“This is ridiculous.”

Kiption didn’t glance up from where he was sliding the latest range of ‘trendy’ casual civilian boots onto his feet. Mai watched him for a moment, before tapping her claws along the inside of his door frame in an open display of impatience, “Did you hear me?”

“Yes, I heard you.” Kiption came to his feet and wandered across his small quarters to where a single refresher was jammed into a skewed corner, “And yes. It is.”

Mai stared unblinkingly at his muscular back as Kiption casually began to sweep his personal effects into a duffel bag at his feet. He seemed completely oblivious to Mai’s evident distress, or was obviously was choosing to ignore it. Confused by the Sergeants actions, she sought to elaborate,

“They want us to infiltrate the Chimaera.” She paused for necessary dramatic effect, “The Chimaera. As in Admiral Thrawn’s flagship.”

Kiption briefly examined a tube of toothpaste, before glancing back at her with a nonchalant expression, “And?”

“And?” Mai cast her slender arms skywards, “Am I the only member of this squad who isn’t completely insane? Are you all utterly dense? High Command wants an undermanned five person squad with little to no intelligence training to infiltrate the ranks of their most feared and most strategically brilliant enemy. Not only are we going in without the necessary training, we’ll most likely be split up and without support as soon as we board the ship. And that’s under the unlikely circumstance that we’ll even be able to make it undiscovered from Carida!”

“I’m not disagreeing with you Mai,” Kiption cast the toothpaste into the duffel and finally turned to face her, “This mission is particularly FUBAR. But orders are orders.”

“Please,” Mai snarled in response, “That’s trite and you know it. You’re not stupid Kip. You know this is professional suicide.”

“Maybe so,” Kiption moved away from the refresher, “But at the end of the day it’s my job to follow orders. You can consider odds and employ logic, but I’ve found it’s easier simply to keep a clear head and a steady finger on the trigger.”

“Logic is never unnecessary,” Mai clenched her jaw in an attempt to quell her rising frustration, “We need more time for briefing. For further training. More support in position so we have greater chance of success.”

“It wouldn’t make a difference Mai,” Kiption countered calmly, “This mission is going to ride on individual performance. You can’t train a soldier to react and adapt. It’s a natural skill. And it’s what the troopers of this squad were chosen specifically for. Have faith enough in yourself and the rest of us so you can focus on what really matters.”

Mai snorted in disdain, “Let me guess: The Vast Empire”

“Right,” Kiption came to a halt in front of her, “Now I know you didn’t come here in a display of amity, so I’ll take my leave. If you still have issues with the upcoming mission take it up with Jeg though I wouldn’t go expecting any reassurances on his part either. Ultimately, if you don’t want to go on the mission, you need to go and see your recruiter and get a transfer to a grunt squad. Then you can patrol around safely on a deadbeat planet all you like.”

Mai’s golden eyes flashed as she stood her ground, “Are you calling me a coward?”

“No,” Kiption remained stoically composed in the face of the Cathar’s rising anger, “I’ve seen enough to know that you’re not a coward. You’re an extremely capable soldier, and you’re sharp. A little too sharp for a soldier. You’re used to dictating how things go and that’s rarely going to happen in the military. Not until you have a General tab on your shoulder.” He paused and looked pointedly at his wrist chrono, “Shuttle leaves in an hour.”

Mai conceded her ground and stood back to let the Kiption past. He moved off at an easy stride down the hallway of the barracks, not bothering to look back. He’d more than made his point. The veteran solider had just bluntly psycho-analyzed her perfectly within the space of a few minutes. It was an exasperating development considering that Mai had been trying ineffectively for over a month to identify with her human squadmates. Their easy manipulation of emotion was a foreign concept to her still, despite the years she had spent working alongside other humans before her time in the VE. The members of Jester were different though. Focused and driven where the others had been selfish and destructive. Men like Kiption adhered to a strong belief of honor through service, and were fiercely loyal towards their comrades. Mai had never once attempted to bond with any of her squad members, yet the link between herself and the others had become undeniable since her placement in the squad. It was most definitely there...an invisible line that tied her fate to Jester no matter how strongly she opposed the orders that they received from HC.

Mai let out a sigh of resignation as she stepped back from the doorway and span on her heel towards her quarters.  Yes, the chances of success were extremely slim, and yes, the probability of discovery and death were high. But Kiption had been spot on in his advice. Orders were orders. And she’d been the one stupid enough to sign her life away for the promise of a steady paycheck and a chance to refine her military skills. If this ‘Blackheart’ wanted her to play Imperial Remnant she’d play the best damn Remnant possible. Disgruntled or no she was more than determined not to shame herself.

Dark leather jacket, cheap sunglasses, standard issue boots, and slacks that looked as if they had seen better days were the only thing Giovanni brought back with him to the base on Tadath. Aside from his hands which had just had their bandages removed revealing telltale scars and scrapes there was nothing that gave away who he was or what he was here for. The stalwart veteran had decided to forego the squad briefing, but only because he had been briefed earlier by Angel. His reluctance at returning to the Army was quickly dissolved when he realized that to come back would mean working with his former assistant squad leader. At most, it would become another story for him to tell over drinks at a seedy cantina. At the very least, he would get to serve alongside a good friend once again.

    Foregoing the briefing allowed Giovanni to head to the craft that would take them to Corellia a good 15 minutes before everyone else. Since there were to be no personal items taken on the mission, he didn’t need to pack. It was a miracle he had even showered at all. He felt a tinge of nostalgia walking around the clean, cold corridors of the base. Had it really been that long since he set foot on his home away from home?

    He entered the small craft and noticed that the pilot was running diagnostics. He almost jumped out of his seat when the haggard looking man hovered over and began to observe him. He muttered some expletive-laden response about not sneaking up on him and went back to his instrument panel. Chuckling to himself, Giovanni headed back through the commons and to the tail end of the ship where a nice comfy seat in a dark and secluded corner awaited him. He closed his eyes to give them rest and when he opened them again it was just in time to see Jester squad pile in. The smell of cigarette smoke and bootstrap leather was a telltale sign.

    Soldiers whose names he had not yet learned talked and laughed and took their seats without so much as taking a look over to the dark corner of the ship. They leaned their seats back, strapped themselves in and prepared for the ride ahead of them. Maybe they were trying to get a few last words in before having to completely abandon their previous identities and become nameless civilians in the bustling core world that was Corellia. Nevertheless, Giovanni had gotten little rest on his ride over to Tadath, and there was no indication that he would fare better on the way to Corellia. Leaning his seat back, he took one last look around the passenger bay when he saw him. Jeg.

    As if touched by some invisible force, Jegora turned around and faced Giovanni. The two looked at each other, almost incredulously. While Jegora had no doubt been alerted that his former squad mate was joining Jester on their mission of utmost importance, there may have been doubts. After all, it had been some time since Giovanni left the Army to pursue other interests within the Vast Empire.

    Giovanni gave Jeg a nod, which he returned before continuing to look after the squad. Gio returned to leaning his seat back and making himself comfortable. There would be time for formalities on the long trip over.

People, millions of them, filled the walk ways and corridors of the massive station. The idea of being crammed into what was little more then a floating coffin made Jager uneasy. He wasn't accustom to it, for once he found himself longing to be back home or at least somewhere were he could see sky. It was amazing how reassuring the little things were when a person suddenly found themselves without them.

Claustrophobic or not, he had a job to do. Lighting up another cigarette, he pressed into the current of bodies that ebbed and flowed through the stations main causeways. The crowd reminded him of back home. Species from across the known galaxy busied themselves with their day to day activities, window shopped or simply loitering. However they did not distract him from his current position. Every so often he would pass a CorSec patrol which pressed home the ever present threat posed by those around him.

Jager experience's with Corellian's had stained his opinion of them as a people, mostly because all he ever seemed to come across were smugglers and lowlifes... and Jeg of course. Experience had taught him that they were a stubborn bunch, who had a tendency not to take any guff from anyone. Jager planned on keeping his nose as clean as possible for this little excursion, he was on the job after all.

The signs did an admirable job at guiding him to his destination. 'Hab-Alpha-313', which he guessed was Corellian for apartments. Jegora hadn't even given him a name let alone a description of their contact from Intelligence. If they were on the ball, chances were they already knew of the Jester's presence. Knowledge was power and Imperial Intelligence operatives horded it like there it was going out of fashion. For all he knew it was a trap, the operatives could have been compromised by the stations security force and under a prolonged interrogation alerted them to the presence of his squad. Hell, for all he knew this entire thing could have been an elaborate ruse by an enemy with far to much free time on their hands. Though something told him that probably wasn't the case. After all, it was paranoia's job to sell lies.

And if it weren't for the tail Jager had picked up just after he left the others, then perhaps he would have laughed such ideas off.

He chose not to act. To many witnesses, to many armed security officers. Instead it was time for a game of cat and mouse. Skipping a step, Jager pulled a one-eighty and ducked into a slow moving mob of civilians. His tail passed by him, granting him but a glance of the man. Short, bald and stick-like. Jager watched as the kid searched around for his mark before he too vanished into the swarm of pedestrian traffic.

There were a few ways he could interpret  such an event. One, the kid was a CorSec officer, which meant that they had been informed of the operation and it would be in his and the rest of Jester's best interests to get aboard the next shuttle and never come back, alternatively he could have been working for Imperial Intelligence, but the idea of stopping and asking the boy which side he was working for seemed a little suicidal.

Jager kept with the crowds, stopping on occasion to make sure he was clean before pressing on towards 'had-alpha-313'. Fifteen minutes and a short turbo-life ride later he arrived. 'Hab-alpha' was one of the more prestigious habitat nests on the station. It was similar to a hive, floors of apartments overlooked a large garden square with an extravagantly large fountain adorning the center.

The numbering system was simple. '3' referred to the floor, '1' the side, which was to his left upon entering the habitat, and the last '3' indicating it was third from the left.

With a casual swagger he made his way towards it. Soft, calming music was fed through the habitats audio system and an unnervingly pleasant smell filled the air. The lack of natural ambiance had Jager on edge. Everything was constructed to give the feel of the outdoors but it didn't take much to see it for what it really was, artificial. Taking another cigarette from his pocket, he took a deep breath and continued. The only reassuring thing was the lack of security, which he had first interpreted as a bad omen. It was an old trick, making ones prey feel at ease before striking, but after a while he managed to convince himself it wasn't the case.

'313' marked the door in block numbers. Cautiously he tapped the door bell and stepped aside of the camera, why he didn't really know but it made him feel a little safer. After a prolonged silence a voice chimed from a small speaker atop the bell.

"Goodday to you, sir. May I inquire as to the purpose of this visit?"

It was a droid. He hated droids...

At first Jager said nothing, instead raked his memory for any mention of a password or some form of greeting that confirmed his identity. To his knowledge there wasn't one, but he wasn't about to take a chance then get mistaken for a CorSec officer.

Droids were known for their patients, but something told him this droids was wearing thin.

"Uhh, Sis. You in there? I've got some bad news about your cat, Chimaera." He replied, not expecting a response.

The door parted.

At first he simply stood there and stared vacantly. The notion that he was walking into a trap was still alive and well.

"Are you coming inside, sir?" the intercom queried in what felt like a sarcastic tone, though he knew it wasn't. It was time to cut his loses, trap or not there was little purpose in standing around and waiting for CorSec to come out and grab him. Grinding his cigarette into the floor-plating he took a step in. The room's plush red carpeting, soft lighting and the distinct smell of lavender gave the small apartment a very cosy feel to it, almost the point of maddening the Sergeant. He couldn't decide whether to dive out of the room and make for the starport or take his shoes off and search the liquor cabinet that stood across the room.

The door slide shut behind him and locked with a hiss followed by all the lights, save the one above him, turning off. It was a trap, but there was no point in running or attempting to run, exercises in futility had never appealed to Jager.

"Turn around slowly, then place your hands against the wall." A voice from the darkness requested. Maybe he could talk his way out of this, claim ignorance and avoid any serious interrogation. "Now, please" the voice chimed in again. With his hands against the wall, it wasnt long before he felt a set of hands patting him down and going through his pockets. By the sounds of things there were two people behind him, but as he turned to look the voice made it clear that taking a peak wouldn't be in his best interests.

After a while the hands stopped their search, producing little more then a half-full packet of cigarettes and a lighter.

"Its funny" the voice began, "They said you'd be taller." It was a female, human at best guess. Jager kept quiet, a trait he had been working on lately. The voice was calm at the moment but with a little antagonizing that could change.

"Its okay to turn around now, Jegora."

Jager kept quiet and turned, keeping his arms at chest height, to face the voice. She stood at around six foot, dark brown hair that went well with her hazel eyes.

"Hmm, is that scarring recent? Your profile doesn't mention it anywhere." She queried, taking a few steps closer. Jager's eyes skimmed along her more prominent features, namely those that were complemented by a form fitting bodyglove that was topped by a short jacket. She came to a halt a few paces from him, her eyes too where traversing the length and breadth of his person.

"You're not Jegora, are you" she sighed, 

Jager smirked, "Hun, I can't see how you're disappointed when you've got one better then Ol' man Fal."

"And one better then Jegora Fal would be?"

"Sergeant Jager Luth." He stated, with an subtle, yet still sarcastic bow "Empires finest" His host seemed to take the bow in poor taste and pursed her lips with disdain.

"Marisa Kelai, Intelligence." she stated before turning to a familiar looking face that sat on a couch, "You said it was Fal."

His tail from earlier sat on a couch across the room, raising his arms in defense. "Hey, I just assume-"

"Assuming is what will get you killed." she hissed back. A women after his own heart, Jager mused, now much more relaxed knowing that his death had been averted for the moment.

"Just cant find good help these days, eh." he quipped aloud to himself, shifting on his heels as his eyes ran across the apartment. It was the first Empire provided safe house he had been in that didn't have a rodent infestation or smell like warm urine. Maybe they only gave him the cheap ones.

"Kel, make yourself useful and collect the equipment." Marisa ordered before turning back to Jager, "Mr. Luth, perhaps it was time we got back to the task at hand." she began, motioning towards the door, "If you would take us back to your squad then we could commence this operation as quickly as possible. You're prolonged presence here will no doubt draw suspicion from the locals." He'd never been told to get a move on and get out so eloquently before.

"Cant argue with that kind of logic" he retorted as he moved towards the door, "I'm sure the kids'll be happy to meet you to."

The thumping beats that bellowed from the clubs PA system could be felt from almost a block away. The hands of the clock had just ticked over the twenty fifth hour, ushering in a new day on Cardia. The city itself never slept. Lights that dotted on the hulls of frieghters and transports filled the sky, more numerous then all the stars combined. But for some, sleep was a necessity.

Lahthan Holt strode out of the doors of 'Rancid', the pulsating bassline escaping from the open door and flooding the street whilst it had the chance. He had barely set foot on the pavement before a voice called for him to return,

"Holt, you pussy. Come on man, we've barely got started."

Holt ignored the devil on his shoulder. The academy came first, and he wasn't about to blow all those months of hard work with a little over indulgence. His friend groaned with a disappointing frustration before continuing his pleading.

"You may never get this chance again. Life's gonna be different when you leave the academy."

His step halted, "Yeah. It'll be better." he retorted, giving a feint wave before continuing on. He had been waiting for this day for longer then he'd ever cared to remember. The academy, the corps, action and adventure. There couldn't be a better line of work, and if there was he didn't want to hear about it. For once in his life he felt as though he had a purpose and that he was on the verge of achieving something finally worth while. But sometimes the past wont let go.

"Hoooolltt" Dellar Owairan, his life long friend, called as he tailed him. If there was one thing he didnt want to leave behind, it was Dellar. Friends like him only come but once in a life time. Sure, the man was brash and he was doomed to spend the rest of his life as a free spirited rouge, but he was still a solid friend. But times change, and if Holt ever wanted to move on as a person Dellar would have to go.

After another string of calls Holt let his friend catch up. They had talked about this in length and Dellar, for the most part, seemed supportive. Somehow Holt doubted if his friend understood exactly what joining the Corps would entail, and only on the eve of depature had his mind begun to process things.

Dellar was like that. Living for the moment, never looking more then a day ahead of him. Holt had always been jealous of this trait. He always worried in his idle time. He worried for his mother and family, he worried about the future, he worried about the little things. Well, not so much worried, but at least mulled them over in his head. Some would say that his worrying made him better prepared to deal with lifes problems. To an extent that was true, but there was such a thing as over preparation.

"Holt, you son of a bitch." Dellar barked as his patients finally gave way, "Can we at least stop and have a word?"

Lahthan pivoted on his heel and faced his long time friend. The poorly lit street did an admirable job at hiding the mans true feelings. What Lahthan had first guessed as sorrow quickly turned to rage as Dellar shoved him.

"You're a real asshole, do you know that?"

"No" Holt shot back with an air of sarcasm, "I didnt, but I'd like to know how you got that idea."

Dellar threw a hand up in the air, "Mr. Ohh, I'm gonna go and leave a friend to trawl a club alone. Come on, Holt, just because you're leaving tomorrow doesn't mean you have to be an asshole today."

Lahthan checked his watch, "Actually, I can get away with it because I'm leaving today." he announced, showing his watch to the man. Dellar rubbed his temple in frustration, Lahthan had a tendency to be a little literal and it annoyed him to no-end.

"I didnt mean... Listen. When you're gone, who'am I gonna pal around with, huh?"

"Stan and Theelak" Lahthan replied bluntly, causing Dellar to again rub his temple and sigh with frustration,

"No... Those guys have the mental capacity of a wet sponge, and I mean who's gonna be my fall back guy? I thought you took this friendship seriously."

It had never occurred to Lahthan how seriously his friend took their relationship. For the most part, Holt had always envisioned Dellar simply bailing one day or vanishing from existence. He hung around some rough characters, these things simply happen. To an extent it seemed Dellar say this as well, which was why he couldn't seem to deal with his going away.

The pair stood on the street for a while. There was simply nothing to say because neither really wanted to say goodbye. Dellar was the first to break the silence,

"Can... Can I at least walk back with you to the academy gates."

Holt simply nodded in reply. They both could use the time to formulate their goodbyes.

Whilst the sky was teeming with activity the streets were mostly quiet. Outside of the main entertainment precincts most of the shops or businesses were closed, window displays stood a silent vigil over the street, casting looming shadows over their backdrops. The occasional speeder broke up the stillness, its lights piecing the darkness that the street lights missed and the low hum and the whistle of air cutting through the silence.

"What are you gonna do about Jessica?" Dellar queried as they crossed a street. Lahthan didn't reply. He had tried to convince her to sign up with him, she refused, so all he could do was hope she would wait for him... which somehow he doubted. His hectic training schedule had kept them apart and with each visit he had managed to get she seemed more and more distant.

The pair turned down a poorly lit side street. More like an alley really, it being mainly used by pedestrian traffic or delivery vans during the day. Half way down the sound of footsteps echoed towards them from the other end of the narrow street. The pair paid them no heed and continued, though the rhythmic clicking of heels on concrete sent a shiver down Holts neck.

Lahthan shifted his gaze up to give the passing man a friendly, acknowledging nod. But instead the shadow-drentched figure spoke,

"You gents got the time?" His voice was deadpan, and guessing his size was difficult due to the obscure body length jacket he wore.

Dellar shot back with a response, "Time you went and got yourself a watch, buddy." Holt never really understood why Dellar was so aggressive when it came to strangers, though he had always guessed it was an underlying lack of confidence in himself.

"Del, come on. Sorry about that, its a little past one." he corrected before resuming his step. The man didn't move and as Holt went to brush past him a hand caught his shoulder.

"You're name Lahthan Holt?" The man asked, not making eye contact.

"Whats it to you, asshole." Dellar retorted, taking a step forward "Lose the hand." The mans gaze shot across and transfixed itself on Dellar. Holt back up slowly.

"Listen, whoever you are. We don't want any trouble, I'm sure you don't want any... so, we're gonna lea-"

"Answer the question. Are you Lahthan Holt. Yes or no." The man interrupted. Dellar wasnt a man known for brilliant ideas. He could keep his cool under pressure, but he always undertook very drastic and sometimes crazy ideas that any reasonable person would have second thoughts about. With a stern, aggressive step he approached the man.

"Buddy, fuck-off on out of here before someone gets hu-" he ordered, gently shoving the man before he fell silent, gargling slightly, he stumbled backwards.

Holt moved and caught his friend before he fell. Blood. Dellar was in shock, clutching at the knife wound that had perforated his stomach.

"Th-The fucker stabbed me... he stabbed me" Dellar babbled in disbelief. Lahthan couldnt believe it either.

"Yes or no..." Their attacker asked again, his voice growing more steely by the minute. It took Dellar a moment to compose himself before he regained his footing. Their attacker approached, his pace slow and purposeful... he was in no rush.

Dellar lunged.

A second later Dellar Owairan, a man known for his street fighting prowess, was thrown up against the alley wall like a novice. The sicking crack that emanated from his skull as it connected with the wall echoed down the alley.

Dellar was dead.

It was now only Lahthan. He stumbled backwards in disbelief. This wasn't happened, that hadn't just happened... why was this happening. His mysterious attacker began approaching again for the umpteenth time.

"Are you, or are you not Lahthan Holt?" he asked in an errie deadpan.

"Ye-yes... wh-what do you want? Please, I don't have anything" he stammered in fear. All those months of training and had gone out the window the second Owairan's skull was caved against the wall. Fear began to encroach on his psyche like the cold hands of the death itself, taking him in a headlock and slowly crushing him. He stumbled on the raised guttering he fell backwards.

His attacker loomed over him.

"Make peace with yourself..." he suggested as a hand dug into void beneath his coat.

There was no scream... there was no time. The hand emerged gripping an object, the reflection on its surface from a distant light revealed its and his purpose and intent.

The flash sent a errie burst of light across the alley walls, though it brought no side aside from the soft clink of brass casings on pavement.

-----------

The crackled of fire filled the silence as it sang from the innards of a large waste disposal bin. Jager strode casually out of the alley and lit himself a cigarette before digging into his pocket and removed his identification.

"Lahthan Holt, PFC", a picture of the identities new holder giving a face to the name.

Others were handling the information on the hubs. For all intents and purposes he was now, and had always been Lahthan Holt. The the chard husks that smoldered away behind him would take a few weeks to properly identify, even with the proper resources. And when they inevitably stumble upon the bodies identities it would be far too late to do anything about it.

Mai stalked the streets of Carida , her feet barely brushing the pavement as she slid silently amongst the throngs of citizens shuffling along the streets. It felt good to be free of the oppressive atmosphere of the shuttle that had carried Jester into the heart of Thrawn’s Empire. Whilst she was always uncomfortable within confined spaces, the added anxiety over the upcoming mission had made the ride more tedious than usual. She had been unable to sleep despite the length of the journey and the resulting fatigue was an annoying hindrance that she would now have to deal with as she sought to locate her target. Her prey itself was also a significant contributor to her current unease. She had been so caught up in the overwhelming aspects of the dangerous mission that she had never for once considered the fact that her alien appearance would determine the nature of the Imperial identity she would assume for the duration of her stay on the Chimaera. She was a Cathar. And she could not disguise the fact that she bore pointed ears, fur and fangs for more than a few hours at the very most. The academy graduate whose place she would take would need to be a Cathar as well. And despite the rarity of her species beyond the borders of her homeworld, there were Cathar present amongst the ranks of graduates departing from Carida that very day. Two in fact. And one just happened to be a female.

“Just come for one drink.”

The voice drifted in the wind, barely discernible across the dim clatter of music and voices of the bars and nightclubs surrounding the alleyway in which Mai had hidden. She froze immediately, her ears twitching slightly as she focused on the direction of the speaker. She had not yet reached the store singled out by VE intel as a common lurking ground for her target. Apparently Rasi Mhyr had befriended a local merchant family during the course of her military studies.  Under the merchant’s guidance, Rasi’s love for bright fabrics had eventually given way to a deep fascination regarding the art of weaving and dying.  Sources indicated that the Cathar woman was now more interested in seeing out her term of service with Thrawn so she could pursue her preferred career path back on Carida. Mai had immediately disregarded the other provided locations given the immediacy of Rasi’s departure. For someone who would be without the splendor of fashion for an extended period of time it was only logical that she would try to spend as much time as possible amongst the racks of garments which had so easily stolen her heart.

“No. I don’t need one. Let’s go back inside.”

Mai stiffened at the sound of the second voice. It was deeper with a husky quality. And it was female. She sidestepped out of the slow traffic of the alleyway she was currently occupying into an empty side passage that provided a degree of solitude. Keeping her ears flicked towards the voices, she leapt lithely from the duracrete onto a nearby trash canister to afford her a view of the street beyond.  A series of well maintained shop frontages greeted her, their windows displaying an array of vivid dresses and suits to potential customers. The street itself was deserted save two figures standing outside a store to the left of Mai’s position. Whilst the store’s interior was dark, light shone from a small window to the rear of the building suggesting someone was at home in the office at the rear.

“It’s your last night,” One of the shadowed figures was visibly appealing to their companion, “I won’t see you for months. Possibly even years. And you’ve spent all afternoon with my father poring over those patterns. It’d do you good to relax.”

“I don’t want to relax,” The husky voiced figure retorted, “I want to go back into the workshop.”

“Damnit Rasi,” The owner of the other voice shifted slightly, the shadows lifting enough from his face for Mai to identify him as a human male, “It’s just a workshop.”

Mai felt her heart begin to pound as the other figure turned and defiantly stormed towards the light of the workshop behind the store. Whilst features were difficult to define in the darkness the female moved with the lithe gait of one of her kind. The male in the meantime had cast his arms dramatically skywards in the centre of the street, watching his retreating companion with obvious dismay. He remained in place for a moment, seemingly decided whether or not to follow her, before spinning on his heel and walking down the street and away from Mai. She didn’t waste the time to allow him to move around the corner and completely out of sight. He wouldn’t see her anyways. Not in this light. Not when she was on the prowl. She bared her teeth to the night and catapulted herself over the crumbling wall and onto the street beyond. Landing with little more than a soft thud, Mai strode across the open streetscape and into the relative protection offered by the shadow of the store. There she allowed herself a few moments in which to pull in another waft of the air and steady her breathing. She could not botch this job. Not if she wanted to get off Carida alive.

“Kayne?” Rasi’s voice sounded tentatively from the open doorway, “Is that you?”

Mai physically jolted from her position against the wall. She hadn’t made a single sound which would have given her approach away. Her scent may have betrayed her. Or perhaps the change her very body made in the consistency and flow of the air around her. Nonetheless, her original plan would have to go out the window. Derisive action was now required where stealth had failed. Allowing her recently purchased IR-5 blaster to drop down from the folds of her cloak into her right hand, Mai propelled herself through and about the doorway in two long strides. She pulled back on the trigger even before she confirmed the location of her target, driving round after round of repeated fire into the centre of the workshop. The first of her shots sent cloth flying skywards, knocking model dummies backwards and over. An elderly man cried out in terror from next to Rasi, who was clearly visible for the first time at a table in the corner of the workshop. Golden eyes eerily similar to her own locked onto Mai in open terror as she readjusted her aim to encompass the table. The older man died as blaster fire tore open his throat. Rasi took three rounds in the chest as she rose to her chest in an obvious attempt to flee or defend herself. The sudden silence after the ruckus of blaster fire was almost ethereal.

Time was now her enemy. Chances were high that the blaster fire had been noted and reported, and the authorities would soon be on location to investigate. Mai flicked her gaze about the interior of the workshop, searching frantically for an answer. She hadn’t planned on having to use the blaster, and now she would have to ensure that nothing was left to place Rasi at the scene. Her eyes settled on the antique looking heater sitting to the rear of the table which her two victims had been seated at. Unlike the electric heaters employed by the majority of the population, this bore pipes suggesting it ran from a gas source beneath the property. It was not entirely uncommon for collectors of traditional furniture to go to the trouble of installing their own network of pipes just to provide what they argued was a more natural form of heat. And in this case, it would suit her needs perfectly. Mai moved to the heater with single minded purpose, extending her claws from their sheaths and slashing deeply into the buffered exterior of the wiring of the heater. The heater flicked and faltered, sparks shooting from the control panel as the unmistakable odor of gas permeated the air. Mai turned and heaved Rasi’s still twitching body into her arms with a grunt of exertion. Holding the dead Cathar woman close she moved out of the workshop and back into the still deserted street. It would take only a few minutes for enough gas to spread to react with the malfunctioning heater. The resulting explosion would cleanse the crime scene and hopefully take the store with in. In the meantime Mai had to find somewhere to dump Rasi’s body where it would not be found. Not for a few months at least. Not until she'd played her part to perfection.