It was a strange feeling being back on Aeotheran after all the time he had spent away from home to his Clan. A great many things had changed, there were security droids and guards everywhere. Neighbour spied upon neighbour with every rumour and claim made by anyone bearing a grudge against another being investigated thoroughly by the forces of Naga Sadows internal security department.
Even within the Houses of the Clan there were accusation and counter accusation, everybody seeing the Dominion lurking within every corner. The seeds of mistrust were germinating and taking hold, their flourishing buds sowing introversion and suspicion throughout the whole organisation, even the elders and leaders were not immune to its grip and control. The populace were so focussed on watching what their Clan mates were doing that it would be easy for any foreign agency to infiltrate the system and fuel the suspicions with their own schemes and disrupt the status quo.
Quo himself was not immune to the psychological effects of the rumours and stories doing the rounds in general society. He found himself checking and re-checking his weapons more regularly, training harder and for longer, preparing himself from the shadow of threat the the Dominion had deposited on the Sadowans. He had changed his routines and routes to and from his usual destinations, constantly on guard from being followed by enemy insurgents, employing all the techniques at his disposal to shake any follower that he had perceived, be they either real or imagined, or indeed the coincidental Sadowan whos route echoed his own.
He read constant reports on the search for, and in one case, the discovery of, a Dominion Cell that had infiltrated the planet. He checked and double checked all the information that filtered down through the Inquisitorious about the operatives, their insertion techniques, their mode of integration into the local populace, their plans, their intelligence gathering schemes, their planning and implementation of it, and the stroke of luck that had exposed them to the Sadowan Intelligence Service. He read of their capture and interrogation, and the secrets that they had been forced to reveal to their tormentors, which in turn revealed that they were not the only cell that was active on the Clans home world.
The Zabrak had internally collated all the information available to him, and made a précis of it, including it within the encrypted files that were contained within his data pad. The information that was filtering down to him was so abundant and frequent that he had to have an aide mémoire of some description, and his pad with its biometric security systems was the most secure and reliable source should he require his memoires aiding at any point. The file was substantial even now, several terabytes of information already amassed within the confines of the electronic repository.
It was through all this information that he had seen it, bringing him here to the heart of the city to sit in this food outlet with a mug of hot spice-caff waiting patiently for his suspicions to be either proven or dispelled. Patience wasn’t one of his strong suits, but he knew that to gain results that would satisfy his own mind, and by extension the minds of his superiors within his own House, he had to stay in position and see how this game would play out. Through his own intellect and logical processes he had come to his conclusions, and that they were not necessarily the accepted truth that the Clan propaganda merchants within the civil services were putting forward through the accepted literature being propagated was of little concern to the Sith.
Through the door of the cantina strode a human male. At first glance he appeared quite ordinary, wearing the garb of an everyday citizen he approached the raised counter. Quo’s eyes followed him from under the cowl of his hood, taking in every nuance and idiosyncratic movement of the man. The leather outfit was rough and looked like it had seen many adventures over its lifetime. From the boots on his feet to the haphazard look of the head gear that he wore this man was never going to be a forerunner in the race for fashionability. Hanging at the belt was an old blaster, its surface scuffed and grazed by years of usage, although it still appeared to be functional. On the opposite side hung a riot baton that looked a lot newer than the rest of his apparel even though it had been re-painted to reflect a camouflage pattern rather than the more usual white colouration that matched the First Orders troopers.
Ordering a drink the stranger went to a corner booth, away from the exposed entrance. Sitting in the semi circular seating he attempted to avoid attracting attention, even if the movement was subconscious it was still telling to the eyes of the observer seated towards the front of the establishment. Moving to the right of the booth he gave himself as much cover as possible without openly looking like that was what he was doing.
Quo sipped at his spice-caff content to see how this was going to unfold, his muscles primed to explode at a moments notice should the need arise. To everybody else he looked perfectly relaxed, enjoying his beverage, letting the day flow about him as he spent a day off in the sunshine of the city. Even with his breather prosthesis he could enjoy the taste of his drink as he sucked it through the feeder tube that extended from the lower bout of the mechanism. His data pad was laid on the table in front of him, the intelligence gathered given to him in bites of information as he required them, currently it carried a facsimile of the face of the stranger over to his right.
Reading as though it was the latest news, or some celebrity scandal that he was reading he looked like any other news feed reading civil servant in any other cantina across the Galaxy, semi bored, reading to kill an hour or so as they ate or drank. In reality he was engrossed in the data that was streaming across the page, informing him of all he needed to know about the subject. Bounty hunter, Human, thirty, several pages of completed contracts, and a synopsis of all the systems that he had visited. It all seemed solid information, from reliable sources, however, there was one thing missing from it. The fact that he was a First Order Intelligence Officer on a mission to infiltrate the Dominion.
The Dominion was a great unknown largely, and their hierarchy and driving forces were mysteries that the Brotherhood had attempted to ascertain. They had used their own operatives to try and infiltrate the Dominions forces and send back the information they had gleaned. Of over three hundred agents they had only heard back from a handful, and the intelligence raised more questions than answers. Many of the spies that Brotherhood had attempted to plant had either disappeared completely or turned up many months later, dead. Quo had little doubt that the others fates had duplicated their compatriots but they had never been found. The handful of agents that had returned gave conflicting reports making the young Sith wonder as to whether they were either brainwashed before they were abandoned to their own fate, or they were double agents sent to spread misinformation. Nevertheless some of the information had merit, including the piece that he was acting on now.
Another half hour passed uneventfully, several customers arriving and leaving the establishment without so much as a glance at the booth at the back. Quo had the feeling that the contact that he was expecting was not going to happen, that in fact his information had been erroneous, that after all the stranger was nothing more than an ordinary bounty hunter awaiting another contract. Even so the Zabrak sat and waited, feigning disinterest as he drank his way down another spice-caff.
Entering the cafeteria another woman, this one clad in the jump suit of a cadet pilot of the Sadowan Militia, ordered an sinth-ale before sitting at a small table near to the booth. As she sat she slightly obscured the leather clad male from Quos eye line, making his observations slightly more awkward. Placing a shoulder pack on the floor next to her she took out a plas-sheet containing the latest snippets of news from across the Galaxy. Reading she sipped at her ale apparently engrossed in the reports from the far flung distance of space, her eyes scanning quickly across the sheet as she read. Quo assessed her as he watched both her and the stranger behind her. She was dressed as a militia, but the finger nails of her hand were neatly trimmed and lacquered, the hands suggesting that she was unused to combat or heavy work, the lack of cuts and callouses evident of a life of prestige, not of manual labour. The hair also was mussed, but the cut was fine and well done, not done by the barbers of the Militia College. The make up was clean and simple, hiding any perceived imperfections, and although it was well applied it was far too much to be allowed under the regulations of the Militia.
As if by accident a passing waitress clipped the backpack sitting alongside the woman, spinning it round on its bottom panel, the front flap now facing away from Quos position. The woman’s spin on the chair sending it scuttering across the tiled floor as her heel smacked into the back panel. She made it look like it was an accident, even flailing her hands towards where the bag had sat in an effort to convince anybody that she had attempt to retrieve it before it had spun out of her grasp. Quo had to admit that it had been well choreographed well, and had obviously been rehearsed. Even he hadn’t seen the waitress as an accessory until she had skilfully flicked the bag without obviously looking like she had meant to do it. The bag itself had pirouetted towards the booth, landing underneath the table.
The stranger reached down with both hands, hefting the back pack up to the seat, and even Quo struggled to see the slight of hand as he dipped into the front pocket and retrieved the item that had been placed inside for him to collect. The sweep of his left hand as he offered the ‘lost’ item to its owner, received with a smile and a glance that was a little too quickly broken off. Finishing her drink she thanked him and rose to leave picking up the plas sheet as she made her way towards the door. She didn’t notice the dart which attached itself to her jump suit which Quo had blown across the diner from his drinking tube. If it was spotted it would appear to be some form of small insect zipping across the space, soon lost against the background of the city. The micro probe gripped itself into the fabric of her clothes securing itself against being dislodged. It would only transmit for just over an hour, but it should be enough for the security forces to home in on the woman once she was away from the drop. A quick glance at the data pad showed the little bug was already transmitting, Quo keyed the access for the real Militia to be able to read the frequency and capture the traitor.
Quo’s fingers were a flurry of activity as he also reported the actions of the waitress, leaning back with the pad in his hand as if trying to read something whilst capturing her image. Not bad he thought as he looked at the captured image before forwarding it to the leadership of his Clan. He would not move on her yet, the more she believed that she was under the radar the more useful she would be.
The stranger finished his own beverage, Quo finishing his own a couple of seconds later. Almost as one they arose from their individual seats, leaving credits for their refreshments and leaving within a pace of each other. This was where Quo would come into his own.
The stranger turned to the left heading down the boulevard of lights and advertisements into the citys main pedestrian thoroughfare. Quo walked across the plaza outside heading for a small stall seemingly to browse the news that was fed onto plas sheets to take away. All the while he watched the leather clad bounty hunter out of the corner of his eye. Moving away from the stand he followed on the opposite side of the wide walkway, watching his quarry in the reflections of the shops and bazaars that he passed as well as glancing over every so often as he kept a slight distance behind him.
Some two hundred meters he tailed the Dominion spy before he lost him. Closing the distance as quickly as he could he soon realised the reason why he had lost his target, he had climbed a stairway that climbed upwards leading off the pavement. Stepping into the narrow space that accessed the stair well the shadows engulfed him. Anybody watching would have seen the Zabrak seemingly disappear into fresh air. Moving slowly and deliberately he made his way upwards.
He could hear the bounty hunter up ahead of him, the footfalls echoing down the narrow enclosure as he climbed, oblivious to the Sith that was tracking him. Quo was almost silent in comparison, closing the distance, knowing that wherever this was leading would soon be over. There had been no exits from the climb at any level so Quo pushed on, a growing belief that this lead to only one place, the roof. Perfect place to park the vessel that had brought you, and with a growing feeling of certainty that they were the only ones that were up here, things couldn’t be better.
Quo entered the final landing, an open doorway before him showing the roof area open to the elements and empty apart from a solitary shuttle and a light speeder vehicle that was only able to travel inside the atmosphere, not in space. Making his way over to the shuttle he could see that the hatch was lowered and there were a leather clad pair of legs just about to ascend to the interior.
In a flurry of action Quo whipped out a throwing blade and in one fluid motion the blade was flying out from his hand, zeroing in on the thigh of the Dominion operative. The blade thudded into the muscle, all the fury and anger that the Zabrak felt being channelled into the throw. With a thud the leg was swept out from underneath the bounty hunter, his body hitting the metal of the hatch. Quo closed the gap between them to less than five meters with a leap that defied any watchers belief as the stranger started to bring up his blaster pistol to aim at the fully revealed Sadowan.
Rolling to get a bead on the black form was harder than the hunter expected, his muscles not responding as quickly as they usually did, it felt like he was moving through treacle. Within a couple of seconds of being speared through the thigh his bodily functions were becoming slower and slower. It felt like an age before his arm came up to the aiming position by which time the Zabrak was in front of him, up close and personal.
“You can try squeezing the trigger, but by now I’m sure my neurotoxin is fully enmeshed with your brain,” Quo was sneering as he said it, his red and gold eyes were burning into his soul, “and your muscles are unresponsive. Now it is time that I get you out of here and I can ask you some questions.” He half turned away before resuming his position, “And, yes...... it may well hurt”
Eyes gleaming he lifted the bounty hunter onto his shoulders carrying him up the access ramp and securing him into the third seat at the rear of the cockpit. Firing up the engines he knew a place where he could take him, without further ado he lifted the shuttle off the roof, swinging the nose round to the West.
“My Master will help you,” Quo hissed from the pilots seat, “help you fill in all the details we are missing.”
The reflected red from the controls added to the fire in his eyes as he took his prize to where he would be most useful, towards his Master, Tasha’Vel Versea, and towards revelation.