Namyr was up early, as usual, she had already completed her morning routine of melee training, taken a shower, eaten breakfast and was now standing on the balcony filled with various plants watching the sunrise. Even though she had broke things off with Riq, the habit of watching the sun rise and set still hadn't been worked out of her routine, not that she wanted to stop. There was something about starting and completing the day by watching the sun. Dressed in a black robe and sipping on a mug of coffee, Namyr casually leaned against the railing until all the color had left the sky leaving the sun to drift through the sky throughout the day. She headed back into her apartment, smaller then the one she had shared with Riq, and without a cleaning droid, but it was clean, big enough for one person, and had a lovely view.

She picked up her compad, reading the message from Riq's secretary...or were they called assistants now, she could never keep up with the new names they wanted to be called. Either way there was an ARC meeting being put together. After changing into her uniform, grabbing a bagged lunch, and oddly enough grabbing a second one. She jumped on the bus heading to the intelligence building downtown. She froze as the bus stopped at the main VE building and a short man, in need of a shave and probably a shower climbed onboard. Namyr glanced around, her cheeks turning red, figures that she'd have the only free seat on the bus.

"You look like shit," she said as Riqimo sat down and instantly closed his eyes, "And smell like cheap liquor."

"Namyr, I just want to get to the meeting without you nagging me, I have a pounding headache, so give me a break," Riqimo murmured.

Namyr sighed leaning back in the seat, closing her own eyes before opening them again as the bus stopped at their stop, "Here, you need to eat something, ale doesn't count it's giving you a gut," she said sounding almost motherly shoving the lunch into Riqimo's arms before walking off the bus and into the building. Checking her watch she noted she had enough time to catch a cup of coffee at the cafeteria before the meeting and headed in that direction.  Goddess, she had thought she had looked bad after breaking up with him, but Riq had looked bad, really bad, and she had felt like he was sick or something.  He just didn't seem right, he wasn't her Riq, the bright and cheerful man who seemed to love his job and have boundless energy.  Who occasionally went through depression only to spring out of it at three in the morning and want to share it with her.  Namyr's fingers wrapped around the cup of coffee and she leaned against a wall.  She didn't like seeing him this way, it made her heart ache.

Riqimo rocked back on his chair, keeping his balance with his knees under the table’s edge, “Well it’s wonderful to meet up again, this time with a new face,” he nodded towards Squall, “This is our latest addition, replacing Marka when he declared himself out of our future operations for personal reasons.”

Running his hand through his slightly greasy hair, he made note to get a shower before leaving planet, “Like our usual ARC socials, we get a nice little dash of danger mixed with some screaming, maniacal laughing, wet pants, and a satisfying kaboom, at least that seems to be the pattern so far, and I don’t expect this one to be any different.”

The Team lead shrugged off dry humor and let all four legs of his chair back on the ground as he leaned forward over the files he had picked up earlier, “Basically what we have here is a... shall we say hijacking?”

“Aren’t hijackings best left to the police forces?” Tanus questioned.

“Oh, no,” Riqimo chuckled, “We are the ones doing the hijacking.”  Seeing a slightly disturbing grin growing on Arnaut’s face, Riqimo shifted his eyes off to the side, skipping over Namyr and focusing on the new trooper, Squall who appeared to be the only serious one in the room right now.

“Essentially,” he continued, “The New Republic has begun employing their captured Star Destroyers in their own fleets.  The Vast Empire would love to add another one to their collection essentially, and taking one from the NR is an added plus, cheaper too.”

“Wait...” Namyr interrupted, forcing Riq to look at her, “Five of us... hijacking a whole capitol ship?”

“Well, we have one more technically.  I’ll introduce you to him later when we are onboard the ISD Dominion for a little orienteering course, learn the systems of a Star Destroyer so we can better take it over and navigate.  Mind you the Dominion is slightly... smaller than our target, the Adamant renamed from its Imperial name, the Valiance.  The ship, from our understanding, is modified from the normal specs of a Star Destroyer heavily, now serving primarily as a communications ship.”

“Taking this ship will perform several objectives, firstly it puts another Star Destroyer into our fleet.  Secondly, it will damage NR fleet, which leads to the third of being a communications ship, and thus damage their communications relays.  Lastly, we will gain innumerable comm frequencies and codes stored within the ship itself.  Essentially we can convert this ship into our own communications and monitor NR frequencies.”

All of the ARCs were nodding along seriously, save Arn who was slightly giddy at the possibility of playing admiral.  “Anywho, as you have probably guessed, we don’t have much selection in equipment.  Our primary disguise will be either as NR Marines onboard the ship, or as comm officers or techs.  For now, I want you to read over what I have here when you get the chance, but before we land within the hangar of the ISD Dominion...”

What Riqimo had slid down the briefing table to each of them, all loaded onto innocuous, matte-black datachips, was the backbone of the operation.  Schematics of the security systems of a Star Destroyer, including most likely NR modifications.  Up-to-date dynamic star maps of the regions for the next month.  Important names of the command officers on the ship in question as well as any other essential info that intel could gather.

“At the very least, be familiar with the basics of a Star Destroyer, we’ll get a nice lecture on board from a Naval Intel Officer.  After about a day or two of this, we’ll have a day to work out tactics, then go to our target and do a little hijacking.”

“Any other questions?” Riqimo pushed his seat back and started to rise so that he was only slightly taller than the seated troopers he commanded on these dangerous, sometimes (well... often) suicidal, tasks.

“None?” he clapped his hands, “Then we get to shuffle off on our own for a while until six hours from now, meet up hangar bay 53c at that time.”

Arnaut laughed. His head was slightly spinning, his breath held the faint aroma of gin. Or was it ale? Yes, that must’ve been it. A nice Corellian ale. Or two. Three. Five. Something like that. His unsteady legs walked him down the hall on their own accord, stopping at places where Arnaut wanted to walk and running at places Arnaut wanted to catch a breathe. In fact his whole body seemed to acting of its own accord. His arms did pinwheels, his mouth opened and shut, his…Arnaut doubled over on the floor and retched violently, and suddenly his body was very much his own.

Standing up and wiping away bits of the blood flecked spittle away from his mouth, Arnaut dumbly stumbled the last few meters through the Wraiths barracks to his bed before flopping down and passing out. His dreams were nightmares, and his sleep didn’t last long. He shot up in his bed, heart racing, his face covered in a thin sheen of sweat, still half-expecting to be torn in half by a space wraith at any moment. Ever since that mission, the creatures had been the most prominent things in his dreams.

He ached all over, and it was hard just to pull himself out of bed. Slowly – painfully – he shuffled over to the small refrigerator in his room. He knocked over three emptied bottles on the way there as well as a shot glass and a small can that were lying in his room. He was a mess. He needed a shave and his head was pounding as if his brain had decided ‘enough was enough’ and was trying to leave. With red-rimmed eyes, he searched through his refrigerator and was dismayed to find only two more Corellian ales and a box of “Storm-O’s, the Stormtrooper colored nutritious O’s!!!” He went with the O’s, as his brain didn’t need any more encouragement. After pouring himself a bowl of the white sugar-coated, dark-black chocolate-chip dotted cereal O’s, he idly switched on the news and promptly fell asleep in his bowl

When he woke a second time, he hurriedly finished his O’s and made a promise not to sleep again while he had a mission to prepare for, a promise he promptly broke while in the shower and again just after finishing shaving. Each time, the six hours disappeared faster and faster until, some thirty minutes before Arnaut was due at the hangar, he was, in fact, still throwing clothes into his kit-bag. Tossing in a few extra shirts just in case, Arnaut took off out of the barracks for the armory.

Twenty-seven. Arnaut arrived at the armory, nearly ripped his armor and weapons off the wall (including his now much-loved flame thrower), and began to hurriedly dress. Twenty-one. Arnaut was off toward the hangar, running as fast as he could in the bulky armor. At least until he discovered his bag was still in the armory. Fifteen. He was out running toward the hangar again, kit-bag in hand this time. Ten. The hangar was in sight! He sprinted forward faster, faster, faster. He was so close. So, so close. So…

He was picking himself off the ground. His nose was bloodied and he’d torn a bit of the seam at his shoulder. His entire, once-pristine armor was covered in dust and dirt, and his head hurt even more. He looked back ruefully at the rock that had tripped him up and grimaced. He had thirty seconds to be in the hangar. Frig.

He got up and flew. Time seemed to slow down as he ran, focusing itself on that one moment at that one time, giving Arnaut the energy to reach the hangar. He could do it. He could do it.

He slid into the hangar at top speed, nearly was crushed by a loading droid, almost ran into a group of waiting soldiers, and finally sidded to a halt in front of Doc and the ARC shuttle. Just Doc and the ARC shuttle. No one else. His chronometer started beeping in the sudden silence, and Arnaut shut it off quickly.

“Need something, Arnaut?” Riqimo asked, looking at Arnaut in his fully-armored, battered state oddly.

“Only to board, sir.” Arnaut replied, snapping off a quick salute.

“Okay…come back in an hour and you can…” Doc replied, still with that odd look.

“But…you said…we could…boarding in…but…but…six hours…” Arnaut spluttered. Doc suddenly broke out in a wide grin.

“It’s only been five hours, Arnaut,” he replied to Arnaut’s lame questions. “And plus, you don’t even have your bag. I wouldn’t be able to let you on anyway.” But Arnaut was already heading out the door, spouting curses, heading toward the spot where he’d left his bag lying in the path. He suddenly very much wished he brought one of his Corellian ales with him.

Fifty meters down the hangar from where Riqimo rested against a few crates of bacta that were shipped in, the Preying Dawn was undergoing preflight maintenance.  She was a smaller vessel than most Imperial shuttles, by the look of her, the ARC tactical advisor had taken out the mothballs and regeared her for Advanced Recon Operation uses.  They Preying Dawn was unique from the numerous shuttles Riqimo had seen in his days of the Corps, looking thin and fragile when sitting next to a commercial freighter that was still unloading bacta from it’s ramp.

A whiff of antique grandeur hung about the Dawn.  Light gleamed cozily from portholes and clustered in colder white and red constellations on the hangar’s roofing above.  Earlier there had been a trickle of figures up the ramp into the shuttle, but now it was still and silent, snow pouring in from outside the hangar opening and swirling until it melted.  Arn had stopped by earlier and left Riq slightly amused, which was short lived when he resume his visual inspection of the Preying Dawn.

Figures through the muffling swirl of white on cold gray to Riq’s right.  Riqimo touched the hilt of his vibroknife through instinct and cranked up his vision.

Ah, it’s the ARCs, on time. Riqimo slid his hand away from the weapon, completely unaware he had even touched it.  Tanus was leading with a slight flex in his stride and a fierce grin on his snow chilled face.  Squall and Namyr were a close distance behind, the latter enjoying the fresh face by poking constant questioning.  Arn was shortly behind those two, listening detachly.  They crossed the hangar and slipped into the small pocket of shelter the crates gave from the snow.  Tanus scrubbed at his face with both hands and shook the melting snow from splayed fingers.  Riq caught a blast of alcohol on Squall’s breath, and a lighter hint on Arn’s as well.

Riqimo glanced over his squad to a willowy man approaching behind them, “You get us a cabin?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, “Of course. Starboard lower are mostly empty, S-thirty-seven through fourty-two are all yours.  Just push.”

Riqimo smiled casually, “For those unaware, we are sneaking ourselves aboard the Dominion as  a slight pre-run.  Nothing much, just learn our way about on our own, crack security doors, and then turn in our cabins for sleep before returning to our studying of the ship, all while remaining basically undetected.  Colnel Griffin here, our Tactical advisor, will be doing similar except in the open.  The Dominion knows we will be on board and thus will not take lethal action against intruders they may discover.  Do expect some mildly unpleasant stuns.”

Riqimo nodded to the shuttle before he remembered one last part, “Oh, and return the favor and leave your grenades and the like in the cabin, we don’t need any court martials.”