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Overcoming Adviercity: A Trooper's Tale


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The personal account of Republic Trooper Vierce Savins. More drama than comedy for this guy. Vierce is the unlikely spawn of a "play the story initially only because I feel vaguely obligated to play all storylines" character and some prompts in the Short Fic Weekly Challenge thread. Well, it turns out that I've gotten to like him, so now he gets his own thread. Trooper spoilers are pervasive in Vierce's story, as it follows the Trooper storyline; he mostly leaves the other classes alone.

 

Much of Vierce's tale has taken shape in the Short Fic Weekly Challenge thread. I will mark crossposts as such. I'll post the previously-established background up to one new passage in this initial rush.

 

Vierce and his cyborg brother Kirsk:

 

http://i1242.photobucket.com/albums/gg522/bright_ephemera/Misc%20SWTOR/Vierce_small.pnghttp://i1242.photobucket.com/albums/gg522/bright_ephemera/Misc%20SWTOR/Kirsk_small.png

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Chapter 1. Meet Elara Dorne

 

Crossposted from the Weekly Challenge Thread.

 

 

The first Imperial I ever saw was, when I saw him, in the process of killing my father.

 

I say "in the process" because he didn't make it fast. He had ion cells to spare, time to kill, stims to keep the entertainment conscious; besides that the "security sweep" of the occupied village was…nah, enough of that. Spend a day in my head and you'll see the whole thing over again anyway, some days more vivid than others.

 

So anyway. That was a long time ago. I grew up, made good, joined the Republic Army, and found myself "leader" of the "elite" "Havoc Squad." I try not to be sarcastic, but in effect I'm replacing a bunch of defectors (to the Empire. The Empire! Who does that!?) to command an angry, recently demoted Cathar. That's Havoc Squad. Him and me. I think they're just that desperate to keep the name active rather than admitting the Empire swiped our best.

 

Jorgan's all right, mind you. He's like my brother only not a scumbag. Well, he's a different kind of scum. It's hard to describe. We can't get six words without picking another fight, but he's good people.

 

Havoc Squad's first priority? Hunting down its old members, of course. And boy, do I have every reason to want to see them stand and account for themselves.

 

My first lead was on Taris. The planetside control center I walked into was busy. Decent variety of people. I couldn't help but notice the bright golden hair of one woman working over a console across the room. It was done up in one of those buns you might call severe, but it looked nice. And when she looked my way…you know how blondes all have gold dust on their eyelashes? I swear I could see it from where I stood.

 

I reported to Colonel Gaff, who was in a snit at Havoc Squad having the gall to storm through demanding support for an unspecified mission. He stonewalled me until Sergeant Gold Dust left her console and walked up to directly contradict his claims of knowing nothing useful.

 

"Patrol teams three, five, and eight were all lost, all without explanation."

 

This news might have been more tactically interesting if it hadn't been delivered in a pitch-perfect Imperial accent.

 

The woman and her stupid yellow bun came to stand opposite Colonel Gaff. They glared at each other. I glared at her, but I don't think anybody was counting that, except maybe Jorgan.

 

She turned her eyes, dull overgrown lashes and all, away from the colonel and saluted me crisply. "Elara Dorne, sir. Sergeant, first class, commander of Search and Rescue Squad 204." Imps command our squads now?

 

"Lieutenant Vierce Savins. Havoc Squad. Colonel, is there anyone you can recommend to brief me on this matter?" Is this person actually qualified to be here?

 

Dorne didn't respond to the slight. Gaff processed my displeasure and gave me a sullen sneer. "That would be Sergeant Dorne. She's all yours."

 

"If you would, sir." The sergeant tilted her head toward a conference room and led me and Jorgan in, standing by to shut the door after us.

 

I had work to do, I reminded myself. Leads to pursue, and somehow Sergeant Imperial was the only one talking. I wouldn't take her information at face value, but there was a chance it was better than nothing. Therefore: "If you have information for me, sergeant, I'll be glad to hear it."

 

She nodded crisply – crisp was a big thing with her – and laid out the whole story of the base's standard patrols, their usual patterns, the communications of the missing patrols, every item of standard procedure they had missed. She had paragraph citations for the procedural violations. The constant rules mentions, done in that accent, really made her seem like an Imperial trooper scribbling "I AM LEGIT REPUBLIC" on her helmet.

 

But she got me the information to start. Whoever was screwing with our patrols might have other information I needed, and I sure didn't have any other leads, and it was possible that Colonel Gaff didn't actively encourage Imp operatives to send officers he disagreed with into deathtraps. It was possible.

 

I thanked her, as politely as I could stand to - she did have the uniform, after all, so I figured I could pull together some courtesy - and excused myself.

 

Jorgan fell into step beside me on our way out. "That was…interesting. I've had drill sergeants more relaxed than that woman. Not to mention that accent."

 

"Yeah, well. Imps aren't known for their capacity to relax."

 

"There's a story with her," said Jorgan. "But I don't think we're getting it until we finish this little job."

 

"I have a better idea. We skip the story." I rubbed my neck and growled. "Gah. Let's go. Sooner we find Needles, sooner we get off this rock."

 

It was, I realized as we mounted up outside, the first time I had ever met an Imperial without physically attacking her. (Or him.) The encounter felt more than a little unsatisfying. But I had work to do. Eh, with any luck she would've wandered into a rakghoul nest by the time I got back to base.

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Flashback 1: What's in a name?

 

Crossposted from the Short Fic Weekly Challenge thread.

 

6 ATC – Republic Army base on Coruscant – during Vierce's basic training

 

 

I picked up the holo in a hurry. I had some down time at the base, and I hadn't heard from my runt brother in a few weeks.

 

Kirsk appeared, decked out in some bizarre jacket with a one-shoulder thing I couldn't figure the use of. Kirsk was sporting new cybernetics in his cheeks. I wondered what they were for. With Kirsk, you never knew.

 

"Long time no see," said Kirsk, with that smooth low-key delivery he had been practicing since he was fourteen. "How are you, big brother?"

 

"Saving the Republic, one lap of the yard at a time," I said. "You?"

 

"Busy days, busy days."

 

Before he could continue, I broke in. "You call Mama lately? She worries."

 

"I'm calling her. Not to worry." Kirsk ran his hands over his slicked-back hair. "You two. Honestly. Anyway, I was checking in, because I'm a nice guy like that. Good to know basic training is letting you flex your do-gooder muscles. I literally got to rob from the rich to feed the poor yesterday. It was amazing."

 

"Sounds fun."

 

"Yeah, until the rich shot me." Kirsk tapped his cheek. "Glancing blow, but it didn't fix up too well. Figured I would get some sensors put in while I was having the thing fixed up."

 

"He shot you in the face?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"You robbed a guy and he shot you in the face?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"And you think you're doing good things with your life?"

 

"Hey. It resulted in my feeding a starving and very pretty girl, plus ten or twenty others. I'm happy."

 

"Tell me you didn't kill anybody."

 

"Nah, you know I'm more the take-the-money-and-run type." He grinned. "Speaking of which, I have a paperwork update for you. I wanted new credentials set up before I struck out to explore the galaxy with my very own ship. You are looking at Mister Kirsk Volheis, Esquire."

 

"What?"

 

Kirsk feigned worry. "Uh, which part is 'what'?"

 

"Volheis? You're ditching Savins? Just dropping it?"

 

"Relax, brother, nobody's gonna forget we're related."

 

"Seems to me you're anxious to forget already. Or are you telling me you really intend to come home for Summersday in your new rig with your new girl and your new face and your new name?"

 

"Don't be like that, Vierce."

 

"Don't vanish all at once, Kirsk." I rubbed my neck. "Look, change your name if you want, just...keep in touch, okay?"

 

"I will! No need to worry." Kirsk hesitated. "Just, uh. One question. Are you technically obligated as a soldier of goodness to turn in known criminals you happen to encounter over Summersday dinner?"

 

"No. Even if I were, I probably wouldn't do it."

 

Kirsk gasped theatrically. "And you think you're doing good things with your life?" He grinned his signature, glacier-melting grin. "Good. It'll be safe to see you. Say hi to Mama for me. Kirsk Volheis, signing out."

 

The holo went dormant.

 

I glared at it anyway. "You said you would call her yourself," I said.

 

Picking up after my little brother's promises: My job ever since he was old enough to talk.

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Chapter 2. Taris: She's Coming With You

 

Crossposted from the Short Fic Weekly Challenge thread, prompt Worst Day Ever.

 

 

Hell of a morning. Less I say about Needles' lab, the better. At least we gave the Havoc Squad defector the execution he deserved.

 

I returned to my ship, sent in a barebones action report and tried to take my mind off the things I had seen in Needles' lab by playing Gunners. Classic holo game. They still have it in a lot of arcades. Simple, yes, but it's soothing when you don't want to think.

 

A holocall brought me out of it. Kirsk showed up. His jacket was half shredded and his face looked bruised.

 

"Kirsk? What happened?"

 

"Uh, a few things," he said, "it's been exciting. For instance, did you know that Rodian dermitis not only develops pungent symptoms within an hour, but can actually spread through shiv-to-dermis contact? Also, could you spot me five thousand credits?"

 

Kirsk held up his arm. It dripped.

 

"Credits?" I said. "Credits are your priority here? For goodness' sake, hang up and get to a doctor!"

 

"Only doctor 'round here who won't turn me in requires cash up front."

 

"You're on Coruscant, Kirsk. There's gotta be a thousand doctors within a klick's radius."

 

"Yeah, and every last one of 'em is very interested in either the police feed or the local bounty board. Only one I can trust is the guy who takes cash."

 

"I don't believe this."

 

"I'll pay you back, big brother. Just sayin', this…uh…condition…isn't getting any fresher."

 

"You got it. I can manage five." Barely. "I'll zap it by right away."

 

Kirsk beamed. "You're the best." He tightened a bandage around his arm and added, cheerfully, "So, how're you doing?"

 

"Well, I just watched a man forcibly inject one of his underlings with a weaponized rakghoul strain, then maintain an amused-sounding running monologue explaining the agonizing transformation as it happened. So I stopped the doctor, and the new rakghoul, and then my subordinate, who's usually a decent guy, chewed me out for not wanting to wrap the remaining pathogen up in a bow and hand it to our weapons lab. Now I have a hell of a headache and I probably have to kill you because I ran off my mouth and dropped sensitive inf– "

 

"Oh, ha, wow, that's interesting! Gotta run!" Kirsk wasn't even looking at me. His last word was almost lost in the sound of blaster fire. He managed one last dazzling grin before sprinting out of the holocam image. A second later the call went dead.

 

"Dammit, Kirsk." I scraped together five thousand credits and wired them to the last known dead drop I had for my little brother. On the assumption that he was still alive. He usually was, after exits like that; it just took him a few weeks to resurface. That idiot.

 

No sooner had I arranged that than a call came up on the ship's main holo. It was General Garza. I called Jorgan in and activated the holo.

 

"General." I saluted.

 

"Savins. I received your report. Very good work. I'm most impressed."

 

"Thank you, sir."

 

"I am disappointed that we couldn't recover a sample of the weaponized rakghoul strain."

 

Jorgan and Garza gave me matching hard looks. Right. Yeah. Sorry my conscience inconvenienced you.

 

"But," said Garza, "you did get the primary objective. Now, having reviewed the relevant information, I'm wondering what you thought of your contact, Sergeant Dorne."

 

"Dorne?" Do you have any idea how far down the list of things I want to think about she is? "I guess she got the job done."

 

"I looked over her service record. Most impressive, I must say. Were you aware that Dorne served with the Imperial military for almost two years?"

 

"Not just Imp, military Imp. That's great, General."

 

"It left a disciplined mind. Sergeant Dorne earned more commendations in her two years of Imperial service than most soldiers earn in ten."

 

"So she's good at being an Imp. With respect, is this leading somewhere? Because I'd like to be out of her neck of the woods soon."

 

Garza ignored my outburst. "Since joining the Republic, she's earned two Medals of Valor, both for rescuing wounded soldiers under fire behind enemy lines. This woman has led an exceptional career."

 

"I'm not too impressed by her intimacy with enemy lines."

 

Garza's look got even sharper. "Sergeant Dorne is Havoc Squad material, Savins, and she's already successfully demonstrated the ability to work with you. With her you'll be halfway to a full squad."

 

"General, I'm not thrilled about having an Imp in my squad."

 

She gave me the no-excuses look. "You don't have to be thrilled," she said sternly. "And I think it might go better for you if you avoid calling her an 'Imp'."

 

"Yes, sir," I said, trying my best to sound professional. It came out sulky and I knew it.

 

"I'll handle the paperwork. You go give her the news." Garza's image flickered out.

 

I rubbed my eyes. "Tell me I hallucinated that one."

 

"No sir, that just happened," said Jorgan. "Garza's got a point about her record."

 

"She's putting an Imperial in Havoc Squad, Jorgan. Does that not get a reaction out of you?"

 

"Seems to me she got our Republic operation done fast and right. Takes guts to become a defector, Savins, and she's got skill besides."

 

"Fine. Fine. Eat first, then let's bring her in."

 

We ate quickly, then left the ship and headed on back to the control center, where Dorne was at her station. She looked up when we approached. "Leftenant? Is there something else I can do for you?"

 

Scrub the accent or get out of my life, or maybe both. "General Garza's having you transferred to Havoc Squad," I said. "You'll be shipping out with me."

 

"A transfer? To Havoc Squad?" She lit up, way outside what I would've thought that little rules recitation machine could express. "Leftenant, this is…this is the greatest honor of my career. I'm speechless."

 

If only.

 

Jorgan spoke up while I practiced biting my tongue. "Membership in Havoc Squad is the highest achievement in all of the Republic Armed Forces, Sergeant. Congratulations." He saluted.

 

Yeah, what he said. Except without the congratulations.

 

Dorne saluted back. "I'll prepare my Regulation Six Personnel Transfer documents at once!" she gushed. How do you remember which rulebook you're quoting all the time, anyway? Do Imps use different document numbering systems?

 

"I'll meet you back at the ship, Sergeant," I said. She saluted me and headed out with a spring in her step.

 

"Try to be a little less gracious," growled Jorgan, "I think somebody in orbit didn't pick up on the 'you're unwelcome' vibe."

 

"The sergeant's still happy, isn't she? So's Garza. We hit our happiness quota. I don't have to contribute. So move out."

 

He scowled harder at the look on my face. "Sir, a commander should– "

 

"We're not discussing this, Sergeant. Move. Out."

 

I hurried to the ship and settled down to glare at Gunner on the bridge console. My reflexes were off. I was doing a terrible job. This, on top of everything. I couldn't even blow up little digital mutant mynocks. That rakghoul victim's changing screams were still ringing in my ears, I was freshly broke, my brother was probably dying of an exotic stupidity-transmitted disease, Jorgan was mad at me again, I had an Imp on my ship and everybody thought that was a great thing, and I couldn't even blow up digital mutant mynocks.

 

She found me on the bridge while I was still struggling to get past the end rush of level eight. "Sir," she said, and waited for me to pause the game and look up. "My equipment and personal effects have been stowed in full accordance with transport code section two." Then, warmly, "If I may say so again, sir, it is truly an honor to be selected for Havoc Squad."

 

"General Garza doesn't choose slouches," I said. It was civil. I can do civil.

 

"I intend to begin reviewing and memorizing all relevant dossiers and intelligence reports on our next assignment immediately. If I discover any points of confusion or areas where I believe I can contribute, I'll submit a full 587-B report."

 

Are you for real? "Or just talk to me, Sergeant."

 

"If…you prefer, sir," she said doubtfully. Then she saluted and walked out.

 

Jorgan passed her on her way down the stairs. He stepped onto the bridge, leaned up against the wall and crossed his arms. "Can't imagine why she would rather submit paperwork via HQ than talk with you," he drawled.

 

"Would you stop that?"

 

"I can give as good as I get, Savins, but you can't expect the total-jack*ss command style to work with everyone. Way I see it, she's pointing her blaster at the same guys we are now, so you may as well start giving her some respect."

 

"Way I see it, I'm the CO and she was transferred here against my stated recommendation on qualifications I have yet to see." I turned away. "Now beat it. If I don't finish level eight by bedtime I'll be forced to declare this day a total loss."

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Chapter 3. Dreams and Nightmares

 

Crossposted from the Short Fic Weekly Challenge thread, prompt (Un)Invited Guests.

 

 

"No, no, there's some juice left in him. Or rather, we can add some."

 

I had finally wriggled out of Mama's grip, drawn by my father's screams. I made it up the stairs and paused in the doorway, briefly, staring at my beaten, blaster-scorched father and the two Imperials standing over him. They were touring the town just because they could and they just dropped in on us to have a good time. The bigger one reached down with a syringe and injected Da with something or other. The littler one hauled him up to up to his knees, then kicked him down again. Da stiffened, arched, seemed to revive a little as the shot took effect, and that's when I finally got over my fear and charged.

 

In my memory the bigger Imperial just laughed and backhanded me, hard enough to knock me out until long after they were gone and my father was dead. In dreams, though, that moment of watching the Imperial's kick connect kept playing slow, every fresh raging injury showing clear on Da's pale skin.

 

I woke up to the sound of somebody pounding on the door to my quarters. I coughed painfully on my way to answer.

 

Jorgan and Sergeant Imperial were standing out there. "Sir," said Jorgan. "I know it's standard, but she insisted on checking." He jerked a thumb at Dorne and stepped aside.

 

She was carrying a little case. "You were shouting, sir. Are you all right?"

 

"Yeah," I said, my voice low and gravelly. "I'm fine."

 

"If you prefer, I have a sedative available." She opened the case and pulled out a syringe.

 

That just snapped something. "YOU DON'T PUT NEEDLES IN ME!" I bellowed. "Get back, stay away, and put in some motherloving earplugs if I'm bothering you!"

 

Jorgan shrugged at Dorne and padded away. Dorne shrank back, quickly hid the syringe, and stammered "Y-yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir." I turned right around and went back to bed rather than stand there fighting the urge to do something I would regret.

 

I slept dreamlessly after that, but woke up feeling raw-eyed and unrested. I showered, got dressed, went to the mess for breakfast. Jorgan was doing something at the counter. Dorne came in a couple of minutes later.

 

"Sergeant," I said by way of greeting.

 

"Leftenant," she said.

 

I hated her being there, being on my ship and in my life at all, but since she was, something was bugging me and I had to set it right. Even if I wasn't counting professional concerns, I wasn't raised to menace women half my size. "I'm sorry about last night. I was out of line."

 

She looked down at her rations. "It's all right, sir. I understand you weren't yourself."

 

"Obviously when we're out there in the line of fire, or medical attention has to happen, do what you need to."

 

"Yes, sir. Sir," she continued – dammit, woman, leave well enough alone – "there are resources established under Regulation 529-B to provide for counseling and other treatment for trauma incurred in the line of duty."

 

"Oh?" I said. "They gonna fix up things that happened seventeen years ago?"

 

She stared at me. She could do the math. I wasn't a soldier in the line of duty then, no more than any kid in an occupation zone is.

 

"It was a guy with an accent a lot like yours waving needles at the time."

 

Her brow scrunched up. She was prettier, I thought irrelevantly, when she smiled. Not that I had seen much of that in the week of her work here. "There's a reason I left, sir," she said, quietly, steadily.

 

That stopped me cold. Why hadn't I thought of it earlier? She was only here because she had walked out on them.

 

Did that change anything? Could it, really? Or did defectors take the rottenness with them? The mere fact that she had chosen to leave didn't make anything much easier just then. Still...

 

"I was out of line again, wasn't I," I said glumly.

 

"Yes, sir," volunteered Jorgan.

 

"Would you stop that?" I asked him.

 

"Yes, sir. As soon as you stop being wrong." He grinned maliciously at me.

 

I decided to ignore him. "I apologize, Dorne. I'm…just gonna go be elsewhere now."

 

I walked off feeling more or less like I'd done the right thing by trying to be civil. But until I could get over thinking of Dorne as an Imp – and how could I get over it, the way she talked? – I could not possibly feel right about having her in my home.

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Flashback 2. We Won

 

Crossposted from the Short Fic Weekly Challenge thread, prompt Turning Points.

 

 

6 ATC

 

I cried the night the last Imperial transport left Kegled II. I don't know a soul on that planet who didn't. For thirteen years the brutal Imperial occupation ravaged us, robbed us, and tried to break us.

 

We're made of tougher stuff than that.

 

A lot of us were gathered in the local resistance HQ. The Imps had been dismantling their operation for weeks; on this night we all went topside to watch the last transports lift off from the spaceport and streak away.

 

Somewhere in the middle of the cheering I started walking. I dunno, I just wanted some time alone. I hopped up to swing onto the fire escape ladder on a nearby building and climbed up to perch on the edge of the roof and look out over West Ford City. My home, finally free.

 

That meant a lot of cleared records all around. My brother especially. Some of us resistance people were better than others at staying under the radar. I had a few outstanding warrants on account of I never met an Imp I didn't try to punch, strangle, or shoot. It didn't bother me much. But Kirsk, Kirsk was something else. He never took a combat assignment, but he loved to show up Imperial security with a slick slicing job or a daring theft. He always framed it to be as embarrassing as possible for the Imps he was messing with. I was run-of-the-mill scum to the Imps; he was an active, humiliating, spectacularly expensive sore spot. They didn't have his face – a point of pride for him as he walked down the street greeting Imp patrols – but if they ever attached the misdeeds of the fictional Smiling Bek to my brother, he would've been in for a world of hurt.

 

All in the past. Nobody was coming to arrest us now.

 

Habit propelled me to my feet and got my blaster ready when somebody opened the roof door behind me. It was just my friend Flash, though.

 

"Hey," he said. "Don't shoot."

 

"Hey," I said.

 

"Nice light show, huh?"

 

"The last streak was really the kicker."

 

"Yeah." Flash came up to stand beside me at the roof's edge and look out at the bright night city. "So, you coming with us next week?"

 

"What?"

 

"Word went out right after liftoff. Republic army's recruiting. Not here, of course, because there is no Republic presence here." We shared the standard, knowing snort at that. "But," he continued, "if a bunch of us should happen to stop by the recruitment office on Coruscant, I have it on good authority we won't be turned away."

 

This was news to me. "I…wasn't planning on it."

 

"Oh? What was your plan, then?"

 

"I hadn't really thought about it. We just cleared this place out, Flash. I've gotta get back home. You know I haven't been able to stay overnight with Mama and Kirsk for years. I've gotta make sure the shop's running all right, see that Mama's got the help she needs with it. That's where I belong."

 

"You're kidding, right?"

 

"I've been fighting for Kegled II. She's free now. It's about time I got back to my family."

 

"Vierce. You been dreaming about killing Imperials, training to kill Imperials, or killing Imperials, since before you lost your baby teeth. You gonna stop now just because we ran out of 'em on this planet?"

 

I thought about it for a while.

 

Flash gave me some time. Then, "Your mother will understand. And there's other planets out there have it as bad as we did. You join up with us, we can take care of that."

 

"There is that."

 

"I can't think of a better way to pay the Republic back for all the support they snuck us. Besides, it'll be fun. Join the Army, see the galaxy, cultivate the mystique of the dangerous rebel veteran…"

 

"Now you sound like Kirsk."

 

"Kid knows what he's about. Well, sometimes. I'll see you later, then. Right?"

 

I looked up at the stars. Something about it felt right. "Yeah. You will."

 

Flash headed out, and after a little while I went on back to HQ. The party was ongoing. I bumped into Kirsk on my way in; he had his arm around a pretty blonde I had seen around once or twice. He caught something in my face. He does that. "You're shipping out, aren'tcha?" he said cheerfully.

 

"Did everyone know about this Republic bandwagon but me?"

 

"Well, that's why I'm the intelligence guy and you're the thug. Lucky you, you have me to clue you in on these things."

 

"Right. Well, I am going. Not right this minute, but I'm going."

 

He shook his head and passed a hand over his slicked-back hair. "Thought you might. You are officially no longer allowed to call me the idiot in this family. Still. Pop two or three for me, wouldja?"

 

"Believe me, more than two or three will be getting theirs. You'll look after Mama, right?"

 

"Yeah, sure. If you're gonna flake out on us, I'll just have to step up." He smiled widely. "See you at home tomorrow." Then, to his girl, "Come on, gorgeous." They headed out.

 

I made a last round of the festivities, shaking hands and hugging what few friends have hugging privileges, and then I headed home. Tonight of all nights, Mama could use my company. And after everything we went through to get here, I could use hers. Doubly so if I was going to turn around and leave next week.

 

Seems I'm never home for long these days.

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Chapter 4. The Deadeyes

 

Finally, something new.

 

 

Something I've noticed, I don't usually have the nightmares on evenings I spent talking to Jorgan. Something about being around people, or people I trust, makes it go easier. How it is that swapping war stories makes the occupation less vivid in my sleeping mind I'll never know. But I won't complain.

 

So I was talking to him. "I'm struggling to see you as a sniper," I said. We were just sitting around after a big meal. Dorne was off reading rulebooks or whatever it was she did with her time. "You're good with the hard heavy high-dynamic combat. Sitting still for a few days like you described? Doesn't seem like you."

 

"I won't pretend it was more exciting than Havoc Squad. Good work, though. The Deadeyes set up a whole lot of operations for success by cleaning the leadership out early."

 

"Yeah," I said, "something to be said for precision strikes. Wasn't exactly my specialty."

 

He gave me a look on the edge of a smile. "Why am I not surprised, Savins?"

 

"Hey. Smashing everything sets operations up for success, too."

 

"If it doesn't get your whole squad killed."

 

"Now, now, I don't intend to repeat that mistake." A pause. "That was a joke."

 

Jorgan visibly relaxed.

 

We sat quietly for a bit.

 

Jorgan spoke up. "Funny you should bring up the Deadeyes, though. I got word just the other day. They got captured."

 

"What? Where? Who's pulling them out?"

 

"Happened during a routine officer hunt. Somehow the Imps got the drop on them, rounded up the entire unit. Careless." He shook his head. "It's been weeks. I don't know that there is a recovery mission."

 

"There better be."

 

"Doesn't sit right with me, either. They were on Nar Shaddaa. Hutt territory, they shouldn't have had any business operating there in the first place."

 

"Hutts could mean we can cut a deal for information."

 

"Maybe. Assuming the Imps didn't just black the whole operation out." He pressed his lips thinner for a second. "I need to know what happened to them. Whether they're still alive. If the military has no leads, the Strategic Information Service on Nar Shaddaa might."

 

"Got any contacts?"

 

"Not yet. But you can bet I'll find one."

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Chapter 5. You can find anything on Nar Shaddaa

 

Original to this thread. Sometimes I'm lazy and just copy game conversations. With character reactions, sort of, or mildly tweaked lines.

 

 

We hit the ground on Nar Shaddaa with minimal information. A prototype Republic war droid had been taken by Tavus and was finishing its development, in Imperial hands, somewhere on the planet. It seemed to be doing its testing by running around making trouble.

 

Our local contact was a Jonas Balkar, Strategic Information Service. I hadn't dealt much with the SIS to date. I really hoped they knew what they were doing. Both for this, and for the questions I knew Jorgan had lined up.

 

Balkar turned out to be a dandy in street clothes, slouching in a private lounge off a cantina in the eye-burningly lit Promenade. He greeted us with a lazy wave. "There you are. Go ahead, take a seat. And keep your voice down."

 

"Jonas Balkar, right?" I said.

 

"Let's just stick with Jonas." He flashed a decidedly unsettling grin at Sergeant Dorne. Oh, if only you knew. "Hope you like the cantina. It's not one of my favorites, but it is conveniently located. And I do know which drinks they make best here."

 

"My eyes are up here, Balkar," I said dryly.

 

He raised his eyebrows in an innocent kind of way and peeled his eyes off Dorne. She did look entertainingly irritated in a cold high-and-mighty way, but I had work to do. "Right, then," Balkar said breezily. "There's a vault, not far from here. It's a merc operation, holds valuables for anybody with the credits to pay. Our mutual friend is about to pay them a visit."

 

Oh-kay, jumping right in. "Uh, do we have a welcome party arranged?"

 

"Not exactly, no. A group of paramilitary types always shows up on the scene before the droid's attacks. We've already spotted them casing the vault. You could head in now, but I don't want you to scare them off. We wouldn't want the guest of honor to skip the party, would we?"

 

Either the guest is the droid or I am very badly lost. "It would be bad if our party was ruined. Definitely bad."

 

He waved casually again. "I have people with eyes on the vault. Once they spot our target we'll get the party started." Then he crossed his arms and leaned back. Calculation started edging out the casual look in his eye. "So, Havoc Squad, huh? Pretty nice of Garza to loan us her very best. I'm – ah, excuse me." He took out his holo.

 

A young woman, also in street clothes, showed up. "Jonas! I just wanted to let you know I made it to Ithor safe and sound."

 

"That's great. I'll talk to you later, then." He hung up and winked at me. Or possibly at Dorne. "That's our cue. The target is in the vault. Are you ready to move out?"

 

"Havoc Squad is always ready." Corny, maybe, but I liked the sound of it.

 

"Take care of the droid and we'll have you on your way within the hour. Nice and tidy. Good luck. We'll have our eyes on you."

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"Bout time," Risha answered, as they settled in to read about the hunky trooper.*

 

Hunky XD

 

The first-person narration means I don't get to ramble about any gorgeousness he may or may not have. (Hint: May.) Which is a total shame. He would have to internal-monologue as he shaves his manly manly scruff in the morning:

 

I watched myself in the mirror as I guided the razor along the square solidness of my jaw. I didn't look so tired, not really. The [sympathy-inducing] nightmares hadn't been so bad [because I need to sound charmingly tragic without having it get in the way of normal functioning]. I was awake, alert, ready. Even in the glare of the mirror lights my brown eyes were lustrous, softer than really suits a man my size. [Modest demurral about one's best attributes: Also highly sympathy-inducing.] Careful shaving around the scars; I turned a little, my vision slightly obscured by my own long lashes and chiseled nose, as the razor glided over, gently sweeping the roughage off the long-hardened marks of the past. Next I combed my hair, the movements of my big hands dextrous and careful. The full brown waves seemed a shade too pale against the tan I had picked up, but that didn't matter so much. I'm not the type to turn heads anyway, at least not in the good way. [unawareness of my own gorgeousness is an interesting and not at all overdone character trait, you see.]

 

I backed off from the mirror, toweling the last lingering beads of water from where they still clung in my [manly yet not excessive] chest hair and around the edges of my [spectacularly] muscular shoulders and arms. [Perhaps I briefly meditated on the last time I held a woman in these arms.] I skimmed on a thin white undershirt, and I will find some contrived reason to explain why it needs to be both thin and skintight, clinging to stretch with every motion as I your author is actually going to barf, sorry, Vierce-cake time is over.

 

:p

 

We now return you to your regularly scheduled adventure time. :t_angel:

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Headspace-Vierce as I wrote the preceding:

 

"Oh, hi, Bright. Uh, I'm kind of trying to shave here. I – Bright? What are you doing? What is – oh, my stars. Quit it. 'Charmingly tragic'? What does that even mean? You're embarrassing me. Bright! Stop it! Mama, make her stop! – I'm not meditating on anything like that, Bright, and if you publish that I swear I will - oh, stars, just quit it! QUIT IT!" And then he pulled your humble author's hair until she agreed to stop writing.

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Chapter 6. Nar Shaddaa: Meet M1-4X

 

 

That vault run was weirder than anything I could even invent.

 

It was tucked into a maze of Nar Shaddaa's less glamorous-looking avenues. Like the less pleasant areas of Coruscant, I guess, but with even more interesting stains on the floor.

 

I made sure the outside perimeter was clear before I spoke, and even then I was quiet. "I've got a feeling about this. What do you want to bet this isn't as simple as a grab-and-go 'within the hour'?"

 

"Betting against that? On a Nar Shaddaa op, no less? I didn't wake up on the stupid side of the bed this morning, sir." Jorgan nodded at the door. "Let's go."

 

We headed in to find a crate-cluttered room where a sleek-looking battle droid stood in the middle of a busy group of men in Republic uniforms. As Jorgan, Dorne and myself entered, the men gave us suspicious looks, exchanged rapid signals, and kept on working. All but the droid, who was facing a guy with captain's insignia.

 

"We're wasting time," the droid announced. "There is an entire galaxy full of depraved lunatics plotting against our great Republic, and we're busy rummaging for valuables!"

 

Huh. And Garza wanted the rogue droid's connection with the Republic kept quiet.

 

The captain sounded annoyed. "Be patient, Forex – black ops aren't cheap. Commander Tavus needs us to be resourceful."

 

"But I've been operational for days now! Imperial vermin across the galaxy should be cursing the Republic ingenuity that created me!"

 

I had to step in. "Uh, you. You know you're not actually serving the Republic, right?"

 

The robot whirred. "Contact! Multiple armed subjects!"

 

"Engage and terminate!" snapped the captain.

 

"Negative," proclaimed the droid. "Subject identity confirmed – officer, Republic Army. A valued ally in our battle against tyranny!"

 

The captain made a face. "Great." Then he glared at me. "Look, this is a top secret mission. Commander Tavus sent us himself. Does 'Havoc Squad Commander Tavus' mean anything to you?"

 

"More than you know. Drop your weapon."

 

Even if I'd thought this guy was legit Republic, the look on his face then would've convinced me otherwise. "Forex, secure the package and follow me," he said quickly. "The rest of you, gun this scum down and rendezvous with us at Objective Seven."

 

The droid gestured in an agitated way. "Negative! What you suggest is an act of betrayal, the murder of fellow – "

 

"M1-4X Override Code Five Five Eight! Secure the objective and follow me, now!"

 

"Sir, yes, sir!"

 

That's a problem. "I'm your commanding officer," I told the droid. "Ignore this man's orders."

 

"Negative." It almost sounded sad. "Override code condition five five eight. Obey only orders given by Commander Harron Tavus or personnel designated by same."

 

"He designated me for a lot of tasks. I was in his squad, for stars' sake."

 

"The access list for my command set does not include you, sir."

 

"M1-4X!" snapped the captain, and bolted. The droid followed.

 

After that, the rest of the uniformed men came after us. There are very few things I like less than having to harm my own people; I held the thought that their Republic uniforms were fakes. They were either defectors or straight-up Imps. I get to shoot Imps. So I took cover and fired.

 

Our...enthusiastic ally?...the droid, would have to wait.

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Sorry, I love military men, so in my head space Vierce is hunky, no matter what he looks like-- his character and values make him that way. Never meant to derail your thread, Bright, sorry :(

 

Eeheehee! Not a problem!

Problem, ma'am. That was a problem. Just a small one, but a problem.

Quiet, you. --- And Earthmama! :D Way to deny the cute guy his refuge, Mama!

Hey. Bright? Not helping.

Sorry, Viersome. (The only thing better than fierce Vierce is fearsome Viersome, according to my head.) But the ladies loooove you for both your character and your dashing good looks. As do I.

Yuck. You're my sister.

Only sort of. I'm also your writer, deity, and arbiter of all things in your world including your love life. So I'm kind of involved there whether you want me to be or not.

Yuck.

Hey, how do you think I feel about this kind of situation? Over in another fic the son of my surrogate-self or twin or something, the little guy I raised from infancy and yelled many parental things at, has hit teenage years and started looking at girls. I can't even think about it.

Easy solution: Don't. Go 'way and leave him and me alone.

Hmph. Fine, then. Leaving.

Dammit, Bright, GIVE ME MY SHIRT BACK FIRST.

:D

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Chapter 7. Nar Shaddaa: Sporting Goods

Crossposted from the Short Fic Weekly Challenge thread, prompt Like No One's Watching.

 

 

Kirsk spread his hands in a pleading gesture. "You should come, Vierce. Seriously, when's the next time your job's gonna put us both on the same planet?"

 

"That depends," I told his holocom image. "When's the next time the prime scam of the month's gonna get set up where I'm working?"

 

"Have you no faith in me? I could rig up a scam anywhere you go."

 

"The job's keeping me busy, Kirsk."

 

"What, so you're too busy for family now?"

 

Ouch. Right in the hopeless, obvious weak spot.

 

Kirsk grinned broadly. "Game's at seven. Bring your friends."

 

"Not likely."

 

*

 

Nobody does sports bars like Nar Shaddaa does sports bars.

 

One whole wall was a holoscreen, which was less useful than you might think because of the patrons and the waitresses and the dancers and the beer fountain in the way. They still had a bunch of overhead screens, with subtle holo overlays of more dancers over the actual Huttball action. The neon trim on every edge in the room would've been blinding, except the screens themselves were brighter.

 

"Welcome," said Kirsk, gesturing broadly, "to the sole bastion of Nikto Fever fans in the galaxy."

 

"Don't they have any on Nikto?"

 

"Kintan, you mean. And knowing Fever's record? I don't think so."

 

The place was full fit to burst, but Kirsk led me right over to the bar and, through a stream of Huttese too rapid to follow, freed up seats for himself and me. We ordered up some beer and, at Kirsk's insistence, fried grease sticks. This cantina was the first place I'd found since I left my home sector that did grease sticks right. Kirsk waggled his eyebrows and smiled proudly when I told him so.

 

The holocasters finished up the team overviews in time for kickoff. The noise level in the cantina lowered, very very slightly, as a few of us shut up to sit and anticipate. The Nikto Fever was up against the Ghests from Rodia; they were just about the second worst in the Rimward League, so we had a chance. Maybe.

 

The game hadn't made it through three (surprisingly good) plays when Kirsk punched me. "Forgot. Here." He handed me a little flexiplast headband.

 

"You're kidding."

 

"Nope. Do it."

 

"We'll be seen."

 

"Take a look around, big brother."

 

I did. Everyone in the place was wearing a holohat, or holding a pennant – a cute rendition of what the championship pennant would be if the Nikto Fever had ever won one – or at the very least drinking from a mug with big plastoid Nikto-style face frills coming off the sides.

 

"Put it on, flip the switch," urged Kirsk.

 

"How come you get the relatively normal-looking pennant-waving part of this arrangement?"

 

"Because I set this night up. Nikto hat. On. Now."

 

"No."

 

"If you fail to wear that, and we lose, it'll be your fault."

 

"We'll lose anyway."

 

About half a dozen people within earshot turned to glare at me.

 

"Okay, okay!" I put the hat on. And flicked it on. And tried not to think about the ferocious Nikto face now being projected over my head. Worth it, I thought, if the team managed to score anything good tonight.

 

*

 

Halftime. I don't even want to go into the details of the game so far.

 

"Why did we ever like this team, anyway?" I asked Kirsk.

 

"Your fault. You fixated on that blonde runner they traded for a few years back, Lenna Dray? Converted wholesale just for her. You had it bad."

 

"That is definitely not how it happened. You probably tried to infect our house with Fever on a bet or something."

 

"Nope. It was your hopeless, eternal devotion to her right up 'til her injuries took her out of the game. We all had to cheer with you or else you'd beat us up."

 

"When did my beating you up ever convince you of anything? You chose to be here today, little brother."

 

"Because of your years of bullying. Monster."

 

"Hey, half's starting. We'll turn this around."

 

We started out okay, as we usually do. In fact, the place was up for a legitimate cheer before too long, and it was one I knew from back home. It eventually came around to me yelling along with "Smash their runners, crush their guard, Nikto Fever rocks you – I am going to die of shame right here."

 

Kirsk finished the chant and then shot me a weird look. "Uh, screwed that one up, Vierce."

 

"No." I nodded toward the door.

 

Sergeant Jorgan stepped in and strolled up to us with that horribly feral grin of his. "Took me quite a while to track you down, sir," he said. "I truly do not know where to start."

 

Kirsk waved genially. "Start by making fun of him for being unable to commit to two full lines of a proper chant."

 

"Shut up, Kirsk. Jorgan, this is my brother. I don't actually know him and I don't know why he kidnapped me and brought me here. Kirsk, Sergeant Jorgan, who is going to be very quiet if he knows what's good for him."

 

Jorgan looked around. His eyes eventually settled on my hat. "I always knew you had secrets, Savins, but this…the Nikto Fever?"

 

"If word of this gets out, they won't find enough of you to file a death certificate."

 

Kirsk piped up. "So you gonna pull up a chair or what?"

 

There was a long, very tense moment.

 

Jorgan's yellow eyes gleamed in the shifting light. Then he stepped in and signaled the bartender for a beer. "Been meaning to see whether that new offensive guard lives up to the hype anyway." He looked up at the screen and pretended he wasn't speaking to us. "We're never talking about this after tonight, Savins."

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Chapter 8. Nar Shaddaa: Asking Nicely

 

 

"So exactly how long are we not going to say we know anything about the fact that those were Republic spec ops we were fighting, Savins?"

 

I glowered at Jorgan. "As long as SIS keeps asking. We've got our orders: say nothing about the defections. I don't see why SIS needs to know."

 

"If they're risking their necks getting information on that droid, I think they deserve to know why it's here."

 

"I don't want Garza chewing my head off for 'I think they deserve,' not like this."

 

"The other reason I was thinking to talk," said Jorgan, "is it might be a worthwhile exchange if Balkar thinks looking up the Deadeyes is an imposition."

 

"We give him answers on what's really behind M1-4X, and in exchange he finds you your in for your old squad?"

 

"That's it. Your call…but like I said, I think they deserve it anyway."

 

"Yeah. If it'll help, you make that trade."

 

He nodded. "Thanks."

 

That's when Balkar himself flickered up on holo. "Gentlemen, I have just finagled you invitations to the penthouse at the Club Vertica Casino. All kinds of Imperial security, but you can stroll in any time you like, meet whoever or whatever has been transmitting our droid friend's orders. The, ah, Imperial hosts may not appreciate your visit. But they don't want to be the ones to break the peace in Hutt territory." He flashed me an easygoing smile. "Neither do we."

 

"Got it," I growled. Never mind that there was no peace with Imps, anywhere, ever. If they didn't want an incident I could deliver no incident.

 

Probably.

 

"Hey, Jorgan?" I muttered.

 

"Sir?"

 

"When we get there, you do the talking."

 

*

 

Jorgan, Dorne and I got some funny looks walking across the Club Vertica casino floor in full armor, but I kept my hands off my weapons and nobody tried to slow us down on the way to the lift. In fact, we did make it clear through the doors of the eye-meltingly brightly lit penthouse.

 

The Imps inside were uniformed and armed themselves. A guy with major's rank bars turned around when he heard us. "Who the…impossible. Throw down your weapons, Republic scum! You have no idea what you've done, breaking in here."

 

"We're just here to talk," Jorgan said calmly. I mentally rehearsed the motions that would get the rifle out and firing in under a second flat. "If we wanted you dead we'd have just slagged the whole place." Troop disposition within the room indicated a thermal detonator plus rolling for cover would neutralize more hostiles more quickly. Noted. Jorgan's voice went on, steady, almost soothing. "Mind if I ask you a few questions?"

 

"You don't get to ask anything. Men, subdue these intruders. Use whatever force is–"

 

The big holo beside the Imperial major flared and brought up the sour-looking captain I had seen with M1-4X earlier. "Zardres, this is Andrik. We've got the last package, and we're heading for objecti–" Then he noticed us. "Oh. Oh, this is too much."

 

"Shut up, Andrik," snapped the major. "Can't you see we have a situation here?"

 

"Andrik," I said. Maybe I couldn't play nice with Imps but I could still taunt trash. "Is this any way to let your bosses treat you?"

 

He sneered. "Tavus is my boss. These Imps are just middle management. Soon-to-be-dead middle management, I'm guessing. Have fun dying, Zardres."

 

"Please," snorted Zardres, but he was sweating. "We'll have the situation dealt with in mere moments."

 

"Nah. In mere moments you'll be dead, and the situation will be headed my way. Nice knowing you."

 

Andrik gave Havoc Squad a last cold look. The holo turned off.

 

I really, really wanted to prove Andrik right in his prediction. Then again, Andrik didn't deserve that kind of support, and I wasn't supposed to shoot first. "Would you believe," I said to Zardres, "that this is the one day so far this year I'm under orders not to kill scum like you on sight? Tempting though Andrik's suggestion was. Could you just tell us where to find that war droid and his idiot handlers?"

 

"Are you insane? Why would I even consider telling you? Andrik may be scum, but his droid's activities are useful to the Empire. I cannot allow you to impede their work."

 

"The droid is Andrik's, not the Empire's," said Jorgan, "and you can bet he'll turn it on you the next time he thinks the winds are changing. Every credit, man, and minute you spend protecting him is a waste."

 

Zardres' lip twitched. "You're not far wrong," he grumbled. "If you think you can stop him…well, I for one won't miss him. You will find Captain Andrik and M1-4X in a facility deep within the Shadow Town district, unlocking the droid's full potential. That machine's power core is capable of far more than your scientists thought possible. Soon, M1-4X will have shields and weapons more powerful than any other droid ever created."

 

"Much obliged." I tried a grin. It probably wasn't a nice one. "I hope we meet again sometime, Major Zardres. Under less neutral circumstances."

 

The Imp sneered. "You have what you wanted. Leave before I change my mind. Oh, and tell Captain Andrik that it was nice knowing him, too."

 

I turned and headed out without a word, Jorgan and Dorne falling in behind me.

 

"That was very nearly painless," Dorne said as we reached the lift. She sounded surprised as well as relieved.

 

"That's what was so disappointing about it," I said quietly. "Hey, Jorgan?"

 

"Sir?"

 

"Remind me again why breaking the treaty is a bad thing?"

 

"The Treaty of Coruscant's just part of the disaster here, Savins. If we piss off the Hutts by getting blood on their carpet, High Command'll never find us for the court-martial."

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I'm glad you're enjoying! Aric Jorgan really is best-bro material. Great character, great guy, and, alarmingly enough, more tactful and peaceably minded than Vierce is at times. I laughed my butt off recently when someone pointed out that Jorgan actually has a +2 to crit on Diplomacy...I'd love to see him in negotiating action.

 

I kept Jorgan with me for about 70% of Vierce's class line play because he's awesome. He had to be the level-headed one more than once. I recall the line "Easy there, killer, we didn't come here to start a war" happening during one class conversation. :tran_angel:

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I'm glad you're enjoying! Aric Jorgan really is best-bro material. Great character, great guy, and, alarmingly enough, more tactful and peaceably minded than Vierce is at times. I laughed my butt off recently when someone pointed out that Jorgan actually has a +2 to crit on Diplomacy...I'd love to see him in negotiating action.

 

I kept Jorgan with me for about 70% of Vierce's class line play because he's awesome. He had to be the level-headed one more than once. I recall the line "Easy there, killer, we didn't come here to start a war" happening during one class conversation. :tran_angel:

 

Yeah, I Jorgan's character is great. Sadly, I missed a lot of his dialogue because I had Dorne with me (gotta finish that romance plot, y'know....) but hopefully if I make a new trooper I can take him with me more often. anyway, keep writing! :D

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  • 2 weeks later...

Now, then. Where was I?

 

Chapter 9: Nar Shaddaa: With friends like these...

 

I walked into the SIS office and tossed Balkar a datapad with the coordinates for the Shadow Town facility. "Tell me what I need to know," I said.

 

He looked at the map on the datapad screen, then back at me. "Fantastic work! Shadow Town opens up some possibilities. It's is where the Imps put people who are too useful to kill, but too dangerous to leave roaming around the galaxy. It's dangerous and heavily secured. On the other hand, there's a lot of looking-the-other-way there. If fighting happens, the Hutts won't interfere, not in Shadow Town."

 

"Music to my ears."

 

"There are a couple of matters standing there…but M1-4X is your priority today. How about you go scrap it and we all go home happy?"

 

*

 

Shadow Town had heavy defenses, both code-locked doors and angry staff. Nothing we couldn't deal with. Some SIS backup came with us as we made our way to the building near the edge of the complex that was supposed to contain the droid. The staff vanished once we got in; M1-4X was likely kept secret even to most of the Imps.

 

Our Captain Andrik was there along with a few of the Republic uniformed guys. He turned to give us a sneering once-over. "So you made it. A little later than I was expecting, to be honest. Did it really take you that long to wipe out Zardres and his men? Maybe you're not as good as I'd thought you were."

 

"Good enough to stop you, Andrik."

 

"You idiot. You've killed good men to get here – fellow soldiers! All because some scumbag on Coruscant said they were traitors? Your loyalties are all wrong. When you're bleeding out in a trench on some muckball planet, it ain't High Command that pulls you out – it's the guy next to you."

 

"You betrayed the Republic. It doesn't matter what your reasons were."

 

"Blind," he snarled. "Blind and stupid. I'll bet you can't even imagine doing something you weren't ordered to do."

 

The big droid M1-4X spoke up from its charging station or whatever that apparatus by the wall us. "Treacherous vermin," it yelled. "I have completed the charging process. All systems operable."

 

Andrik gave me a nasty smile. "Sounds like your time's up, Lieutenant. Any last words?"

 

M1-4X waved at me. "Lieutenant! You made it! I knew this Imp-loving scum could never escape the sure justice of the Republic for long."

 

"Uh, good to see you," I told him. "You still working for this guy?"

 

"Unfortunately, I am still bound by my programming to obey Captain Andrik. The coward has naturally ordered me to kill you. To be used this way against the finest agents of my beloved Republic shames me. I wish I had never been activated."

 

"Me too," I muttered. Then, out loud, "Your orders are straight-up treason. Why follow them?"

 

M1-4X shook his shiny droid head. "It is in my programming. The Republic's brilliant scientists clearly had no reason to expect such sedition."

 

"Enough chatter," said Andrik. "Attack."

 

M1-4X raised a pair of blaster rifles and what appeared to be a shoulder-mounted missile turret. "Lieutenant, be advised your weapon will require several decades of sustained fire to penetrate my shields at their current charge. Seeing as Republic SpecForce training is the best in the galaxy, I'm confident you'll find an alternative solution for my destruction. Good luck!"

 

I couldn't immediately think of language strong enough for what I thought of this weird situation and its weird murder droid, so instead I dove for cover. Arcs of electricity jumped from the wall to the droid as it maneuvered into position. All coming from the charging station. Maybe his shiny power source wasn't so self-contained after all, not yet.

 

I signaled Jorgan and the SIS people to keep the traitors busy while I opened fire on the apparatus at the wall. Better than denying power, the thing blew up with more force than I would've given it credit for. M1-4X briefly froze.

 

"Hit it," I yelled.

 

The thing about droids is it's often hard to tell where the critical parts are. A CPU can be hidden anywhere and a power core, even though it's larger, can usually choose from among a few hiding spots. M1-4X was built on a weird open model, though, with few places to hide. Perhaps with those shields of his he wasn't supposed to worry about it.

 

But when the shields were overloaded there was only one place to shoot, and all three of us slammed it. Soon enough something blew out and its weaponry slumped to a stop.

 

The SIS around us formed up the moment the defectors were down. Their leader spoke up: "Lieutenant. Status?"

 

I looked at their medic and jerked my head toward Jorgan, who was scowling and applying pressure to some kind of leg wound. "See to it. As far as the droid goes, the power core is supposed to be special, make sure to snag it. After that, I think we go home."

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Chapter 10: Nar Shaddaa: The Fallen Jedi

 

Crossposted from the Short Fic Weekly Challenge thread with a minor coda added.

 

 

Camp 27. It was part of Shadow Town, one of the Empire's blackout prisons. Stars only know why they put it on Nar Shaddaa; probably some arrangement with the Hutts that it's best not to dwell on.

 

We stuck around after M1-4X went down. There were objectives enough to work on, and Garza didn't mind loaning Havoc Squad to the SIS after their help with the robot.

 

The mission was a rescue for Ako Domi, a Jedi hero of the Great War. Any facility that can keep a Jedi in place worries me, but it was an excuse to shred Imperials and that was enough for me. We had approval for this job, I don't know how or why, but Imps in the way were open season. Plus, there were other POWs we might free while we were in there.

 

We met up with a couple of local Republic squads for the raid. Sergeant Dorne came with me. Of course. She was part of the squad. Now, when you're out there in combat, you trust the people around you or else someone gets hurt; it always took everything I had to keep my focus with her around, but I leaned into the fact that she did good work and everybody else in the army seemed to think she belonged there. It wasn't ideal, but I managed.

 

Shadow Town had two rings of gates and automated defenses that could only be opened on timed codes. We carved through the outer guards, recovered the first set of codes, entered. It was when we were sandwiched between defense rings that it got hairy.

 

Two Imp patrols hit us at the bottom of a ramp in our descent into the camp. We were doing okay until the third Imp squad reinforced. They drove us back, step by step; there were more than we expected in one place and I knew even more must be on the way. It was turning bad fast.

 

"Fall back," I yelled. "Fall back!" I ran over to three of our people who had fallen at the base of the ramp. It was an open field of fire apart from a couple of random crates; I bent over a big guy with a worrisomely torn-up torso and started wrapping on the minimum bandaging necessary to move him safely. Dorne ran out of nowhere to work on getting a second guy back on his feet. A wounded woman was just finishing bandaging herself enough to move. I jerked my thumb back to direct her and kept working on the big guy.

 

We had to be out of there as of ten minutes ago. The Imps weren't taking prisoners. Dorne looked up at me. "Go on," we yelled at each other, "I'll catch up." I would've argued, but I had somebody to evacuate. I finished what I could, enough to make sure my guy would live through the move, then hauled him up over my shoulder and looked back to make sure Dorne could move with her man. She nodded sharply and we got going.

 

The main thoroughfare was too hot, but there were alleyways in this twisting town. I freed up a hand to holo in to Jorgan and get him our position. He met with us not far from the outer gate; he had a few people with him, enough to take charge of the wounded.

 

"Objective's still in there," I told him. "Go on. Make sure our people get out clean. Dorne and I are going in to finish this."

 

"Alone, sir?"

 

I considered switching sergeants, but Dorne's medical expertise might be necessary. Or, for that matter, her knowledge of all things Imperial. "I'm kinda counting on them staying focused out here for a while. I've got guard access codes and I can sneak. Move it."

 

"Yes, sir." Jorgan gestured to the others and they continued their retreat.

 

I led Dorne further into Shadow Town, staying to side passages and darkness where I could. The inner gate had way too many guards; I called up the map and we worked our way around to a different door. Two guards and a couple of droids. Nothing we couldn't handle. I leaned back in a deep doorway and looked at Dorne. "How long 'til our access code cycles in?"

 

"Four minutes fifteen seconds, sir."

 

"All right. Good." For once that bizarre precision of hers seemed fitting. "Now while you're waiting, let's get one thing straight. You-"

 

You're an idiot. I told you to fall back. You're no good to me or anyone dead. You put a hair out of line and I'll forget I ever tried to trust you, so don't even try it, no matter what heroics you think you see the chance for. That stunt was stupid, plain stupid.

 

Dorne frowned. "Sir?"

 

"Just a minute. I'm working through all the yelling I should be doing at you for being stupid enough to go out there in that heat."

 

She looked…confused. "You were right there with me, sir."

 

"Yes, that's why I'm running through it in my head instead of yelling it. I'm not a complete jerk. I…that…was solid work. Stupid, but solid work. But next time I tell you to move, you move."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

Access code cycled in. We pushed on, knocking out cameras and droids and guards as we went. Liberated an armory, freed up a few Republic prisoners so they'd have the chance to blast their way free. Kept going into the deep block marked Camp 27, home of the Jedi war hero, Ako Domi.

 

We reached a big room that housed all the tools for Imperial-style interrogation. There was a little man reading in the corner.

 

"I'll ask once," I called out, "where's Ako Domi?" Prisoners here didn't have cells, as such; the Jedi might be wandering.

 

"Ako Domi?" He quailed. "Are you really asking…"

 

"Yes. I am. You're short on time."

 

"I can summon him," squeaked the interrogator. "Here." He entered something on the console. "Now I'm just going to…wait…elsewhere." He started running. Didn't seem to be me he was afraid of.

 

I shot the scum. Then I waited. Not too long after, a big guy walked in. Sith, by the looks of him, corrupt, gross, dressed in ill-fitting dark clothes.

 

"Who comes before me?" he demanded.

 

It was hard to meet those furious yellow eyes. This couldn't possibly be the Jedi. No way.

 

"I am Ako Domi, the lord of Camp 27. No one seeks me out."

 

"I'm here to return you to Republic space, Master Jedi." I figured the respectful address was safe-ish. As safe as anything was around a guy who looked this wild.

 

"How tiresome," he sneered. "Will you offer me pardon? Sanctuary? A chance to turn back to the light?"

 

"Uh, something like that. I think the Jedi back home will handle the light if you'll just come with me."

 

"I've been here six years. I've seen your Republic heroes turn on each other like dogs for a scrap of meat. I've seen human nature at its core, and there is no light there."

 

In Shadow Town? Of course not. "You've seen the Empire at its core, Master Jedi, and what the Empire twists people into. Nothing more."

 

"There has never been a captive here so noble he did not eventually succumb." Stars, the guy was practically getting off on his own aura of dark misery. "How long do you think you'll last?

 

And then, just like that, Ako Domi raised his hand. I only had a fraction of a second to fire before he seized my throat in a Force grip. Bad.

 

Dorne blasted his arm down for a moment, but still. Just about the only thing we had on him was numbers, and two grunts to one Jedi-Sith-thing was poor. At least he was unarmed. But it wasn't close to even 'til I managed to get a concussion grenade into play. That interrupted his choke hold on Dorne while my blaster rifle worked on his torso. Finally, he cried out and fell to his knees, hissing in pain.

 

Moments later he forced himself to look up at me. "Do it," he snarled. "It's in you, too, so go ahead and kill me. You want to."

 

I put my rifle to his head, keeping my finger just tight enough that any movement from him might fire the gun before I had to consciously do it. I tried to imagine taking this guy out to freedom as ordered. The thought didn't lead anywhere pleasant. "A mad dog like you? Maybe I do."

 

"Or would you rather hear me scream?" suggested Ako Domi. "Draw it out for days while I beg you to end it?"

 

"The thought hadn't occurred to me," I said. Sicko.

 

"Leftenant," said Dorne. "We need to get him out of here."

 

"I don't think that's going to happen," I said.

 

Ako Domi abruptly seemed to forget about us. He lapsed into unintelligible mumbling.

 

"It may be best that he die in prison," I added.

 

"Sir, I must object," said Dorne.

 

"You heard him talking. It's better that he be remembered as a hero than...this."

 

"It's not too late for him," she said. "If we return him to the Jedi, I'm sure they would be willing to help him."

 

"No. If we let him loose anything he does will be on our heads. There's some depths you don't climb out of."

 

"People change."

 

"No, they don't, Dorne. Someone like this, it's way too late."

 

"You don't know that, sir!"

 

And that's about when I figured out what else she was lecturing me about.

 

She took off her helmet to fix me with brilliant green eyes. "Give him a chance," she said.

 

"It's completely different. He doesn't want to set things right." I couldn't exactly see Ako Domi running into the line of fire for anybody any time soon.

 

"In a place like this it's hard to remember what the point would be. Help him get away from here and he can try again."

 

I wanted more time to think, or possibly just a magic Dorne-disappearing button so I could put Ako Domi down and move on. But I didn't have either.

 

"It's a risk," I said. "I think it's a stupid risk." I stepped away from the mumbling once-Jedi and let my rifle fall to my side. "But I owe you one, so we'll do it your way."

 

"You…owe me…?"

 

"Back there. Going in to patch up our reinforcements. You haven't forgotten already, have you?"

 

"No. I just didn't think it incurred a personal debt."

 

"They work with me, they're my people, Dorne. I don't forget. Now come on."

 

Dorne knelt to tend to the wound in Ako Domi's chest. He grimaced at her, glassy-eyed. "Fool, you don't know what you're doing. You do know you want to hurt me, even you, stupid creature…"

 

I nudged him with one boot. "Respect the sergeant," I said, "or I will change my mind."

 

He chuckled nastily, but after that he shut up.

 

We got Ako Domi out of there. Me, I figure he's crazy past fixing, but maybe he got a fresh start after all. For what it's worth, he got the chance to turn it around.

 

Maybe I got a chance to turn something around, too, but that's a stretch. It's just that she did a good turn for me and mine, and I did one for her, and that makes us even. In hindsight I think it would've snapped what shaky working relationship we had if I just gave him that shot in the head. Doing it this way opened something up. It meant something to her. Of course the defector would want me to believe people can climb out of a pit like that and start getting it right.

 

I don't know yet.

 

*

 

"Nice work, very nice," said Balkar back at the SIS Office, "I knew I could count on you. Glad the military took enough interest in this to clean it up so thoroughly." He was dripping curiosity. Well, let him drip. Tavus, Andrik and the rest could and should remain mysterious according to my orders. Unless…

 

"Pleasure to work with you," I said. "I love the easy jobs."

 

Balkar laughed easily. "From what I observed of the fight, I'd hate to see your idea of a hard one. Anything else I can do for you while you're in town?" Again with the looking at Dorne. She looked awkward. I tried not to laugh.

 

"There's a topic that came up that I'd like to discuss with you," said Jorgan. That would be his missing squad, the Deadeyes. "Local events." He threw a look at me and Dorne. "Can we talk?"

 

"I'll head out," I assured him. "Good luck, Sergeant."

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Chapter 11. Nar Shaddaa: Rescue

 

Crossposted from the Short Fic Weekly Challenge thread.

 

 

I picked my brother up from a rooftop gunfight on Nar Shaddaa. No, I don't know what was going on there. Sometimes with Kirsk it's better not to ask.

 

While we were picking up and hauling out, half a dozen blaster rifles still firing full rate at us, Jorgan confronted me and an uncommonly ragged-looking Kirsk in the holo room. "Sir, can I ask what we're doing yet?" He glared at Kirsk. None of us had forgotten the uncomfortable revelation of Huttball Nikto Fever fandom.

 

"Rescuing the pathetically needy," I explained.

 

"I see that, sir."

 

"That's all the information I'm running on. Ask him. Anyway, we're leaving now." I yelled up toward the bridge. "Hey, Dorne, I'll take over."

 

"I can drive," suggested Kirsk.

 

"Not a chance."

 

He followed me up to the bridge anyway. And stopped, and, right on cue, softly whistled.

 

Sergeant Dorne looked up, startled. Her eyes flickered to me. "Sir?"

 

"Sergeant Dorne, this is my brother Kirsk, who is going to leave you alone until he leaves this ship. Kirsk, this is Sergeant Dorne, and your harassing her would almost certainly end up as a demerit on my record."

 

"Ooh, incentivize me a little harder, why don't you." He smiled smoothly at Dorne. I whacked him in the back of the head.

 

"Sir," Dorne said uneasily, "a civilian's presence here is highly irregular."

 

"I never broke a rule that didn't need breaking, Sergeant. He stays." I stood aside to let her leave, then took her place at the controls. "Kirsk, where'm I dropping you off?"

 

"Uh, heat signature's a little high right now, um, anywhere. Mind if I lay low with you for a few days?"

 

"That really is a little awkward on an active-duty ship."

 

"Things are tight."

 

That was code for total desperation. "Of course you can stay. Try to behave. My superiors call, stay out of sight."

 

"You got it. So anyway, her. You've mentioned her once or twice…Imperial defector?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Huh. And they assigned her to you? What the blazes were they thinking?"

 

"She's Havoc Squad caliber, they tell me. She pulls her weight, I guess." I rubbed my neck. The tension there was spiking. "Believe me, if I had the beginnings of a whisper of an echo of an excuse to get rid of her, she'd be long gone. As it is I keep getting dirty looks for mistreating her."

 

"Does she know why you hate her with a passion that's leaking all over the visible spectrum?"

 

"She's got an idea. She doesn't need my life story."

 

"I guess that's fair. To one of you. Explaining what it was like where you're from would be fair, too. To the other one of you. That's rough, brother."

 

"No kidding."

 

"Moving along. This one of those rigs where I have to sleep on the floor?"

 

"Pfft, no. Get Jorgan to show you a bunk. And don't piss him off, he's a biter."

 

"Like that's anything new." Kirsk grinned and showed himself out.

 

*

 

We were given a minor assignment elsewhere on Nar Shaddaa; truth be told, we were killing time until the next lead on the Havoc Squad defectors presented itself. I got up early on day three, received a minor mission via holo, went out to round people up. Passing by the mess I suddenly heard Kirsk laughing alongside this bright musical laugh that stuck me in place for half a second before I got a hold of myself.

 

I poked my head in and saw Kirsk sitting opposite Sergeant Dorne. Kirsk appeared to be in fine form. Dorne turned to me and the cheer on her face died. She recovered a fake polite smile a second later. "Sir."

 

"Sergeant." I nodded. "Kirsk."

 

"I was just telling your sergeant here about that time on Coruscant when for complex but very compelling reasons I was hired to impersonate a professor's assistant for one of their biochem lectures. Absolute worst stimchem trip I've had in my life."

 

"I've helped him identify two brushes with death he didn't even know he had had, going through that laboratory setup," said Dorne. "I'm not sure what to say about the safety standards of the Institute."

 

"I know what to say," said Kirsk. "Thank the stars I'm not an academic man." He finished off a glass of something or other. "Anyway, big brother, you after something?"

 

"Yeah, actually. I need Dorne in the field. Jorgan and Forex are already good to go."

 

Dorne leaped to her feet. "Of course, sir," she said hurriedly, and rushed past me.

 

"Well," said Kirsk, watching her go. "She's not terrified of you or anything."

 

"Terrified? Her? Nah. She's just really enthusiastic about orders."

 

"Whatever you say," he said, cool and skeptical.

 

"I gotta be out for the day. You sticking around?"

 

"No way I'm showing my face on this planet anytime soon. Yeah, I'll stay here, hold down the fort."

 

"No joyrides."

 

"Dammit, Vierce."

 

"Get your own rig."

 

"I did. It got stolen."

 

"Someday you'll have to fill me in on that story."

 

"Someday. Get a move on."

 

*

 

Kirsk greeted us back at the ship that evening with an elaborate Tionese spread which, a check of the comm logs confirmed, was fast-food delivery charged to my account. Delicious, anyway. M1-4X stuck around to chatter with the rest of us until supper was cleared.

 

Kirsk excused himself after a while and, with an unobtrusive gesture, signaled me to follow him. He led me into my own quarters and brought up the console.

 

"So I was being an irresponsible security risk because the antique file system you guys have on this ship is mesmerizing. I couldn't resist."

 

"Kirsk, if you compromised classified information you know I'm gonna have to-"

 

He raised one hand, typing with the other. "Nothing like that, nothing like that. I think. So I was skimming things and I spotted something wrapped up tight in some mad encryption. Imperial encryption."

 

My stomach flopped. "Dorne?"

 

"Addressed to her, though it's been sitting there eighteen hours and no one's opened it that I could see. I'm not sure she knows it's there yet."

 

"What's inside? Imp crypto's a specialty of yours, you must know."

 

"But of course." With a flourish Kirsk pulled up a little holo of a blond guy about our age.

 

"Elara," said the recorded message boy. "It's me, Aleksei. I…I hope you're well. It's been a long time."

 

"Boyfriend?" I muttered. Kirsk shook his head.

 

"I'm sorry to contact you like this, but I need your help. My men and I…we're as good as dead. We're on Nar Shaddaa – we were caught tampering with one of the Hutts' operations. We never dreamed the slugs would have so much security."

 

"Poor sods," mumbled Kirsk. "Poor, stupid sods."

 

"These Hutts are Imperial allies, Elara. There is no rescue team. We'll be disavowed and left to die. Please – you're my only hope now." His image vanished.

 

I tried to talk around the huge hollow space in my chest. "An ex in Imperial spec ops? I didn't even think of that one."

 

"Not an ex. I did some sniffing. Aleksei Dorne is her younger brother."

 

"A brother. Huh. You know if they've been talking?"

 

"I didn't have time to check. You know I don't do politics nowadays, but this seemed important."

 

"Don't say anything for a minute." Kirsk only went along with that when he felt like it, but for once he gave me space to think. "Enemy combatant, related to her, here. That's…not unexpected. Right? We had people with split families back home. Collaborators who had some genetic material in common with human beings. It doesn't…dammit, do you have any idea how hard I've been working to not fly off the handle at her?"

 

"No, actually," said Kirsk, "but recalling your history I can imagine."

 

"I'm trying to be fair! How am I supposed to be fair with something like this? I should hand the recording upstairs and go clear his whole squad out while they're vulnerable, is what I should do. But her…why would he call her of all people? She's neck-deep in Republic monitoring."

 

"Things got tight, and she's kin."

 

"She files reports when she talks to Imperial-sounding shopkeepers. Contact this big is…that's insane."

 

"Which may be why she didn't even open an Imp-marked message."

 

"If she's on the level, why not just call someone to review it?"

 

"Because that request goes through you. Did I mention she's terrified of you?"

 

"She is not."

 

"Vierce, you just found out she has a brother and your first reaction was 'hey, can I kill him?'"

 

"That's my first reaction to all Imps."

 

"Yeah. It's scary."

 

"I don't see what I can do here. The kindest thing would be to just lock this so she can't access it, pass it upstairs and let them clean it up, because if I do run across his people it's going to be blood."

 

"You could try capture."

 

"Since when do I capture Imps?"

 

"Since you suited up Republic? Think about it. Show up. Heartwarming family reunion. Grab some souvenir POWs. Everybody goes home happy except the Imps. That sounds practically ideal."

 

"Or show up, trap, get shot at, Blondie and Blondie skip home happy."

 

"I thought she would never try to sneak contact?"

 

"It isn't sneaking if you shot your way through your CO to do it." I ran my hands through my hair. "That's ridiculous, I know, so don't say it. It's just hard. Why'd it have to be kin? Remember when you were little and I told you Imps didn't have families, they just came out of evil spawning pools?"

 

"Yeah. I was very disappointed when I learned the boring truth. But think about this. Maybe it's legit, the kid's desperate, and we can win you a nice little resume buff plus major squad morale points by checking it out. And if they turn it ugly, well, you and I haven't sprung an Imp trap together in a long time. It'll be fun. But if this guy's for real, he has nowhere else to go. The Empire just shook him off."

 

"Why would we want them?"

 

"Because the alternative is executing your squadmate's brother?"

 

"I can do that, Kirsk. You remember."

 

He looked away. "Different times, Vierce. A scared kid who just got written off by the only boss he's ever known isn't really the same as a collaborator. This Aleksei guy never had a choice." He let that sink in for a little while. "You could at least hear what he has to say. And don't forget your own sergeant. If you and I got separated, with no real hope of talking again, and then a chance came up while one of us was in a tight spot, and somebody decided to withhold that chance, would you stand for that?"

 

"You know there'd be hell to pay. But unless these guys are miraculously ready to lay down arms, this'll be the mother of all awkward family reunions."

 

"That's why you an' me will be there. To keep it polite." He caught me before I could object. "I'm sure you and Sergeant Cannon are good, but you want a security man who knows Imps and knows how to stop you from doing something stupid, and the only person in the galaxy with both those qualifications is me."

 

"You realize I'm only even considering this because it's you asking."

 

"I know. So, you going to talk to her?"

 

"Yeah. I'll talk to her."

 

"Aw. You're mellowing, big brother. This just might work out."

 

"Do not get warm and fuzzy on me."

 

"Me? Nah. My only interest here is in looking out for the downtrodden little brothers of scary justice machines."

 

I left to find Dorne and call her into the briefing room, where I secured the door. "Sergeant, Kirsk brought something to my attention and I am very interested in hearing your explanation."

 

"I'm not sure what you're referring to, sir," she said apprehensively, "but I'll try."

 

I put on Aleksei's recording.

 

The moment his image appeared she went dead white. She held still listening, and looked to me the second it was done. "Sir, I didn't know. I received it just yesterday, I was debating who to go to for permission to open it. I wasn't just going to start viewing something that might be compromising."

 

"When's the last time you spoke to your brother, Dorne?"

 

"Over three years ago. Before I defected. I haven't…I didn't know what happened to him. I honestly never expected to see his face again."

 

"You realize the military interest in this target."

 

She flinched a little to hear the term. "Sir, I believe if I speak to him I may be able to convince him and his people to defect. If he's been abandoned as he says, he has nowhere else to go. I can talk him into it."

 

"Yeah. The possibility has been considered. And since I am related to the worst bleeding-heart in the galaxy, I'm willing to consider arranging a meeting. I will be present for any such meeting, but I'll let you do the talking until and unless there's trouble." Talking, after all, wasn't my specialty in that situation. I took a deep breath. "The peaceful solution is up to you."

 

She nodded slowly. "Sir, I, I wouldn't have expected…" Then she managed to meet my eyes. "I wouldn't have expected this opportunity. It means a great deal to me."

 

I nodded. "Yeah. But you know I have to take 'em in no matter which way they go."

 

"I understand. But I do believe I can bring Aleksei to our side. You won't be disappointed, I promise." She went to leave. When she opened the door Kirsk was right there. She jumped a little. "Oh! – I'm sorry. I, the leftenant was just discussing the message you found. I understand I have you to thank for the generous offer your brother made?"

 

"Me?" drawled Kirsk. "No, miss. I just spotted the incoming security question. Talking it over with you, looking for a diplomatic solution for your brother, that was all his idea."

 

"Oh." She blinked rapidly a bit while she processed that. Then she shot one last wide-eyed look at me and edged past Kirsk to leave.

 

"What was that?" I demanded.

 

He grinned. "You'll thank me later."

 

"I don't see what…"

 

"Oh, I know. But you will."

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