes flicked uncertainly to the stranger in the black robe for a heartbeat, before meeting the Admiral’s gaze.  “We have arrived in the Rheagant System without incident, Admiral.  All our ships are on station, and remain in formation.”

As expected.  Zev nodded, more for the Lieutenant’s benefit than anything else, then turned to face the sensors technicians farther aft.  “Status of the system?” he asked.

There was an uncharacteristic delay, before the response came: “Sir, we’re showing an Executor-class Star Dreadnought in high orbit of Lotaith, four Imperial Star Destroyers in the surrounding space, and… hundreds of small craft.  Everything from freighters to starfighters.”  That was not as expected.  Such a large collection of powerful Imperial warships was unheard of; there weren’t even supposed to be any Executor-class ships left, in the entire galaxy.

“A super star destroyer?” Zev heard himself mutter.  He silently chided himself for using the nickname for the line of massive, arrow-shaped command ships.  “Deployment and disposition?” he demanded.

Another agonizing second of silence.  Then, a voice tinged with panic: “Admiral, the Dreadnought and several of the Destroyers have powered shields!  TIE fighters are launching!”

“What?!” Zev snapped.  This was not as expected, at all.  He shot a suspicious glance at Raziel, but the man seemed serene.  Unconcerned.  To hell with him;  he’s not in command.  “Launch all TIEs,” Zev ordered, “and deploy the fleet for close action.  Standard screen formation, and coordinate a parabolic course for the task force to get us to the nearest hyperspace escape vector.  And raise our shields the moment the Wing clears the hangar!”  The bridge was suddenly a frenzy of activity, as his crew rushed to meet the implicit threat in front of them.

But even as they did so, their commanding officer second-guessed himself.  “No Interdictors,” Zev murmured, as he scanned the handful of distant capital ships, still so far away that he could barely make out their shapes.  None of them had the tell-tale globular lumps along their superstructures that would house gravity-well projectors.  “Are we detecting any interdiction fields?” he called out, over the general din.

Beside him, Raziel shook his head, even as a crew member called back, “No, sir!”

“This doesn’t make sense,” Zev said to himself, his voice harsh.  “Why lure us into such an asymmetrical match-up, if you can’t trap us here?  You must know I’ll withdraw…”

Understanding dawned.  The answer, in retrospect, seemed obvious: It’s not a trap!  Something else was going on.

“Tell the fleet to hold their fire!” Zev said, pitching his voice loud enough to be heard by all.  “We don’t fire unless fired upon.  And give me an open comm channel, free and clear and unencrypted… now!”

Another maddening delay, and then: “Channel open, sir!”

“This is Admiral Zev Trikarian, acting Regent of the Second Galactic Empire,” Zev intoned, hoping solemnity outweighed fright, in his voice, “we are here under a flag of truce, to parlay with Admiral Ph’rranix, Naval Commander in Chief of the Vast Empire.  Stand down your fighters and explain your aggressive posture, now!”

He bit his lip.  The distance between the lead squadrons of the opposing forces continued to close.  Stormz, Zev thought desperately, where are you?

“Damn your eyes, can't you see we're all Imperials here?” he called out across the void.  “We're here to talk to you, not fight you!”  Zev allowed a note of pleading into his voice: “Stand down!”

There were benefits to his new role. Being deployed to the bridge and going where the Admiral went meant that you did get to hear things intended for those above your paygrade. It didn't mean he was privy to every decision made by the officers but it was a step above the usual rumourmongering and scuttlebutt that circled amongst the enlisted ranks.

They came back to reality as they exited hyperspace, Cathal strained his ears to eavesdrop while the Admiral addressed one of the comms officers. A sensors tech chimed in then. “Gak” was the muttered curse from the stormtrooper to his left. Four Star Destroyers and a Super?! Some of the techs were whispering to each other until their supervisor barked at them.

A Corellian attached to the Quartermaster's command ran a gambling ring aft. He'd diced a few times there. Last time had been with a few of the grease monkeys from Engineering. One of them had taken great pleasure in describing to the ignorant footsloggers just how powerful a Super was. Vader's flagship had gone down at Endor just from pure dumb luck, nothing else. Not for the first time, he was glad he wasn't a pilot. Give him solid ground any time. At least this time if they were jumping into a space battle, he was on the biggest vessel possible.

“Looks like we're beating to quarters boys and girls” the corporal in charge of the protection detail murmured. Her voice was bored but her left hand dropped robotically to open the holster on her sidearm for quick draw. Cathal copied her as did his other two companions. Getting a sidearm as standard issue had been a perk, he half felt like an officer now. Another perk.

“The bridge isn't our concern, he is” she reminded calmly, a jerk of her head indicating the Admiral.  Cathal patted his bushknife reassuringly, the comforting feel of Coilltean forged steel keeping him grounded. The rest of the stormtrooper contingent could be going hand to hand with boarders but until it spilled into here, it wasn't their concern. He'd done boarding actions back in system near Coillte but it was a far cry from this. Intercepting spice smugglers couldn't compare.

Think of the ship like a living creature, one of their instructors had said. The bridge, well that's the head isn't it? The brain, where the thinking is done. Take out the engines, they're going nowhere. Life support is like the lungs. Engineering, it's like severe organ failure. No one cares about a few dead naval ratings or a shot up storeroom, it's the vitals you go for.

Which is why we're here, Cathal thought wearily. Just in case a snatch squad or kill-team made a direct line for the bridge. He'd been part of an ad hoc one himself on his last mission, it was odd to find the tables reversed. "Keep the fingers off the triggers Four" the corporal chimed in, her voice still just as bored, "Try not to slot one of our own crew". Cathal cringed realising his finger had been dancing a bit too much about the trigger guard. His range instructor would have had a coronary.

"Garrison duty doesn't look so bad now" whispered Two on their private comm. "Anyone ever been in a space battle?". The corporal cut them short rather fast, "Be happy we're spectators Two. Now can the chatter and keep eyes and ears open".

OOC:

An hour earlier

"Trevor... Will have to keep that name in mind," Sam thought to himself. He downed his drink and took a deep breath letting the vapors of the wiskey fill his lungs. Slowly pulling himself to his feet, he realized the room had gotten significantly louder. The booze must be soaking in and loosening up those that were on the straight and narrow.

"I suppose I should start to mingle a bit. Since it is pretty clear I'm not going anywhere for a while," mused Sam as he started to scan the room for any familiar faces. He had little expectations of recognizing anyone. He did have a slight hope that he would meet a friendly face. His life as a freighter pilot was a lonely one, and was so by choice.

There were groups of individuals clustered about the room. All appeared to be enjoying themselves; even with the occasional outburst of ire. From what he could tell there had yet to be any serious altercations. He was sure that had the two friends he had made earlier would have had him in binders before he realized what was going on.

To his surprise, there were a few faces that felt familiar. The names eluded him, but these days names and faces were the least of his worry. There were the select few that were forever etched into his memory. One of which was always in his field of view. Always smiling up at him and ever bringing a tear to the surface. Each time he neared the precipace of forgetting, she would tug on his sleeve. Her strength, although of a child, was an unstoppable force. She never spoke a word to him and that alone kept him sane enough.

Sam approached a woman sitting by herself at a table. Hers was a face he knew and strained to recall her name, "Do you mind?"

She gestured him to take a seat. As he sat, "Merrick correct? I'm Sam."

"Hello, you've been around here for a while. I have a few fague memories."

"Like wise. You were the one that people held their tongue around so they wouldn't get it lopped off." His comment managed to get a bit of a smirk out of her. He was not sure if she was enjoying the memory or the her reputation. Sam signaled for another round.

Ayme sipped her ale as she listened to another story. Everyone seemed to have a tale to tell of their years apart. Given a void of no less than two years there was bound to be some mischief.

An unfamiliar voice caused her to turn from the conversation. “Ma’am an urgent matter…”

“Woah, okay. First of all, never call me ‘ma’am’ that’s just awful and makes me sound like someone’s mother. You…huh you’re a pilot?” Ayme’s eyes finally focused on the Mon Calamari man standing in front of her. She had very few opportunities to spend quality time with members of the aquatic species.

“I’m sorry, General Katash, I need to speak to you.”

Ayme nodded and followed the pilot. “Alright keep your panties on.”

The dark blue skinned man led Ayme out of the lounge and into the adjacent vacant hallway. “My name is Captain Draclue Mihawk, we have a situation…” The corridor  vibrated below their feet as suddenly sounds of alarm klaxons filled the empty space.

“Heh, things like this are usually my fault. Damn karma always trying to teach me a lesson.”

“Ma’a…General. Admiral Stormz was returning to his office, their was an explosion reported in his office. It is safe to assume…”

Ayme held up her hand. “Hang on, are you saying those alarms are because the Admiral of this ships been blown up?”

Drac took a deep breath. “I’m saying that  we need to take precautions to ensure the safety of our guests.”

“Technically at the moment they are your guests not mine, but given the fact that shit is blowing up and its not my fault I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt there. So Captain, where is our evac area on this beautiful bird?”

Drac pulled up his datapad and passed what looked like a schematic of the SSD. “The hangar, it offers the safest option for an orderly evacuation of personnel.”

“Oh I’m afraid nothing I do is exactly orderly, but I’ll see what we can do.” Ayme rolled her shoulders then handed the datapad back. “Okay you go tell the barkeep to close shop, I don’t need troopers any drunker than they are as it stands. I’ll do my best to keep them from wandering.”

Drac gave a quick salute which Havock waved off as she brushed past him back into the room. She watched as the pilot quickly made his way to the bartender and they shared a few words. She wanted to make sure he had enough time to cut off the supply of alcohol and that the staff were aware of what they were about to have to do.

The disgruntled body language of several of the pilots and troopers near the bar made it clear the message had been received.

Ayme grabbed a combat knife from her ankle holster and used the hilt to bang on the nearest table. “Okay kids, if you would shut up you’d hear that we have an alarm.” Ayme paused to allow for the radiant conversations to end and the far off klaxon to make its presence known. “So that means its time to muster your asses to the hanger for…roll call. Let’s not be babies about it and move in an orderly fashion, following me, without being distracted by shiny things along the way. Come on kids time for a field trip.”

OOC:

Okay so if you are in the Lounge right now you are going to follow Havock to the hanger. Feel free to be unhappy about this development especially in the aftermath of free beverages provided by Aeos, I won't take it personally.

OOC:

Sorry, had to take off, decided to post what I had, instead of letting it go to waste. ;P

Just like old times. Following someone aboard a starship, having no real clue, what was about to happen, but anxious to get into the thick of it. The gaggle of troopers moved with the anticipation of a group of children heading towards a candy store. The Hangar, great things tended to happen when you started mustering at a hangar. Boarding actions for example. And even though these were messy and dangerous work, they created a sense of elation in most troopers.
He looked around, scanning the troopers nearest to him and noticed something. They were just like him. Even though they had been away, had tried the civilian thing, they were back now, because just like him, soldiering was the only thing they really knew how to do.
And at this point, they were all psyched to be back, so it didn’t come as a surprise when one of them started shouting one of the old bootcamp cadences. Within not more than a second they had started into a jog, shouting at the top of their lungs with Havock having overtaken the lead in the cadence.
Even though they should have been used to it, it was apparent that the navy personell on board hadn’t seen such a display in a long time and instinctively gave them a wide berth.

Having arrived at the Hangar Deck, they gathered around Havock and Merrick, the current chaos making anything like a decent formation impossible.

OOC:

Let's get everyone gathered in together, shall we?

If the situation had been less urgent, Drac would have found it a bit amusing that General Havock didn’t recall seeing him at high command functions before, if only for the novelty of it. But she seemed to be a pretty in-the-moment sort of person anyway, so maybe it wasn’t that surprising. Regardless, he had a job to do and at least he’d accomplished an important first step in finding someone who could prevent the mass of soldiers in the lounge from descending into chaos as word of the attack got out.

He took a moment to help facilitate the evac  by grabbing the bartender’s and giving the man the order to shut down the bar and be ready to help sober anyone up that needed the help. The man seemed doubtful at first, looking at Drac’s unadorned flight suit, but the Line Captain’s rank cylinder that the Mon Calamari withdrew from a pocket and set in place assured quick obedience.

The room was starting to clear out and Drac was heading for the nearest turbolift to get to the bridge when his comm unit beeped again. Retrieving it from his belt, he accepted the call and spoke, “Commodore, this is- “

“Captain! I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but I have news.” It was Commander Gunn.

“Yes, Commander?”

“Sir, squadrons have scrambled from both the Atrus and the Adjudicator and continue to advance on each other. The Adjudictor’s hails have gone unanswered.”

‘Sithspit,’ the Mon Cal thought to himself, ‘I’d hoped that we’d avoid this. There must be some issue with the good Commodore or with communications. But we’ve got to figure out what’s going on before things come to blows…’

He nodded to himself, “Commander, is the Warrior still on-station where I left her?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Good. Then you should be in position to achieve this: You are to physically interpose the Halcyon Warrior between the Atrus and the Adjudicator and their associated forces. The order to not fire unless fired upon remains, but broadcast a demand to both ships that they recall their starfighters into defensive screens and do not engage each other. If they try to push you, assure them that the Warrior will respond to any hostile actions taken against her or her starfighter screen in kind. Let them decide if they want to voluntarily add an extra Star Destroyer to the other side’s forces.”

There was a short pause, and Drac could imagine the man noting all that with his usual quirked eyebrow. “Aye, Captain. Shall we also negotiate a détente between the various remnants of the Empire and the New Republic while we’re at it?” Gunn replied dryly.

Drac grinned a bit, “Let’s leave that for tomorrow, Commander. In the meantime, I’ll work on easing tensions on my end.”

Fortunately, proper security access and the right code cylinder could get you pretty far pretty fast, even in an SSD. Drac made it to the bridge within two or three minutes, stepping past tense Stormtroopers guarding the blast doors as voices were raised within.

It wasn’t hard to spot Commodore Sol Cortana. Human females were still relatively rare on the bridges of Star Destroyers, after all. Nearly as rare as non-humans, in fact. He approached her and saluted, “Commodore.”

Angry eyes turned his way. “Captain. Explain why I shouldn’t have you arrested immediately pending charges of treason. What is this?” She pointed out the front viewport, where the Halcyon Warrior could be seen floating in space, obscuring the Adjudicator and her escorts.

Drac grimaced slightly, “Well, Commodore: First off myself and my ships are not, technically, back in the fold of the Imperial Navy yet. Not formally, at least. So treason might be a bit strong.” His gaze hardened, “Doing so would also have basically the same effect as firing on my ship- and you don’t need the headaches that the Warrior and the Adjudicator would give you. Not with what just happened to the Admiral.”

She glared back at him, “You know what happened. Why are you defending Trikarian?”

“Because, ma’am, there is no proof as of yet that he or his people were involved. I know for a fact that he’s hailing you, and with considerable surprise and concern regarding the current situation.”

She scoffed, “You think this is a coincidence?”

“I think,” Drac replied, softening his tone a bit, “that attempted assassination via bomb is not Zev Trikarian’s style. Trust me when I say that his betrayals, when they happen, tend to be face to face.” Not that they’re always what they seem to be, even then.’ he mused.

Cortana’s glare turned a bit pensive, “So, what, then? You would ask me to trust him?”

“No,” Drac shook his head, “I’m not going to ask of you what I can’t currently do myself, Commodore. Trick went full-on Warlord, and I’m not sure why. But he wants to talk and has neither left the system nor pressed any sort of attack.”

The acting commander of the Imperial Navy considered that for a moment, then nodded, her expression still guarded, “You want me to let him come aboard.”

“Yes. We can conference with him and would have ideal positioning to capture or kill him if the investigation does indeed turn up evidence that he or his forces are complicit in the attack on the Admiral.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him, “That’s… a bit more ruthless than your reputation gives you credit for.”

Drac shrugged, “You can’t be too careful. And my mantra has always been to try and design multiple ways to win. But I mention that only as a possible last resort. I’d far prefer that the situation not escalate into shooting.”

Cortana mulled it over for a moment, then nodded, “Comms, open up a channel to the Adjudicator.”

After a moment’s pause, the reply came, “Done, ma’am.” And within a second a hologram spun up at the main comms station- the image of a stern-faced human male in the uniform of an Imperial Naval Officer and wearing a Rear Admiral’s rank cylinder.

Trick looked a bit surprised for a brief moment as the connection finally went through, “Ah. Finally.” His eyes narrowed a bit, “Where is Admiral Ph’rranix?”

Cortana scowled back at him, “We’ll address that shortly. For now, please know that we are standing down and inviting yourself, and a small escort, aboard the Atrus to parlay. If you are willing to come, your shuttle and two escorting fighters will be cleared to land in the main hangar.”

“Listen up people, here’s how we gonna play this.”, Havock began, “The powers that be told me, that there will be people coming over. Now we’re guessing that these are friendlies, or at least not completely unfriendlies. But until we know, we’ll play this safe. For you Flyboys, I have no Idea on what to do with you, and even if I did, you’re outside my chain of command. So just make yourselfs useful, or report to someone else if you wanna get into a fighter.
So finger off the trigger, but heads on a swivel. If any of those Banthaherders as much as breathes the wrong way we gotta keep the VIPs safe. For those of you that were in Raider Squad, that means getting them out, not wasting all the opfor.
But before we get some kit from the emergency lockers, I’ll do a quick call sign roll call for the lot of you who weren’t processed already, while those who have been reassigned to different platoons get set up. So sound off if I call you. And remember your grunts, you don’t have a rank until we get this mess sorted out.”
At the last sentence a chuckle broke out. Of course none of them missed losing rank and its privileges, but being in the thick of it, just doing what they did best without the formalities meant a lot to them.

“Merrick?”
“Aye!”

“Sam?”
“Present!”

“Helena?”
“Here, Ma’m!”

“Heliwer?”
“Ma’m, yes ma’m.”

“Dusk?”
“Ayup!”

“Karash?”
“Here!”

“Eviscares?”
“Aye, ma’m!”

“Jegora?”
“Hmmm.”

The insolence of the last reply elicited another round of laughter. Eviscares arched an eyebrow at the mass of man who was now shrugging as if he wasn’t getting what it was about. Dimly he remembered serving alongside him in Jester, but it had been too long, and for too short a time.
As soon as the laughter had died down, Havock spoke again:”I know we don’t have you grouped into squads or fireteams or anything, so just try to look as respectable as you can you misfits, and keep up something that looks like a formation.”
With these words she led them to the emergency lockers that were in place for occasions just like these, even though normally it would be hangar techs who broke them open, instead of old veterans. Each locker contained 4 E-11 rifles, but nothing in the ways of armor, or heavier firepower. So each trooper took a rifle, a bandolier with ammunition and that was it.
Evis used the time to move closer to Jegora, looking at him. For a moment their eyes met, and the two troopers shared a smirk, nothing more. But they had served together, and both of them remembered.
Soon after they made their way into the hangar proper again, slowly taking up positions behind crates, and other obstacles, basically every spot that the other platoons doing the proper guarding in their armor had missed. Concealment might not equal cover, but it beat standing around in the open.
“Ok, you fools, I’ll let the people on the bridge know that we’re ready. Delegation should also be here in T minus 5, so keep sharp.”

OOC:

Sorry Navy, couldn't decid on what to do with you folks, and where to put you.

In the darkness the fire out shone the stars. Snipes sat in a high backed chair perched atop Corellian Hound and watched the aftermath of three days filled with hard fighting. He took a drink from the bottle cradled in his lap, the liquor burned as it went down and tasted, fittingly, of wood smoke. Some of the clear liquid bubbled over his lip and dripped down onto a filthy white shirt, but he paid it no mind.

Occasionally screams reached up to him from the city below and sometimes he laughed. They fought over the lush planet for three days and, now, in the capital city below, his Oskers took their due, pawing over riches and women, and occasionally each other, with equal greed. They ran naked through the streets, or ran the citizens naked through the streets, they burned everything flammable and dressed themselves in the wealthy's finest silks. They visited great madness upon the people below, and Snipes laughed.

A gust of warm wind caught his long hair, flying it around him. There were gray strands running through the wild mess, but unlike his dirty beard, it was still mostly brown. He took another drink of the strong liquor and let it warm him and add to the confused bubbling in his head.

The night sky flashed in sudden illumination so bright that Snipes had to shield his eyes. Something in the city below exploded and he rocked with laughter, slapping the arm of the chair and guffawing so hard that spittle ran down his chin. He didn't notice it, the world was dizzying and, just a little bit, perfect.

“We were good people once,” Visha said, he hadn't noticed her arrival.

Snipes took a few seconds to weigh his options and decided on a noncommittal shrug.

“How long are we going to do this?”

“Until they get bored, probably. I give them a couple weeks. I was kind of thinking of staying though, this place is much nicer than our last planet.”

Visha shook her head, “You're insane.”

Snipes laughed, “Well of course I'm insane, I've always been insane, that's why they call me The Mad, Pirate King.”

“No, not like this. We gave up being right a long time ago, but we were still good. This is barbaric.”

Snipes turned his head to look at her. Imperious as always, she stared down at him from an upright and formal at ease. Still managing to look down on him, still an officer, still the captain he had trained her to be. Snipes sneered and looked away, but he could feel those eyes on his back. He could feel the weight of her judgment. He took another drink, hoping to drown it out.

“There was a man that took me in once. He was not a right man, but he was a good man.”

Snipes snorted, “Sounds like a real winner.”

“It's a shame, it seems he's dead. Might have been dead for awhile now.”

Snipes didn't have to turn to watch her stalk away, but he did. Part of him, even much of him, had words that needed to be said, but none were said. Instead the tyrant turned back to his spectacle and poured more of the harsh liquor down his throat. With every drink there was a hope that the words left unsaid would be forgotten, lost in the miasma of alcohol, but they weren't, they echoed.

Flashback - Earlier That Day

Arianna was placing several blaster rifles away inside one of several armories of the medical station, Hope’s Vision.  Her hands touched each weapon gently before her grip hardened, checking each safety, each magazine release, each sight before placing it on the wall rack.  She continued along at this steady pace for some time, humming softly to herself.  Her emerald eyes shimmering in the lights above her, a light smile upon her lips.  She reached out for another blaster when her communicator beeped twice.  Picking it up, she brushed her multi-hued hair back before speaking.  “Captain Blaire reporting.”

“Arianna, it's Cayden..” The voice of the young Onderonian Prince spoke over the small speaker.

“Director!  I'm just nearly finished organizing the western armory now,” she replied, resuming her work of checking each weapon before placing it up on the rack, slowed only slightly with the communicator in her hand.

“Captain, I have… A personal request… To ask of you.  Can you come to my office?” He asked, his voice sounding hesitant and… Was that weariness she was hearing?  She wasn't sure… But Arianna had a feeling that something was up.

“As you command, Director.  I will be there in a jiffy,” she said with a smile, placing a newly-picked up rifle down before she grabbed her uniform jacket.  She put it on slowly, taking care to keep any wrinkles out of it as she slowly buttoned the silver-played buttons up.  Smiling to herself, she walked out of the armory and made her way to the left, heading towards the Administration Section of the station.  She smiled and offered a salute to those she passed in the hall, waving at the few civilians she did find across her path towards the Director’s office.  She passed by several bulkheads, each one labeled differently, several sealed tight and marked with a warning sign, depicting an image of a hull breach or ruptured fuel lines.  After several minutes, she stopped outside the doors to the office, straightening her uniform, knocking twice.

“Come in,” Cayden said, several files on his desk as he looked them over.

With a smile, Arianna walked inside several steps before giving a crisp salute.  “You asked to see me, Director?” she asked, holding her salute.

He continued looking over the files before glancing up at her, smirking softly.  “At ease, Captain.  You don't have to salute me,” he said, closing the files.  He moved them over to the side before opening a drawer on the desk, taking out an old datapad with a flashing message.  “What do you know about a splinter faction called the Vast Empire?”

“Umm… They broke off from the Empire following the sacking of Coruscant by the New Republic, like most of the factions.  They took a sort of neutral stance on the policy of governance, ruling through more respect than fear, sometimes going out of their way to help their citizens.  Their military wasn't the most powerful, but it was one of the more properly trained and enthusiastic in the galaxy.  They… Fell apart two years ago, several of its officers defecting and joining the faction calling itself the Second Galactic Empire, while others left and either resumed their lives or took their new skills and employed them as bounty hunters, mercenaries, or even has warlords themselves.  Why do you ask, sir?” She looked at Cayden, puzzled by the question.

“On this datapad is a recall order.  I received it a little while ago, and I've been wondering if I should follow it or not,” he said calmly, twirling the datapad in his gloved hands.

“A… Recall order from the Vast Empire, Cayden?” She asked, still puzzled, trying to figure out where she fits into all this.

“Mhm.  It's an order of recall to return to Lotaith and aid in rebuilding the Empire.  Coordinates provided and everything.  I just… Don't know if it's a trap or not,” he continued, looking at the datapad.

“I… Could take the Virulent Glory and investigate…” She offered slowly, studying his movements.  I know he doesn't want to go… Maroy would never forgive him if he did return to them…

“You'd have to take the Cerulean with you too.  They still have active Imperial codes that should be recognized by the Vast Imperial commanders…” Cayden continued, looking up at her slowly.

“Argo and Broca Squadrons would have to come too to provide support.. In the event it is a trap.”

“Shouldn't be if it's the New Republic, or even the Remnant… Might be pirates though, maybe even the Hutts.  If it is, you contact us immediately.  The Fleet will come running,” he finished, smirking a bit as he stood up.

She saluted again, smiling softly.  “Understood Director,” she said firmly.

Cayden returned the salute and held out the datapad to her.  “Be careful Arianna… Try to come back in one piece,” he said quietly, looking her in the eye.

“I will Cayden… I promise.”  She nodded her head, taking the datapad gently before slipping it into her pocket.  With one final shared look, she turned and left the office, heading towards one of the docking stations.  Her boots resounded off the plating below with quick thuds as she moved throughout the halls, her green eyes scanning around before she walked into a hangar bay.  She approached a shuttle before stepping aboard.  “Pilot, take me to the Virulent Glory,” she said, seating herself in the copilot’s seat.

“Aye aye, Captain.  We’ll be there in a minute.  Just sit tight and relax,” he replied with a smile, the shuttle slowly lifting off the deck plating and flew out of the hangar, heading towards a nearby Hammerhead Cruiser.  “Captain, if I may ask… Why are we using the old Hammerheads?  Couldn't the Director spring for more… Newer ships?”

She smirked softly, shaking her head.  “Cayden… Has a love of the ships of the Old Republic, including the Hammerhead Cruisers…” she replied, closing her eyes softly as she let the sound of the shuttle’s engines wash over them.  “Do be gentle landing her… we just had the hangar decks polished.”

“Yes Captain… you just relax and enjoy the ride,” he said with a smile, tapping at his comm device.  “Hammerhead Cruiser Virulent Glory, this is Transport Shuttle Echo-Three-Nine, requesting permission to dock.”

“Copy that Three-Nine.  Adjust heading by fifteen degree declination and set course for our starboard hangar.  Inform the Captain that we will move out as soon as she gives the order,” Comms Officer Samantha Korne said, looking at the viewport, watching the shuttle approach.

“Aye aye, Virulent Glory.  We shall be onboard momentarily,” the pilot for transport Echo-39 responded, adjusting his heading accordingly and piloted the shuttle into the hangar, touching down on the deck gently.

Arianna slowly got out of her seat and exited the transport, quickly making her way to the turbolift.  After several minutes of travel through the belly of the Hammerhead, she made her way onto the bridge, nodding at her executive officer waiting for her.

“Ma’am, the ship is at your command,” Commander Roy Kovani said, saluting her quickly.

Arianna returned the salute and smiled at him.  “Very well, Commander.  Have Lieutenant Korne contact the Cerulean and inform them to lead us on the way to Lotaith,” she said, moving to the captain’s chair.

“C-Captain?  Lotaith?  Isn’t that system abandoned?” Roy asked, following her slowly.  Without a thought, he looked at Samantha and nodded, the young LT quickly tapping at her display, sending a message to the smaller Warden.

“The Director wants us to escort the Cerulean there, to ensure that their recall orders are not part of a trap,” she said calmly, watching as the world outside the viewport quickly turned to one of stars streaking past the ship.

“Recall..?  You mean… someone is posing as the Vast Empire and has issued a general recall of all ships and officers?” he asked, looking at her in confusion.

“Even the Director.  But he has his hands full at the moment with the Ministry and the Hutts creating problems back on Onderon.  So… just so that the Empire doesn’t send anyone after him, I will be taking his place on Lotaith,” Arianna said, looking up at Roy.  “And yes, it is part of the orders the Director gave me.”  She took out a datapad and tapped at it, showing the signed letter to him.

He blinked several times, looking the letter over before nodding slowly.  “A-Alright… then who will be in command of the ship?”

“He thought of that too, it seems… in the event that this is not a trap, you are to be placed in command,” she said, smiling at him.  She giggled quietly as he slowly stepped back and stared out the viewport, her own eyes slowly moving to the stars racing past outside.

Several hours of travel pass before the two ships exit hyperspace on the edge of the system, a shuttle quickly dispatching from the Hammerhead as it followed the Cerulean out towards the fleet of Imperial warships.

Present Time

Arianna stood in the hangar onboard the Atrus, still dressed in her Ministry uniform, waiting for an opportunity to speak to the Director’s former commanding officer, Line Captain Dracule Mihawk, about whether she was actually supposed to be present in the hangar, or if she was supposed to be someplace else.  However, the large gathering of people heading towards the bay made the decision for her quite quickly, sweeping her up into the mess of being moved into the hangar bay, waiting for… something… to happen.  Way to go, Captain… got yourself into another beautiful mess.  This is just like that time over Serroco, before the Mandalorians blew through our defenses and burned the planet into oblivion… she thought to herself, stroking her hair back gently as she observed her surroundings silently.

Her polished boots reflected the lighting up high above, her black gloved hands cradling her arms as she listened to the various commanders bark orders and make roll-call of their respective units.  She noticed a nearby group of pilots and quickly made her way over towards them, making sure to keep to the back, trying to stay out of the way of things.

“You lost, over there?”

“Huh?” the clearly-out-of-uniform woman asked, turning around to face the Togruta.  She brushed her hair back with her hand again, trying to keep the black, yellow, and white strands out of her face.

“It’s a bit hectic, but I imagine these Vast Empire people will get us all sorted out soon enough.” The Togruta paused, studying the woman’s outfit.“Didn’t think I’d be seeing another Onderonian uniform. Not for a while, at least.”

“Onder- oh, right.  Wait, you know what uniform this is?” Arianna asked softly, stepping closer to the pilot.  “I wasn’t aware that anyone this far out knew where this uniform was from… or that Onderon even exists, for that matter…”

The red-skinned alien shrugged. “Old friend of mine relocated there a while back. Just found a chance to visit, and she talked me into signing up.” She extended her hand. “Anatosh, Anatosh Tarn.”

“Arianna Blaire,” she replied, taking Anatosh’s hand and gave it a firm shake.  “Capta- I mean, former captain of the Virulent Glory.”

“Hmm. Captain.” Anatosh nodded her approval. “I was a flight leader for one of the White Fleet’s recon squadrons, at one point, but that’s neither here nor there. Freelance pilot now-- or, I guess, Vast Empire pilot.”

“At least you had the choice of coming here… It was either I come, or my commander did… and him and I both knew that his wife would have killed him if he came back here,” the young officer trailed off, turning her head to look around a bit.

The Togruta chuckled. “Ah, family drama. Glad I dodged that particular bullet. Military’s got enough, as it is.” She seemed to drift off, slightly, before refocusing on Arianna. “Still, it’s a good place to be. As far as Imperial splinter factions go, nobody’s captured the essence of being imperial better than the old Vast Empire. I can only imagine they’ll do even better this time around.”

“Yeah, I’m… I’m sure they well… I just don’t have all that much experience with events and social practices in the galaxy.. let alone the political state of things.  I’ve been out of the loop for a while, spent a lot of time traveling the Outer Rim before the Director picked me up.”  Arianna continued to scan the area, her hands flexing inside their gloves before she returned her eyes to the Togruta, a soft smile on her lips.  “I think that’s about when things got really… interesting… for me.”

“I imagine so… Hmm.” Anatosh hummed, apparently to herself. “How’re your combat skills? Joining the ground troops or starfighter pilots?”

“I’m useful in both roles, honestly… but, my commander was a fighter pilot back in the day, and his orders are for a returning fighter pilot… guess I’m going to be in a cockpit,” she smiled wide, nodding.

The Togruta grinned a not-entirely-innocent-looking grin. “Excellent. Looking forward to flying with you then, Ms. Blaire.”

“Same to you Anatosh... “ she trailed off again, once again looking around.  “Okay… guess finding the one fish-head in the Empire is impossible.  Who am I supposed to report in to?”

Anatosh turned around without answering, glancing around for locating a deck officer darting around with a datapad. “Oi, Ensign! Over here!” The man looked frustrated, but acquiesced to the shouting. Anatosh immediately pointed him right at Arianna. “Another new pilot here. On recommendation from… umm…”

Arianna quickly approached the Ensign, handing him her datapad.  “Here on recommendation from Warrant Officer 1st Class Cayden Tavers,” she spoke steadily, her hands running along her pants to keep from doing something embarrassing. Anatosh’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the name ‘Tavers’, but she said nothing.

“Right. I’ll get this submitted right away, ma’am.” The deck officer transferred the relevant files, gave a salute, took a moment to stare daggers at the Togruta, and then scrambled off.

She stared off after the deck officer before shaking her head, smiling at Anatosh.  “Well then… guess that takes care of that…”

“First rule of the military. Well, second.” The Togruta trailed off, her forehead scrunched.” Or... third, maybe. I can’t remember. Regardless, If you need something done, it’s up to you to make sure that happens.” Anatosh smirked. “Other than waiting for our new commanders to sort out all of the unit postings, we’ll need to be on guard. Groups like the White Fleet would love to pounce on a disorganized navy like this.”

“Things have changed since I’ve been with a large group… last time I think was over Serroco…” she tapped her chin in thought.  “Our ship had come under fire attempting to defend the planet.. but someone screwed up the battle plan, and the blasted nerf herders made it through our lines and torched the planet…”

“Yikes.” Anatosh stopped smiling. “Well, it happens, I suppose. No such thing as a flawless mission.”

“Tell that to the Director… he demands absolute perfection in every movement, every operation we do.  Go in, secure the area, and aid the locals to the best of our ability.  Sounds simple, but it’s a well choreographed dance… one where he pulls all the strings…” Arianna sighed softly, looking down slowly.  “Maybe coming here was the wrong choice… Maker knows that he won’t be able to keep himself sane on his own…”

“Hmm…” Anatosh was, once again, humming to herself. “By Director, do you mean Cayden Tavers? Husband of Maroycae’li-- I mean, Maroy Tavers?” She continued humming, pensively.

“Yes, that is… how do you know that?” she asked slowly, looking up at the red Togruta.  Her body immediately tensed as she carefully waited for her response.

“I mentioned visiting a friend? Maroy and I were, well, fellow slaves, way back when.” The humming continued. “I stopped by for a brief visit not too long ago; she didn’t want to talk much about what she and her husband had been up to, but she did mention he had some amount of authority on Onderon. Didn’t know the full extent of it, although now I can guess.” Anatosh shrugged. “Well, as long as Mar’s with him, I’m sure he’ll be fine. She definitely has a way with crazy people.”

She stared at Anatosh for a moment before smirking softly.  “Maroy failed to mention a few things… I suppose for good reason.  The Director is rather protective of who he is, and the authority he truly holds on Onderon… doesn’t want to run the risk of putting a bulls-eye on his back, or so he’s told me,” Arianna stated, watching her with a smile.

“Well, I suppose that’s reasonable.” The Togruta nodded. “Not a big fan of being a target, myself, unless it’s in a fair fight.”

“There’s no such thing as a fair fight… not in my experience.  Someone always has the advantage, whether it be more combat training, more advanced gear, or better understanding on how to move on a particular field of battle.  Another way is luck… something that the Director has had a lot of in his life…” Arianna trailed off, looking over to the large hangar bay doors, a feeling of trepidation washing over her.  “... us all being in here, in one location, is screaming at me that this is a horrible idea…”

OOC:

HOLY CRAP, AMACUSE POSTED.

Yes.  And introduced my main PC: Arianna Blaire.  Don't kill her.  :P

Also...

WC: 2911

EDIT: Special thanks to Maroy for cowriting with me for the second half ^_^

“Understood, sir,” said Grent in response to the hologram in front of him, “Strill will be with you all the way.”

Strill had been patiently awaiting the arrival of the Second Galactic Empire’s fleet a good distance away from the large Vast Empire fleet in orbit around the planet. They had plenty of experience in remaining undetected from similarly sized, and far more hostile, forces than the one that lay before them now, but Grent had made the decision not to hide; if the transmission they had received was accurate, then there was no danger for them, and trying to hide would only make things worse for them in the long run. Of course, if it was a trap, then they were far enough away to turn around and make an emergency jump away from the danger. So far the decision had paid off, and Strill had received no attention whatsoever. The most excitement had been when the SGE’s fleet arrived, and the mass of activity that had ensued. Strill had made a beeline straight towards SGE fleet, knowing that there now was at least one fleet that they could count on not open fire on them.

Grent opened his squadron’s comm channel. “Listen up, folks,” he said, “and listen well. This has the potential to turn ugly fast. Admiral Trikarian is going from his ship to one of the VE ships in one of three Lambda shuttles. I don’t know which one, and I didn’t ask. All I know is that he wants us on escort duty. Cresh, you’re on rear duty.”

“Roger that,” acknowledged Natalie "Potter" Wreather, Cresh Flight Lead.

“Besh, you’re my overwatch. Let me know the minute you see anything out of the ordinary,” continued the Mandalorian.

“On it,” replied Starlight, Besh Flight Lead.

“And we get close protection, Aurek,” finished Grent, “so I hope you remembered to pack your blasters: we’re landing.”

The Strill Squadron Commander was very confident in the abilities of his squadron. He had always kept the training running through every spare minute, and the last two years were no exception. Every member of Strill knew exactly what was required from them in this situation, and they all understood that there could be no mistakes.

The twelve black TIE Hunters continued on their flight path, and circled the large capital ship’s port-side hangar until the unmistakable profiles of three Lambda-class shuttles emerged, their long wings slowly parting and locking into position. Strill swooped down, each other flights forming up on the shuttles. Grent flew level with the lead shuttle’s cockpit, and opened comms.

“Strill here,” he said in a jovial tone, “and we’ll be serving as your escorts for today’s flight. We don’t expect any trouble, but if there is then I want you to turn around and get the hell out of here A-SAP.”

Laughter came over the comm from the shuttle pilot. “Strill, this is shuttle flight Gradia. Good to see you, and thanks for the warning.”

There was a huge amount of tension in the cockpits of the TIE Hunters. Each member of Strill was having similar thoughts: what is going to happen? All of them were on high alert, ready for anything. They all knew that a direct hit from one of the capital ships would tear through the shielding on their tiny fighters, and travelling at the same speed as the shuttles practically made them sitting womp rats.

“Iron One, this is Iron Five. Movement. Hangar at your 11. Looks like a shuttle of some kind.”

Starlight’s call turned up the heat. Grent sprung into action, getting his squadron into position. “Roger that, Five. Shuttle …” he paused as the onboard computer scanned the foreign craft and threw up the identity on the HUD, “... Explorer class. Registration Ryujin. Two, you’re with me. Seven, Eight: take our spots. Let’s go turn that bird around.”

A chorus of ‘roger’ followed from the respective pilots, as the Gurlanin and Lady flew out of formation and directly towards the Ryujin. Mobster and Tiny, Iron Seven and Eight, swooped down from where Besh were circling, and slotted into the positions left open.

Grent switched to a private frequency between him and Lady. “Shields up. Lock S-Foils in attack position.”

“Roger wilco. Running scan on target vessel,” replied Lady, “and it doesn’t look they’re preparing to attack, boss.”

“I think that if they were going to attack they would have used the big Star Destroyer over there, but we can’t afford to take any chances.”

“Understood.”

The Mandalorian switched his comm to an open channel, to make sure that the E-9 shuttle would hear him and to ensure that everyone around could hear the conversation. “Shuttle Ryujin this is Imperial starfighter. Turn your craft around and land immediately or I will fire upon you.”

There were a tense few seconds as all comms went silent. This was a dangerous moment, and everyone knew it. After what seemed like an eternity, there came a reply, in a very authoritarian voice, “Imperial starfighter, this is Captain Zasati Katash, Imperial Army. Stand down.”

“Respectfully, ma’am, I’m under orders much higher up the chain of command than you. Now turn your ship around, or I will fire upon you.” The shuttle was fast approaching the SGE shuttle convoy. In his HUD, Grent could see that the rest of the squadron had powered up their own shields, though their S-Foils remained locked into flight mode. He had nothing against the Captain personally, but he did have a job to do, however much he didn’t want to start a diplomatic incident. Again.

The seconds ticked by, and the two TIE Hunters grew closer and closer to the E-9 Explorer. Both Grent and Lady had their fingers hovering over the triggers, weapons primed. Either the Captain had a death wish, which was unlikely, or she was conferring with someone to find out what was going on. Eventually, her reply came back, “Imperial Starfighter this is Ryujin. We are returning to the ship. Now can you please point those guns somewhere else?”

“With pleasure,” chuckled Grent, “your co-operation is greatly appreciated.”

The two Strill pilots watched the Ryujin turn around and fly back the way it had come. When it was just about to enter the hangar, the two pilots turned their own crafts around and rejoined the escort party, letting Mobster and Tiny resume their positions in the overwatch flight. The squadron powered down their shields and breathed a collective sigh of relief. This wasn’t exactly how they had planned to ‘come home’, but at least they hadn’t had to shoot an Army Captain!

The SGE shuttles and their escort fighters made their way towards the designated hangar that lay nestled in the side of the gargantuan Super Star Destroyer. The massive size and scope of the ship dwarfed the shuttles, and made Strill’s fighters’ feel like insects in comparison. Grent was filled with a sense of awe, and understood exactly how the Empire had been able to inspire so much fear into the populace of any world unfortunate enough to be paid a visit from one of the Imperial Navy’s pride and joys.

Aurek Flight entered the hangar first. The four black fighters entered slowly, and scanned for any threats. On confirming that it was clear, the SGE shuttles made their way through the shielding, as the Strill fighters turned 180 degrees to face space, and landed with one fighter in each corner of the hangar. The three shuttles all landed side by side, leaving plenty of room for the rest of Strill to land. Besh Flight landed next, followed closely by Cresh, all following Aurek’s lead and making sure that their fighters were pointing towards the exit: just in case. Grent, Lady, Ghastly, and Edge, exited their fighters, grabbed their DC-17m rifles and made their way to the shuttles. The four of them, all in full black Commando armour, made for an impressive and intimidating sight. Once they sighted Admiral Trikarian, they formed an honour guard for him. Grent didn’t know, or particularly care, if Trikarian wanted one: after the display the Atrus had put on when the SGE fleet arrived, Trikarian was getting one.

OOC:

Summary: Flying. Flying. Ruining Makenna's best day ever. Flying. Landing.

Cathal resisted the urge to void his bowels as he came off the shuttle. The hanger was thronged. Hundreds massed there, stormtroopers like him, drawn up in formation. Deckhands and naval ratings, off-duty troopers, it seemed like half the ship had turned out to greet them. Feth the rocks, he thought for a moment, they could come at us unarmed and still batter the shite out of us.

Four commando garbed troopers had joined them but even with that reassurance, he was still bricking it. His grip was tight on his rifle while his mind raced. Probably knuckle white beneath the armour. They'd be able to buy the Admiral a few seconds if it came to an extraction but the thought of being a human shield wasn't appealing to him. Not when there was enough firepower in the hanger to vapourise him.

You could have cut the tension with a knife. Only half-listening, his eyes scanning the serried ranks, keeping his finger off the trigger only through supreme effort. That and the corporal would have probably broken his arm for poor trigger discipline. I could probably get three or four before I'm taken out, let's hope it doesn't come to that. With everyone packed so tightly, he'd barely need to aim at all. Just point and fire.

His heart nearly leapt out his mouth as the Commodore spoke. His rifle was swinging up by the time she'd gotten to conspiracy. It seemed everyone else had the same idea. And in the middle of it, the Admiral didn't even flinch, his hands extended in a placating gesture, his words soft. Fat bloody chance I'm lowering my weapon yet. Not with half the frackin' Imperial Army getting ready to use us as target practice.

A lot of rifles were trained on the Admiral but there was enough to go around for everyone. Any other time he'd have been flattered by the attention. Cathal had his aimed right at the trooper opposite him but he shifted it to the lad who'd picked him out. If I'm going, you're going with me, he thought grimly. Faceless, just like he was, concealed behind the helmet. For all he knew, he could have trained with that trooper. The other shifted a little, probably just on edge as he was. Bastards, he thought viciously, I'm going to get shot because two officers are at loggerheads.In his head he was plotting how he'd sweep his aim from target to target. He'd only get a few seconds. Less if his opponent was quicker on the draw. He tried to swallow but his mouth was dry. Feth.

Jacen eyed the small force of stormtroopers flanking the Admiral as he descended from his Lambda shuttle. He palmed a key on his hand and his EE-3's were made available to him, though he was really hoping that he didn't have to use them. Dusk looked around at the amalgam of troops around him, he being the only one wearing armor. 'If those troopers scare easily we're gonna loose a lot of people.' He thought as he positioned himself more to the front of the group and General Katash 'Well, hopefully I can shield some from any initial fire.'

He watched with baited breath as the Admiral and Commodore spoke. 'Please don't get messy. Please don't get messy...'
?I am placing you under arrest, to face court martial on the charges of dereliction of duty, sedition, treason, and conspiracy to commit murder.?
Jacen inhaled sharply as he raised his blasters to match those of the SGE troopers. He shifted his aim a couple times as the others shifted theirs. He stared into the blank face of a trooper he was aiming at, their face gave nothing but their body showed how scared they were. Jacen thought how he would feel in his situation, I'm surrounded by blasters pointed right at my face, I'd be shitting bricks probably. He turned his blasters slightly and thumbed the cyclers, switching them both to stun. 'He's just following orders, we both serve the Empire, no one needs to die.'

?Admiral, your honor guard will lower their weapons, and you will submit to our authority.?

His grip tightened on his blasters, the tension could be plucked and used in a jizz band. Jacen commed to his ship "PD, there's a tense situation going on out here. Have the droids ready to deploy, set blasters to stun, we don't want any casualties. Get over to me, just do it slow."

OOC:

Short post, probably bad.

OOC:

See OOC notes at the end.

Stepping forward, Drac put a hand on the Commodore’s shoulder with measured caution. With this many nervous trigger fingers around, it wouldn’t do to appear to be attacking the ship’s captain and the acting Commander in Chief of the Imperial Navy. Cortana shrugged his hand off, turning her glare on him as the Mon Calamari stepped around her and stood between, but to the side of, the two officers, “Captain. Just what do you think you’re doing?”

He gave her a cool look, “I am doing no more and no less than what Captain Gorma suggested less than five minutes ago. Mediating.” Rolling his eyes the other direction, he saw the tension draining out of Trikarian’s shoulders slightly as the Kuati offered him a relieved and hopeful look, “With any luck we’ll get this sorted out without blaster fire.”

The Commodore maintained her glare for a moment, before jerking her chin down sharply in a curt affirmative, “What do you propose?”

“First,” Drac said, “Hear him out. Admiral?”

Trikarian took a deep breath, his hands finishing their slow descent back to his sides, and gave the two of them a serious look, “Thank you, Captain. Commodore, I assure you that neither I nor any of my forces were involved in this attack. Admiral Ph’rannix is one of the relatively few beings I consider a friend, current political differences aside. I certainly don’t wish him any harm.”

Cortana arched an eyebrow, her expression skeptical, “And you expect me to believe that?” And then, after a deliberate pause, “Sir?”

Mihawk replied before Zev could, leaving the Kuati to look on as the conversation continued, “He may not, but I do. I can vouch for his good relationship with the Admiral. As can Captain Gorma.” He paused, looking back and forth between the two, “It is a shame that your previous assignment prevented you from ever coming into contact with Trikarian, Commodore.”

The human officer shifted her weight, her expression edging back toward anger, “What is your point, mister Mihawk? We came here to discuss his involvement in the attack on Admiral Ph’rannix.”

“We came here to discuss reintegration of the fleet, ma’am. With all due respect.” was Drac’s rejoinder. “But your point is well taken. Consider, Commodore, what would you do if you were in his position and had no intentions of rejoining the Fleet whatsoever- a force already significantly more powerful than your own?”

Her reply was highly sardonic, “I’m sure I don’t know, Captain.”

“Would you intentionally provoke said Fleet, and then deliver yourself willingly into its hands?”

She had the grace to look perturbed at that question, “No, I suppose not.”

Zev snorted, “Of course not. I came here to talk, Commodore. And I’m willing to cooperate in whatever fashion you require to prove my innocence.”

Sol Cortana frowned, “Then wh-”

A shout interrupted the conversation, “Hey! What are you...bomb!”

The tense knot of officers did the only intelligent thing they could- they ducked. Quickly. Fortunately, the soldiers immediately around them were the disciplined regulars in full uniform and didn’t fire on instinct- the mixed group of nervous veterans would have been a far riskier proposition.

Two figures darted toward the hangar doors, abandoning a small device they’d been attempting to attach to a TIE’s engines and rushing out into the corridors beyond, firing blasters back over their shoulders.

‘Frack,’ Drac thought to himself, ‘We got so caught up in the situation with Trikarian’s arrival that we forgot to seek out the blasted bombers in the first place.’

The hangar had filled with shouts, curses, and the sound of boots on decking, but he heard a voice rise above the din. It was General Havock, “Go! Whoever nabs the hutt-spawn gets their drinks on the house tonight!”

OOC:

The game’s afoot! Have some fun chasing down the White Fleet saboteurs. Creative interrogation methods are...encouraged.