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[SWAW] Ord Mantell [S6 Trek, Kelb]
Trek,
It's 0600 hours when your communicator goes off. You're on your ship, the Starburn II, which is in orbit around Ord Mantell. Who reached out to you? What were you doing at the time?
A report comes in: "We've got a radar hit that matches the ship description you gave us, Lieutenant. You're needed on the bridge."
Kelb,
It's 0600 hours when you feel someone stirring you from your sleep. You're on the Hawk, destined for Ord Mantell. Who woke you? Where are you?
The voice says, "Wakey-wakey, Kelb... We're about to hit Ord Mantell's atmo."
What do you do?
It's 0600 hours when your communicator goes off. You're on your ship, the Starburn II, which is in orbit around Ord Mantell. Who reached out to you? What were you doing at the time?
A report comes in: "We've got a radar hit that matches the ship description you gave us, Lieutenant. You're needed on the bridge."
Kelb,
It's 0600 hours when you feel someone stirring you from your sleep. You're on the Hawk, destined for Ord Mantell. Who woke you? Where are you?
The voice says, "Wakey-wakey, Kelb... We're about to hit Ord Mantell's atmo."
What do you do?
Comments
My eyes flutter open and I look over at Squall. Good to see her chipper again. I spent the night in her quarters last night. We're out of booze and well, that one pill is way gone. "You're lucky..." I say as I roll up to lay on my side, yanking the cover off her. "You don't have to worry about the mop of hair I have when you wake up." I smack her on her cute little perky rump, then pull myself out of bed, head for the showers. She can join me or not, her choice.
When I come out, I wrap myself in my towel and head for the captain's quarters so I can get dressed in my armor. I just detailed it. Jazz picked the new color, a matte black. It's ugly as all get-out, but I'll let him have his fun for a bit.
Speaking of that devil, I need to get Jazz on the horn, have him round everyone up. Squall better be checking on the sensors, this place is tricky, need to know what we're going to run into down there.
Stars, I feel amazing. I'm going to shoot someone in the face today!
I've been staring at this ceiling since 0200. Just sweating my sheets sodden, waiting for my first real operation to begin. I'm warp-lagged, anxious and alone in the dark when Darf's voice rides a wave of static into my quarters. He details the report, but I can hear the smugness there, like that scum-face is waiting for me to slip.
I lash out against the bulkhead and get up, showered and dressed in full uniform. As I'm slipping the black leather gloves over my bruised hands, a chill runs up my spine. It echoes from the snap of the second glove being pulled snug. This uniform was made for me.
My arrival onto the bridge is what Darf gets by way of first response to his comlink message, and I'm sweetly satisfied that he had to wait.
"Details," I snap, before I've even crossed the threshold.
(Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 6, 6. Total: 14)
Squall gives you a playful frown when you say she's lucky for not having hair, and shifts to get out of bed. She's naked, and a little hung-over. She slips into some clothes and doesn't say much as you head out to shower. She doesn't join you. Instead she starts firing up her workstation, and getting sensor reports... Say what you will about her — she's got a morning routine, and she sticks to it.
Jazz rounds everyone up and gets them into the lounge. By the time you emerge, they've been waiting a minute or two. Jazz looks over to you, his arms casually crossed as he leans against the wall, "what's up Kelb?"
Trek,
Darf looks disappointed as you arrive on the bridge in full uniform — an opportunity missed, you suppose — but your cadets come up to your side and begin reporting. "The ship named the Ebon Hawk entered Ord Mantell space just a few moments ago, with reports from Pikket, they arrived on schedule. We've got telemetry and position ready, and are prepared to intercept on your command."
I give them a nod, "We are coming into Ord Mantell space now. I want everyone frosty. We're hitting a prime target and this means good solid cred. Also, it's work for the Empire. If we get on their freelancer list, we can count on some steady work. I want everyone to check and re-check their gear and stations. Any questions?"
Stars, it feels so right now. How is the rest of the team looking?
I'm giddy from head to toe as I walk down the steps, head high, hands behind my back. My gaze slips by Darf without pausing, heading for the expansive viewport over the heads of my pilots. Ord Mantell is looming, a stationary cesspool off to the edge, and darkness engulfs everything else.
I recite orders crisply, left and right, to my cadets, "Align to intercept, portside, and prepare comlink for transmission with this Ebon Hawk. I'm not worried about aggressive engagement but I want the squadron prep'd. They've slept long enough."
And then there's this pause, like I'm floating in space. Emperor's wrath — this feels right. I look down at my datapad and bring up a file. It reads: "Kelborn Vizsla."
Your cadets report laying in an intercept course, and you watch the Hawk gradually inch closer to you as the engines spool up.
Aside from being wanted for Hutt-related mercenary activity, and being a Mandolorian, the dossier is filled with information that you suspect has been doctored up by the Propaganda department. What is the most unbelievable thing on the entire record?
Kelb,
Before anyone gets a chance to answer, Squall's voice comes over the comm. "Uh, Kelb? We've got incoming portside... It's an Imperial Corvette." Jazz's eyes widen in a mixture of surprise and excitement — the crew looks like they're ready to jump into action at a moment's notice... What do you do?
Hrmph, according to this file our Mandalorian friend has been quite the party animal. She's been charged with thirty cases of deadly assault, twenty-three of espionage, and five attempts to perverse the will of the Emperor. What is really quite amazing is the spread of the charges, all across the Inner Rim, and some dated less than a few days apart when... doing some best-estimate calculations... no warpdrive would be capable of making such a journey.
It's impossible not to chuckle. I suspect somebody, somewhere put a rookie on this file, and now it's total snogwash. As is my duty, I countermand the authenticity of the file and requisition an order for review before turning my attention back to the viewport.
The thrill of doing good work and, eventually, being recognized, excites me. A fair bit of this is rote, simple training, but the rest is my own ingenuity; and every fresh order I give, an order that wasn't covered during my stay in the Academy, concretes the feeling of how right I am for this job. And how, eventually, Imperial High Command will notice.
"Give me an update on the status of the comlink."
Cadet Trisell, a young up and comer in your command, immediately responds, "Hololink is ready, should I ping them Lieutenant?"
I adjust the tip of my hat and smooth down my hair. Trisell gets a flash of my condescending smirk. He's Rodian, an abo of Rodia. "What do you think, cadet?" I don't hold it against him, he didn't choose to look like the rats I'd find in the junked speeders, back on Coruscant. And of course the Empire is welcoming to all who serve. It's just a good idea to remind my crew that I serve highest.
I release Trisell from my withering glare and stand straight, hands behind my back, waiting for him to figure it out.
"Well, well, well, looks like the Imps might've changed their minds." I raise Squall on the comms, "Squally, listen for their call. Let's see what they want."
Back to the team, "We'll play nice, but I will NOT roll over for these guys. Get prepped for boarding, and I want Macks and Jazz by the turrets. Don't power anything on, but warm those babies up. If they want to play hardball, we will make them regret it."
Trisell eagerly opens a comm for you, and before long, he announces, "We have a link, Lieutenant!"
A voice comes over the comm, vaguely feminine. "This is Squall Onondb, comm officer for the freighter ship Ebon Hawk. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?"
Kelborn,
No sooner than you give the order does your team jump into action, preparing for a potential boarding. Where are you going? To the bridge? To Squall's room? Somewhere else?
Hm, pleasure indeed. "Lieutenant Trek Pira Ores of the Imperial Frigate, Starburn II," I crisply reply, with all the authority of my uniform. "We're going to be docking with you, portside, Ebon Hawk — I trust that I don't need to fully articulate the importance of this meeting going peacefully. The Empire does, after all, have a reputation. I'll be expecting Kelborn and no more than two others at the airlock for boarding."
I nod to Trisell to cut the link, and after his response, turn to my other cadet, "I also expect our squad prep'd, at the airlock, two minutes ago."
I was headed to the bridge, but I heard the Lieutenant's orders over the headset in my helmet. "Nill, Pem, you're with me. We'll await the wondrous Lieutenant's arrival."
Trek,
Your squad of troopers, in full battle armor, meets you out by the airlock. The bridge radios down that the airlock is clear and a puff of hydraulic fluid hisses as the door slides open revealing none other than the infamous Kelborn Vizsla, and two of her associates.
You see a large Keshiri male with an assault rifle and patchwork armor — Pemithe "Pem" Navi, by your estimation — and a woman who was surprisingly not in your dossier, but you know all too well — her codename when she worked for the ISS was "Nill", but you know her by her real name... What is it, and how do you know this woman?
Kelb,
The airlock door slides open, and after a hiss of hydraulic fluid decompressing, a line of stormtroopers in double file make their way into the airlock of the Ebon Hawk. At the end of that line is the Lieutenant Trek Pira Ores — whose name you've no doubt heard around the merc bars... What have you heard about him?
I knew her as Commander N. Selv Torug — an instructor of mine during my training at the Imperial Naval Academy; she had also been, among other things, briefly, my lover. Sithspit.
It takes a moment of checking my shoes for scuff marks before I've regained my composure. I muster an even greeting for the Mandalorian and add to it, "You've no doubt a buzz of questions whirring through your head. Please, hold them. I've a room prepared for briefing."
What is she doing here? I cannot fail. I will not fail. If this is a test, I will surpass it.
So this is Lieutenant Trek Pira Ores. He's much more handsome than the mercs say. They say he's a rising star in the Navy, that he employs non-humans, hiring based on competence rather than boot-licking skill. This makes him dangerous.
I like dangerous.
I nod in deference, a quick one. Just respectful enough. My matte black Mandalorian battle armor is impressive enough to speak for my competence and I think I look dangerous, too. "Lead on, Lieutenant."
Does he let us keep our weapons? I mean, the obvious ones. I wonder if those troopers will snatch them away from us.
Think I should take a "read", or observe him while we board his ship.
Observing Trek:
(Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 4, 4. Total: 10)
Kelborn's looking me up and down, like I'm a Tailhead dancer. I'm used to this, but not by somebody so... real. The scorched armor. The scars. The intimidatingly large dossier. She can keep her weapons, but I'll give her pause before using them.
I take a step back and gesture ahead. My squad turns on its heels and begins to march. We organized this before hand, of course, to give a little show of the Imperial machine in action. The escort of two-dozen men. The sudden percussion of boots.
So I'm standing on the other side of my wall of armored personal as she walks past, looking past the helmets — assuming she begins walking at all. And I figure, if she's going to look at me like meat, let's see what she's got to offer.
Observing Kelborn:
(Rolled: 2d6+1+1. Rolls: 5, 4. Total: 10)
I follow the Lieutenant's lead. I have to admit, this attention is flattering. The troopers are a nice touch, it takes me back to a simpler time. When spit polish and marching form was important. When it mattered.
These guys are well trained. This is a tight outfit. I admire that he can offer positions to non-humans and keep order in tact. That takes smarts.
I think we're in trouble.
So tell me a little about the way you have your ship set up. Where are you bringing Kelborn?
Kelb,
Have you ever been in Imperial custody before?
Yeah, I've been arrested and detained. Working for Fourteen was rough whenever Imps were around, they liked to give him grief. By extension, they would give it to me, too. Spillover.
Never been detained for more than a week, though. That one time on Duro, I was in for a week, that was waiting on Jazz to bail me out, since Fourteen and Onush were in with me. That was the longest, most boring week of my life. Guess what they charged us with. Flying a false flag, aka poor FFID tags.
The blueprints for Starburn I feature a retro-fitted hull, with additional quarters above and below those originally detailed, and likewise adjacent common rooms. This allowed, on the original Starburn, might I repeat, a significant amount of extra space for personal. 50 men, give or take.
Frankly, it was unnecessary. I decided to take a reduced crew, hire undesirables with seemingly impeccable qualifications, and reallocate any spare funding to modifications.
The additional upper level became squad quarters, with armory. The additional lower level became, well, my pride and joy. It's a gathering area, an auditorium, for mission briefings and speeches; there's one space, with several holo-tables at its center, and a raised platform for me to stand on at the back.
It's here that I bring Kelborn.
Trek,
How many squad members do you keep on you as your personal retinue? Also, you've brought in Kelborn for discussions, but do you know why your superiors want her playing ball?
Kelb,
Well, it doesn't look like you're being detained, not just yet anyway... Thankfully. That, and Jaina's ship FFIDs were 110% legit, so they couldn't nail you there. She even had you listed as second-in-command on the ship manifest. Did you know that?
Once you're down in the assembly area, what happens?
No... I didn't realize she listed me as second-in-command.
Hrm... that feels weird. Tightness in my throat when I saw that.
Just keep going, Kelborn! Buy off her ship, then give it to her so she can be free and safe. Then she won't need to be involved with this kind of work.
I figure this guy likes some pomp and circumstance, so I go ahead and give him a good military stance. I see Nill and Pem falling in line, too. We may be scruffy, but we know what's what.
"Alright, Lieutenant, I've marched to the beat of your drums. What did you want to see me about?" I ask while looking him in the eye. Is he up on that platform?
I trust each member of my squad equally with my life, and none with my confidence. Like all things, they're tools, and right now, in this room, I only need four of them.
If only I knew why they wanted her, or even this. My superiors respectfully declined to elaborate on the full details of this opperation. And given the bantha drek that was Kelborn's 'official' report, I've got no guesses in my glass.
I pull out one of my code cylinders from my front pocket and swipe it along the activation panel, built into the side of the podium. This was the second, and last, of my two orders:
• Intercept the Ebon Hawk.
• With Kelborn present, activate the holo-table using encrypted codes.
"We'll both find out in a moment," I reply crisply. Kelborn's given in to the formality like I wasn't expecting, and were it not for Commander (or is that ex-Commander?) Torug's presence, this might have been enjoyable. Instead, I'm feeling a touch of dread.
He's an errand boy? How disappointing.
I guess whoever is really pulling the strings will come on shortly. I keep my expression neutral, but I have to say I was hoping the Lieutenant was holding the briefing. I'm sure his commanding officer isn't nearly as handsome, or interesting.
"Miss Vizsla," the hologram begins, "I assume you quite curious why it is I've arranged for you to be picked up in here in Ord Mantell by Lieutenant Ores, and I do not intend to waste your time with formalities... I am a busy man, and you are both here because I need specific skills from both of you. In a word, the reason you are here is: Baltan."
He pauses a moment, and stands at ease, "In the event you haven't heard by now, the black-market criminal Baltan has been exposed for crimes against the Mandalorian Duchess. If you have not, the details of this revelation are not important. What is important is that I do not want the Mando'ade to collect him. I would like him, and his inner circle, terminated."
The holovid skips a second before continuing, and there's some chatter in the back of the room. "Lieutenant Ores is being tasked with the explicit duty of ensuring these criminals are found and brought to justice; but I believe your extensive experience in the field, and knowledge of Baltan as a former solider, as well as your current status with the Mando'ade place you in a rather unique situation to both be trusted, and find him. He has been cleared to assist you in whatever way possible, and provide a bounty on each head collected. Included are files on each bounty, as well as a small sum of credits that you may consider a "signing bonus" should you choose to accept the job. I have taken the liberty of obtaining the location of your first target: Frik Quaoor, an Abyssin man wanted for the assassination of Imperial Baron Ip'Kretch."
He smiles a greasy smile, and adds, "you'll see, Miss Vizsla that the Empire can be reasonable with you mercenary types. Consider any information you are given on the subject of Baltan to be strictly confidential, and we shall get along just fine."
The holovid ends, and the lights in the room come back up.
I absentmindedly chew on the inside of my cheek when he mentions Baltan. That's not good. He rose too fast, ticked off the wrong people, and now he's a dead man.
Well, I owe it to him to make it a worthy death.
I drop to stand at ease, and look back at Lieutenant Ores. I wait for him to speak, as is his right. It's his ship.
I realize I've let my control of the situation slip too late, as Kelborn's posture slumps under the dimming lights, and then emerges from the dark when the holovid clicks to an end. Commander Torug has usurped my authority (well, this Commander at least) by holding back vital information — blast it, he held back all the information.
It's with a tight smile that I try to wrestle a more suiting position of power, "Well said, and better than I could have. Now that Commander... ah, Torug" — does anybody notice my eyes slip to Nill briefly? — "has briefed you on the situation, I imagine your questions have mostly dried up. Shall we clear up any that linger before I start on the particulars of this segment of operation Nuhunar Tal?"
The bantha fodder rolls easily from my lips. I'm rapidly creating the particulars now, behind my blank expression, hoping Kelborn will fill the time with inane and pointless chatter, though she doesn't seem the type. Even the operation's name, Mandalorian for 'Laughing Blood,' is an old reference to a fighting style, taught to me at the Imperial Academy.
Better than he could have stated it? Odd thing for an officer to say.
Spending one of three hold:
What are you really feeling, Trek Ores?
Nuhunar Tal? How did he know Baltan is a master of that style? That was unit training intel. Odd.
"I had a feeling Baltan would wear out his welcome soon back home. Go ahead and give me the intel on this Abyssin." I state it plain, not with relish. I am interested in the signing bonus, so I add, "I also need to see about contracts for my team. Lastly, am I to assume that the high priority target on Ord Mantell doesn't exist?"
Naked. I feel like I'm covered in dirt and grease, wriggling under the bottom of a junked speeder, kicking my little feet at a strong hand as it clamps down and... this day is going poorly for me. I want to control it, feel like I deserve to feel: Imperial.
I'm still standing there behind the podium, spine stiff and proper. My eyes catch Kelborn's for a moment and she's looking at me like... meat, again. She's taking the measure of me. It's with licked lips that I look away, down, as I start swiping through my datapad.
"You can assume nothing, Kelborn Vizsla. The Abyssin, is on Ord Mantell." I correct the Mandalorian sharply, with a touch of condescension to hide my own insecurities. It might not fool anybody, but I feel better for it. "We'll be taking the Ebon Hawk down to the planet's surface, since I don't have time to fabricate FFIDs for my Starburn and any wiff of Imperial will send the mark running. How many extra men will the Ebon Hawk carry?"
I look up from my datapad and raise an eyebrow.
Spending one of three hold:
How could I get Kelborn to become compliant under my authority?
I consider lying about how many we can hold. But I discard it, since it would be obvious once he comes on board. "We only have secure seating for a dozen, counting what my folks use. If you disregard safety protocols, I can squeeze in a platoon*"
I start heading on, he seems to be in a hurry. "Shall we go now, Lieutenant Ores?" With a grin, I add, "No reason to sit around and kill time... right?"
* - assuming a platoon is 25 or so
Most important - pay her. She's in it for the creds. Secondly, don't worry about doing things by the book, just get results.
I motion to two of my troops near the door, and then the door itself, "I'll meet you on the Ebon Hawk with my squad shortly. I'll see you're escorted. Oh, and remember, transfer of the 'signing bonus' funds might be somewhat delayed due to Imperial authentication. You know, bureaucracy. I'd expect it sometime after our operation Nuhunar Tal is complete, were I you." I'm playing all these power games, some taught by the Academy, others taught by Commander Torug herself. Who is yet to look at me, like I've the face of a fucking BANTHA...
Keep it together, Trek. I wipe my nose between two fingers and stare down at my datapad. I've read it all, there's nothing new to gleam, but I'm done showing my cracks to these three outsiders.
When they've gone, I plan on: showering, raging against a bulkhead, dressing in civilian clothes, and... seeking Shai'n's advice. The last strikes me out of nowhere. She's always so accepting, and reasonable, I suppose. For a Tailhead.
He wants to keep the hook in me, it seems. I wonder if he has a long-term plan in mind. Most good Imps do, back-stabbing louts that they are. I wonder...
Spending second of three hold:
What do you wish I'd do, Lt. Ores?"
"Yes, bureaucracy, of course." I reply coolly. I am not going to let him string me along without some kind of promise of making it worth the wait. "Do you have future targets located, or will we be extracting intel from the target before termination?"
Hm. Extraction. It's a word with subtext, and that subtext gives me tingles - sharp objects, cauterization, dark rooms.
My strong, beautiful Kelborn is hanging from chains, kicking at me, and I'm wiping spit from my eyes and wailing on her. Just fight back. It's no fun when it's easy, when they break. "Yeah, take it, little baby. You're good for nothing. You'll never be good for anything. You're the reason she died." And then I'd bring out the knives...
I try to hide my excitement at the prospect of interrogation, and reply, as if this was just another boring particular, "Yes, future segments of this operation will hinge on the intel we can gather. According to my data, Baltan's inner circle is a surprisingly well-kept secret; surprising given the types we're dealing with."
The boredom continues in my voice as I ask, still swiping needlessly through files I've already read, "I don't suppose that'll be an issue?"
Spending second of three hold:
What's Kelborn really feeling?
I can't keep my eyes from widening slightly when I get that flash of pure... deviltry from Lt. Ores. He is looking forward to this intel extraction, I think. I wonder who wronged him? Curious. Not that I'll get a chance to swap some drinks with him and find out.
I don't want to end up hanging from his chains.
"No issues. All part of the job." The job. I glance over at Nill, I wonder what she's getting from this guy, she seems pretty edgy right now.
Kelborn is anxious. She's eager to get into this mission, jump into action. If she isn't pursuing pleasure with a partner or through some kind of intoxicant, the only thing that makes her feel good is being on a mission. She craves a firefight, when lives are on the line, when she could die at any moment. She feels incredibly clear then. No fussy day-to-day moments, no long-term commitments or responsibilities, just now. See enemy, shoot enemy.
It's impossible to ignore that Kelborn's moved for the door several times, and mentioned initiating the on-planet portion of the operation another few. She's eager for both creds and action. Well, I'm actually rather anticipating one of those myself.
"Excellent." And now I look up from the datapad, because I've things to do, and this briefing will be coming to a close. To ensure it, I remind my Mandalorian tool, "I'll meet you aboard the Ebon Hawk. 0800."
There's a brief moment where I catch a shared look between Nill and Kelborn. What have they shared? What is their relationship?
Spending last of three hold:
What does Kelborn intend to do about Nill?
Nill isn't paying attention to him. She's been casually eyeing the place, the guards, you. Very rarely him though, and definitely not when he's looking — well, until he draws the briefing to a close... Then she looks at him, casually pushes off the wall, and comes over to you.
"We should talk," she whispers, as she turns to head for the door.
Trek,
For the first time since she's been here, you catch Nill looking at you out of the corner of her eye. It's deliberate. Cold. She stands and walks over to Kelborn, pats her on the arm, and nods for the door. She whispers something in her ear, then casually makes for the exit.
"Sounds like a plan, Lieutenant." I reply curtly. Nill comes over as we start to exit.
I give Lieutenant Ores a crisp salute, and meet his eyes again.
Spending last hold:
Are you telling the truth about this op being a hunt, Trek? Is this job what you've told me so far?
Then, we're walking out, no hesitation. I need to get my team detailed, and get Squall on the scans.
And talk to Nill.
The Empire reaches far out, into the Outer Rim, with tentacles wide enough, and thick enough, to suffocate planets. We have agents everywhere. And I'm so proud of this; it can be seen in my polished insignia of rank, over my heart, and the lack of creases in my uniform. It's in my perfectly oiled hair and white, toothy smile. Would we bring in an outsider for a simple, routine hunt? No. Never. I'm keeping back something, something in the encrypted datapad, and it's something I don't want Kelborn to know until I've pointed her in the right direction and pulled the trigger...
Bugslut. Nill ended it, not me. She picked me out of the herd, tutored me, pulled down my defenses and molded me into an Officer — then left when I needed her most, never to contact me again. I've done everything for myself since then, and I don't owe her a thing.
I'm waiting for Kelborn and her people to exit my ship, so I've got some room to breath, and then I'm getting everything in place for my absence. Again, that's: shower, civilian clothes, speak with Shai'n.
Go here please.
Kelb,
Go here please.