Quo sat in the diner watching as the clientèle went about their business ordering their meals and drinks. There was a constant buzz about the place as the conversations of the patrons merged into a background mush of noise. Their humdrum existence was not in the slightest bit interesting to the Sith as he observed the movements of the serving droids, and of the owner who was preparing the food behind the serving hatch.

There were three WA-7s in the cantina, all identical to each other, even the vocal units installed were identical. He had tried to discern any difference between them in the hours that he had observed them, and at a cursory glance none would have been apparent to the casual watcher, however he had noticed several idiosyncrasies in their behaviours, probably internal glitches in their core programming that had crept into the systems over the years of use that differentiated the three into distinctly individual units to the trained eye. The owner of the establishment obviously had not taken the time and expense to eradicate these vagueries, and he himself seemed to be able to distinguish between the three seemingly identical units.

“Table twenty four, Ne-ne,” he called from the galley kitchen to one of the waitress units, “and there are two spiced caffs to go for the two gentlemen at the counter”

The WA-7 addressed as ‘Ne-ne’ wheeled its way over to the serving hatch and took the orders across to their respective customers, the ‘face’ of the unit displaying the happy smile that was designed to put sentient life forms at ease. Her voice was bright and sing-song in its nature conveying a simple pleasure into the conversation that it engaged in with the clientèle. The programmers had decided that a high pitched, female register voice would make interaction more pleasurable to living beings, and this one had a slight giggle added to its speech patterns, either intentionally or through a programming fault which made its individuality more recognisable to the Sith taking it all in.

The unit behind the counter serving the patrons seated on the tall bar seats was different. Sure, it had the same sing-song female voice, although without the giggliness, but this one had a strange habit of wiping its hand over its cranial unit in a mimicry of the habit of some of the locals that frequented the eatery. This again was a distinguisher that Quo had picked up on early in his observations.

The third had a tic, the vocal processor unit had a habit of looping for a fraction of a second, resetting the word that it was attempting to say, giving it the appearance of having a slight stammer. At first the Zabrak had found it irritating, although now he just saw it as an error that should be fixed. It did, he would admit to himself, make it easy to spot the droid from its counterparts.

Atra and Evant hadn’t been able to discern from their interrogations which particular droid the information had been deposited in, he would have to discover that for himself. He tried to put himself in the position of a Jedi who was cornered and tried to deduce by logic which of the droids was the most likely target to search, however, even with his keen intellect he couldn’t decide which one it would be. Every time that he though he had a definitive answer his brain threw up a new scenario which countermanded his decision.

It would take longer to determine which one of the droids contained the information. He was gathering information every time the droids passed his spot, he watched them for signs of tampering. Fresh scratches, screw heads with no paint on them, panel alignment. He was sure that the owner did all his own servicing when required, there was a toolbox on the floor of the kitchen with droid maintenance tools sat within the open drawers, he had spied it as he entered. Even with the do it yourself approach to repair there should be a build up of food remnants and airborne particulants over the surface of the fixings through working near to hot food, and grime built up to form a protective film over the bodies of the droids. Any fresh tampering would be relatively easy to spot he thought, how wrong he had been. For over an hour he had tried to gain an incite to guide him, but the droids weren’t still long enough for him to thoroughly scrutinise them.

Sweeping around he sent a piece of cutlery off the edge of the table in front of him, making it look like an accident. The ‘giggly’ droid wheeled over to retrieve it giving the Sith a chance to sweep his eyes more thoroughly over the body panels of it as it extended an arm to pick up the errant utensil. Searching intently he could not establish any portion of it that was not covered in the thin film of grease and grime, there certainly were no marks of disturbance in the recent past at any rate. One down, two to go.

Standing from his table he made his way across the floor of the diner towards the lavatories, that would bring him closer to the ‘stammerer’. He followed it as it carried across another order from the kitchen although he tried not to look like he was following it. His gaze roved across the body of the droid, every surface coming under fierce scrutiny. Every fastening and panel was ingrained on his mind, although he couldn’t find any sign of interference. That left only the droid tending the counter to check.

Making his way back from the cubicles of the lavatories he made his way over to one of the unoccupied stools at the counter. At least with this one he didn’t have to travel around the place to try and get a good look at it, this one was restrained by the confines of the counter area. Ordering a spiced caff he sat watching as the droid perambulated the confines of the counter space. At first he didn’t notice it, but after a few minutes of scrutiny he noticed it. It was small, but from the gleam from the scratch it was recent, the newly scuffed surface flashing silver as the roof mounted lighting caught it as the droid moved.

Down near the midriff of the droids body, partially hidden away by the arm the panel had recently been removed. The layer of grease and grime showing signs of disturbance and several of the fixings had new working marks on their surface. At least now he had his target. Finishing his beverage he rose and made his way from the diner. He would communicate his findings to the Voice and return just before closing under the cover of his Force induced cloak of invisibility.

Several hours later he entered the diner again, following through the door left open by one of the final customers of the day. Taking up his place in the corner of the seating area he knew he could wait for the diner to close in this position without being disturbed, he only had to wait another 5 minutes until the final clients were ushered from the premises leaving him alone with just the droids and the owner for company. He bided his time watching as the receipts for the day were calculated and tallied, the profits being stored into the safe, the cafeteria made ready for the following day, before the owner made his way to the doorway. A cursory glance around as he brought out the remote for the droids, keying the button to deactivate them for the night and he was away, locking the door behind him.

Quo approached the dormant droid behind the counter under cover of darkness, his senses guiding him through the murkiness. Light was entering through the windows, however the polarisation prevented much of it entering, making the diner appear to be complete darkness from the outside. There was no reason for him to keep up his invisibility in the darkness, but still moved warily. He had no idea what sort of security the establishment had to watch over it, so was not going to take any chances. If there was surveillance all it would discern would be a dark shadow. The cowl of his hood would prevent them seeing his face.

His leather clad hands ran over the body of the droid quickly locating the panel that had been removed. Whoever had replaced it had left it sitting proud of the surrounding panels, making the task of locating it in the dark a lot easier than if he himself had done it. Taking out an extraction tool from his belt he felt with his hand for the recesses of the locating pins before loosening them, letting them fall into the open palm of his other hand. Within seconds he had removed the panel and looked into the black opening behind it. In this light he could not make anything out so reached in and searched with his hand, slowly and methodically he searched the recess, working around the perimeter of the space. There were a myriad of wires and servos that activated the droids movements, but he felt nothing initially. Turning his hand over in the space he moved it upwards to the top of the recess. There he found what he was seeking, attached quickly to the inner framework of the droid.

Removing the item he replaced the panel ensuring that the fit was flush this time before running his hand across the surface, smearing the grease and grime in a thin layer across the surface. He would look at it later. Moving from behind the counter he made his way through the kitchen towards the rear exit. No point in attracting attention by going through the front. After all there may be security personnel patrolling at this time at night. A glance at the door showed that it was a simple lever lock, no obstacle to the Sith. Manipulating the workings through subtle machinations of the Force he opened the lock. Stepping into the night he reversed the process to lock it again behind him. The cafeteria owner hadn’t done anything wrong, there was no need in his mind to punish him by making his place vulnerable to robbery.

Quo moved in the shadows, checking that he wasn’t being followed as he went. Within twenty minutes he was back in his accommodations, sitting before his portable computer. The item that was deposited within the droid turned out to be a data car. Quo had connected it to his computer and downloaded the files to memory. There was no information that at some point wouldn’t prove valuable to him. There were several encrypted files on the stick that he was currently attempting to decrypt using the laptop software. Looking up from the screen showing it’s progress he decided that it was opportune to inform Arta and Evant of his discovery, ommiting the copying of the data of course.

“Quo to Evant, Antwort, I repeat, Antwort.”

He had used the agreed password to tell them that he had found what they had been seeking. He waited for a response, whether to return to base or to continue the mission with an amended objective. There were surely discussions going on in the office of the Voice to determine the best course of action on which to proceed. It was some thirty five minutes later when the reply was forthcoming.

“Anwesig.”

A simple one word code that had the Sith packing his meagre possessions required for the mission together. It was a matter of moments before Quo was making his way back across the city, towards the Inquisitorious Citadel and his debrief. A sense of pride flowed through him, he had done the job quickly and quietly, no fuss or mess to clear up, and he himself was unscathed. Things could not have gone better he thought to himself, nobody knew he had been there, apart from to drink spiced caff, and nobody was any the wiser to his real intentions, just as any good Inquisitorius agent should do.

Sweeping into Evants office with no announcement he deposited the card on the Voice’s desk, a curt nod passed as a greeting. Quo waited patiently as the Seer closed his hand over the prize. The Grand Master would be pleased. Placing the card into a biometrically locked drawer he would present his findings to Pravuus later after he had read it himself. The solid wooden doors to his office were slammed shut keeping the rank and file partitioned away from this secret world, of which many were simply oblivious, just the way they should be. Evant felt the touch of the Dark Side caress his mind, velvet darkness stroking gently on the core of his being. Today was a good day.

Manually added by Augur Sanguinius Tsucyra Entar

0630. Another day, another dollar, so the saying goes. Zackel from his bed. Bleary eyed, and in need of a caffeine drink he made his way over to carry out his morning ablutions. Sitting on the bed he dressed, black trousers, shirt and shoes, the cap that completed the ensemble lying on the side next to the water heater. His head throbbed like he was living inside a bass drum, the constant throb marking out the rhythm of the day.

Making his way over to the small kitchen he poured the hot water into the ration pack he had taken from the cupboard above. The freeze dried rations swelled with the hot liquid infused the cells of the food, reconstituting it into something replicating a meal. He knew from past experience that it would not be enjoyable, but it would fill his belly so he ate it. Filling a mug with hot water he took a sachet of caffie from the drawer, along with a couple of sucrose capsules. Sipping at the warm beverage he smiled, eyes closed. Now that hit the spot. If there was one thing that was prerequisite to his day it was a hot mug of caffie, he found that over the years he could not begin the day without it, and his colleagues he worked with would willingly testify to that.

Grabbing his pass he made his way out of his accommodation, the door locking behind him. Trudging away down the corridor he made his way, as he did every morning, he started his commute towards the Citadel. He noticed nobody as he walked across the open plazas, through the small park pathways, and nobody noticed him. He was another member of the great unwashed, the little people who made sure that all the jobs too menial for the upper echelons of society to sully their hands with, but without whom the whole system would collapse.

During his twenty three years of working for the system he had seen many of the greats as they passed him by. The Grand Masters, the Jedi, the Sith, the great leaders in battle, the diplomats, the security experts, the great and the mighty of the Brotherhood, but very rarely had they even glanced in his direction, never mind granting him the honour of a word or a handshake. He didn’t mind these days, although in his younger days he had. He accepted his lot in life as one of the unsung multitude, the proletariat carrying out the thankless tasks with not a thought given to reward or recognition.

That wasn’t to say that he didn’t care about the tasks he was given. No, he would do everything he did with a sense of pride that came from within himself. He liked to do things properly. There were many of his colleagues that could learn from him he thought as his feet began climbing the steps before the entrance to the Citadel, his body had made the commute that many times that he didn’t need to consciously think about the journey. They should use him as an example he was thinking, show the younger members of the team that their task, and by inference, they themselves, were important to the Brotherhood.

Showing his pass to the guard at the entrance he was waved through. The guard didn’t really need to see his pass, his pass was his face, a constant familiar within the massive building. The guard hadn’t even glanced at the small facsimile of his face as he passed. He knew it was Zackel, it was 0658, the same time that he went past every morning, you could set your timepiece by him. Steady old familiar Zackel in his black uniform, the cap arranged as per the regulations, his trousers and shirt pressed and clean. Moving to the elevator he waited for it to arrive on the ground floor stepping inside as the doors hissed open. Without having to look his finger found the button for the forty third floor, the change in pressure telling him that he was speeding his way aloft towards his work station. Less than a minute later he was padding across the carpeted landing past his secretary and into his office. Sitting himself behind the desk he booted up his workplace computer.

The door to his office swung inwards as his secretary entered carrying a steaming mug of caffie, and a pile of data pads, both of which she placed on the desk before him. The smell from the hot beverage wafted towards him, a heavenly smell borne on the breeze.

“That’s all the latest news stories, and the boss wants a piece on the Grand Master’s latest brainwave, you know, the one about the Jedi?” The secretary’s sing-song voice informed him, ”and the editor wants to look over the piece you’re writing on the latest First Order’s conquests and it’s economic impact to the Galaxy.”

Zackel nodded, “Thank you,” he said, “could you contact him and arrange for a meet at eleven?”

“Yes, Sir.” She replied, spinning on the spot and heading out to her own desk on the landing.

Picking up the top data pad he began reading, making notes on a separate pad that he could look over later as he constructed the piece. Placing the reports in front of him on the desk he raised the mug to his lips. Hmmm, delicious. Sometimes, he thought to himself, being a writer is where all the action is.

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.

The night was still and quiet, not a breath of wind across the open desert. Even on the down slopes of the mountain ranges in the distance there was utter stillness. The nocturnal predators were hunting their prey under the cover of the dark. The only illumination came from the reflected red light of the dwarf star at the centre of the system bouncing down from the three small moons that circled above, locked in their own orbit of this small planet. The stillness carried every little sound across the void, every sand fall, every scuffle, every foreshortened cry from the prey as they were taken.

Above the sky was clear. The planet did not produce enough moisture for clouds to form making the night time temperatures drop to below freezing, whereas the daytime temperatures soared towards the one hundred and fifties, boiling any life form that was not properly adapted to the massive variance of the climate.

The Eenzaam entered the upper atmosphere over the southern pole, far enough from any centres of population that the vortices from his entry would attract the least amount of attention. To any observer below it would simply look like another meteorite, or lump of debris in its final throes before total disintegration on the surface below. Quo had cut the engines so that the ship would glide down to the surface, the only sound being the tortured scream of the pressure wave impacting the bows of the TIE Oppressor.

He waited as the fiery trail died down as his altitude decreased and the pressure equalised against the hull. His speed bled off as the friction pulled on the superstructure of the vessel, buffeting the ship as she glided towards the desert below. Quo had the craft in a slow, long spiral down, keeping to the South as much as possible, he knew that he would be a long way from his targets, but he would keep the element of surprise. His scanners indicated that there were only two places on this planet that were populated to more than a family grouping, and they were both North of the bled that he was aiming to land on. Controlling his speed and descent were critical, in effect he was flying a glider, he didn’t want the sound of the engines to give away the fact that he wasn’t an asteroid plummeting to its doom.

Turning onto his final approach he scanned the sand that was flashing past beneath his cockpit view panel watching for any rocky outcrops that would end his landing cycle in a short, sharp, disintegrating type of way, something that he wanted to avoid at all costs. Releasing the landing gear he felt the speed bleeding off the ship as the aerodynamics were disrupted by the landing struts. Balancing his speed against lift he brought her in to a smooth landing, the skis skipping over the sand, kicking up dust as they gained traction on the planets surface, bringing her to a smooth stop without so much as a crunch or a bang to escape over the dunes.

Checking his instruments Quo shut down the ship, all electrical systems closed down so that there were no tell tale echoes from his arrival. He could feel that his quarry was here, all his senses were alerted to their presence. Opening the hatches beneath the panels on the struts he took down his pack, turning and making his way across the emptiness of the desert. He had four hours until sunrise, and he needed to be under cover by then, before the temperature rose too high for him to safely be out in the open. Clipping his vibrosword and lightsaber to his belt and hefting the pack onto his shoulder he set off northwards.

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The thing with a small planet is the days are so short he thought as he approached the rocky buttress jutting into the smoothness of the desert. He was only a click or so away from the craggy cliffs, and the sun was already starting to show shards of russet from beyond the horizon marking its impending arising. The rays of its light were making the darkness darker in places as the shadows grew with the suns back lighting. Upping his pace he knew he had to get into shelter before the sun rose to its zenith when the sands would be like hot embers to his exposed body. Within ten minutes he had made it to the foot hills of the escarpment and began the climb up the slope. His eyes were scanning the shadows looking for a place to camp through the worst of the heat.

A crevice above him attracted his attention, turning to his right he began the ascent to what he hoped was a cavernous entrance he had spotted some three hundred feet above him. Scrambling over the lower faces, mostly broken and fallen boulders dislodged from above, probably by the constant cooling and heating of the surface material causing it to fracture and crash down from above. With sure feet he climbed higher until he was finally in front of the opening, making his way into the darkness, searching with his feelings for any unwanted predatory inhabitants through his connection with the Living Force. Sensing nothing he ventured inside, following the curve of the fracture slightly downwards and away from the heat that was building behind and above him. Settling down he set up his water reclaiming unit, and poured himself a mug of water. The best way of conserving fluids was to carry them round in your body and he knew that over the next three hours, until the sun had started setting over the hills in the far South that he would have to replenish all that he had lost in the night on his trek across the desert.

Patience was not one of Quo’s primary attributes, but he knew that he must wait. He also knew that his quarry would have to wait as well, the heat was simply too oppressive to allow any work out in the open in any resemblance of safety. The treasure hunters had no reason to leave quickly anyway, they had only arrived a few hours before he himself had alighted on the planets surface, they were far more likely to stay here for a while and keep a low profile. They had no idea that they were being persued, and would no doubt be making enquiries as to a buyer for their prize, that would mean staying and waiting themselves until notification was received.

He passed the hours by checking his equipment, making sure that he was fully prepared. He was focussed completely on his task, so much so that when he glanced up at his chronograph he realised that there were only a few minutes until the sun began sinking below the tops of the mountains far South of his current position. Packing up his gear again he rose and made his way out to the cavern entrance watching for a moment as the sun disappeared behind the crags far away. Setting out again over the sand he only had a hike of some forty minutes until he was on the outskirts of the largest settlement, the place where his computer had showed him that the thieves had landed their own craft.

That was how he saw them, as thieves. They had gone down to Tasha’s home planet and taken from her. They had taken only one thing, so they were being paid by someone else, someone who knew the value of the item, and that someone must never get their hands on it, and he would do anything to prevent it. He knew that the item had existed, but had no idea that his own Master held it in her inventory, he had no idea that it had survived. It was far too dangerous a thing to be allowed to be let loose on the Galaxy, even if he felt the pull of it, goading him into taking it for himself. He wouldn’t of course, his Master had given him a mission and he would complete it. Anyway he knew where it was should he decide that he needed it.

His reverie had made the miles pass by without conscious thought or effort, he only came back to the ‘now’ when he was less than two clicks from the settlement. Lying on his belly just behind the crest of a large dune overlooking the camp, for that was all that it was, there were no solid structures within its confines, merely a rag tag mismatch of temporary abodes. Scanning from his vantage point through his ocular magnifiers he could make out several ships of differing configurations. He soon zeroed in on a Corellian cargo runner. The markings were consistent with the testimonies of the witnesses to their flight from Ryloth, and the manifest had given him false identification number from the transponder. Taking out his pad he sent an electronic enquiry to the ships transponder which was answered by a ping. Checking the readout he saw that it was the same identification. He had them! He continued watching the encampment for the next twenty minutes seeing no signs of patrols or guards, only a couple of local militia that were watching the latest pod race broadcast on a viewer within a Sanger towards the eastern edge of the settlement.

Quo made his way down towards the parking area for the ships, moving quickly and silently down the dune alleys in a wandering path, using the shadows to his advantage. Through concentration he was able to avoid detection from the Force users within the perimeter of the enclosure, whilst the darkness concealed his physical form. Sprinting from the final dune over the open space set out for landing craft he stayed low and quiet as he approached the target ship. Slapping his hand onto the release button the boarding hatch slid out and downwards to meet the desert floor, a black shadow detaching itself from beneath to vault up the slope into lit interior. In an instant the hatch slid shut again leaving no sign that it had been activated to all but the keenest eyed passer by.

The ship itself was small, barely a more than a shuttle in all reality with a central area where the crew slept, ate, and carried out the minutiae of every day life. There were storage lockers along one of the walls along with a food unit for heating provisions. The place was a mess, detritus from the crew strewn about the compartment, discarded food packaging and clothing items laying around in a haphazard manner. Quo opened the lockers one by one finding nothing but the crews personal effects within their metallic interiors. He searched quickly and efficiently attempting to leave no impression that he had ever been there, even so it took him the best part of thirty minutes to ensure himself that the item was not located within any of the storage spaces contained within the oval room. Turning he left and headed for the cockpit area, although he felt this also may be a dead end.

Entering the bubble of the cockpit he knew that he was more vulnerable here than at any other part of his reconnoitre of the ship due to the plexiglass windows that made up sixty percent of the piloting control area. It gave the craft an excellent field of vision for the pilot, but gave little in the way of cover for anybody searching the area. From the outside his silhouette could be clearly seen from the outside. Concentrating hard he appeared to anyone observing the ship to fade out, his profile disappearing into the background. Moving with deliberate precision he checked the cramped confines of the cockpit for any hidden access panels, the floor, the walls holding the plexiglass, nothing!

A hiss and groan from the hydraulics signalled that the hatch was being accessed from outside. Quo froze. He waited listening for the noise as the crew boarded their vessel, the snatches of their conversation carrying along the corridor to his position.

“Why haven’t we had any reply yet? Do you think that the merchandise has become hot?” The lilting voice of youth carried through the silence of the ship, from the sound of it this was a young male, although Quo didn’t exclude the chance that it was a female. Moving from the cockpit silently he moved into the corridor, less chance of being cornered than the cockpit.

“Quiet!” The gruff male tones garnered no choice about it, “Someone has been here. Secure the ship!”

Sounds of activity filtered towards him as weapons were primed and systems activated sealing the ship from the inside. Dead bolts fired into place as the door to the hatch was sealed, the ‘thunk’ deafening as it echoed throughout the ship, the vibration sending shock waves through the steel skeleton of the cargo runner. Quo waited, his feet shoulder width apart, left foot in front of his right, his right hand wrapped lightly around the hilt of his lightsaber, his left containing one of his throwing knives. If he had to kill best to make it quick and quiet if at all possible.

The gruff voice boomed again from the central cabin, “We know you are here, come out and no sudden moves,”

Quo thought that he may be bluffing to bring out an inexperienced thief, but he would take no chances, moving forwards down the corridor he approached the opening into the oval space on the other side of the bulk head.

“Come out Jedi, Know you are here do I.” Another male, they were giving him more intelligence with every passing second.

Reaching the frame of the door way the young Zabrak was about to crane his neck around the edge to take a look. Instinct made him pull backwards at the last second, something inside him making him retreat as the blade of a lightsaber ignited and swept downwards, bisecting the air where a split second before his face was about to occupy. Quo’s own blade ignited with a ‘snap-hiss’, the crimson light reflecting from the panels in the corridor, making a sickly colouration where his own blade and his opponents illuminated the brushed steel of the tube in which he was standing.

The green blade advanced through the opening followed by its owner. The Human female was far smaller than he was although the musculature of her rippled with every movement. Her small frame was well toned, and she was light on her feet, the muffled footfalls belying the speed of her advance. Clad in leather trousers and jacket covering a simple cotton shirt her eyes were brilliant blue almost piercing in the gloom of the corridor.

Quo’s rapid movements had shattered the illusion of invisibility. Standing a good head taller than his opponent he advanced, his red and gold eyes glinting with the anticipation of taking down this light sider. His eyes narrowed as he advanced.

Her blade sliced forwards across him at neck height, his own blade meeting it in a jabbing motion, rolling around the diameter pushing it up and away from his head. The clash of the energy weapons leaving a smell of ozone in the confined space, the crack and spit from their connection rebounding from the walls amplifying the noise into an assault on both their hearing. Quo’s wrist flicked out bringing the tip of his blade around and down jabbing it into the soft tissue of the Force sensitives shoulder, a cry escaping her as she involuntarily reeled backwards. Quo jabbed again, his blade being parried uncomfortably by the Jedi in front of him, her balance and grip being weakened by the pain she felt, and the necessity to wield her own weapon single handed. Retreating she led his advance into the heart of the ship, back to the oval room whence she had emerged. As he emerged from the restrictive space of the corridor he mentally tallied up the opposition within the cabin. Three humans and a Gungan. As he entered the Gungan raised a bow caster to his shoulder, readying himself for releasing the energy of the weapon on the Sith warrior, his finger curling from the trigger guard onto the trigger itself.

Like a flash Quo’s left hand whipped out, the blade contained within it arrowing a track towards the would be shooter the glittering light reflecting from the cutting edge as it flew across the room. With an audible ‘thunk’ it struck the sniper between his eye stalks, the impact throwing him backwards into the lockers behind him. A crash followed by a crumpling marked the end of his life in a pool of his own fluids.

A volley of fire from his right from the largest of the men filled the room with blaster bolts and smoke from their impact. Quo moved at superhuman speed into the centre of the room, his blade beating a tattoo of deflection directing the bolts away from his body as he moved. One of the bolts deflected from the scarlet dancing blade struck the other human in the chest, the smell of burning flesh filling the air with smoky, barbecue smell as the victim fell where he stood, his legs buckling beneath him.

A gesture from Quo’s left hand and the space was filled with blue and white lightning, the energy leaping from metallic surface to metallic surface enveloping the two remaining foes within the fingers of its grasp. Holding both of them with the crackling pulses the Siths saber cut down the Jedi before him, separating her head from her body, the look of shock forever etched onto her features as her body fell onto the grill of the floor. A spinning strike covered the distance to the final opponent, his weapon disintegrating as the crimson saber cleaved it in half.

Quo ended the lighting storm as quickly as he started it, the silence of the cabin seeming to be deafening to the lone human treasure hunter as the Zabrak approached.

“Where is it?” The Sith growled the question toward the lone survivor, “I know you have it. Where is it?”

The final three syllables were emphasised, a gesture from the warrior of finger against thumb seeming to drive the air from the Captains lungs. His eyes widened, the iris and pupils fully separated from the lids surrounding them making them seem to be huge in his terror. His lips quivered, seemingly fighting to get the words out faster than his muscles would allow.

“Cargo bay, floor panel, code 14be568,” he stammered as his feet led his body backwards into the wall.

“Show me!” The words seemed to have a power all of their own, driving the Captain past him, Quo following a couple of paces behind.

The human pressed the release catch for the cargo bay and the hatch sprung upwards into the bulk head opening out into a small but functional cargo bay. Scurrying ahead the Captain pointed to the floor panel towards the rear right of the hold.

“Open it!”

Pressing down on the panel it released the mechanism, the covering flicking up a fraction before the treasure hunter eased it up and back to reveal the access panel below, his fingers tapping out the code. The door beneath slid across. Looking back upwards the last thing that the Captain saw was the Zabrak’s crimson blade slicing down towards his head. Quo reached down and pulled the humans remains out of the way and looked into the secure hold below.

With reverence he withdrew the item from its resting place in the base of the safe. Lifting it up in front of his eyes he absorbed the lines admiring the quality of its manufacture. How many others had actually held it before? Very few he guessed. Rotating it in his hand he viewed it from every angle trying to absorb the essence of it through his eyes. He could feel the power radiating from it, fuelling his own desire for power, screaming out to him to claim it for his own. He could feel the greatness issuing forth from it, calling to him through the Force. Turning it towards him he both admired and craved it, and the man who had once owned it. Holding it in both hands now he turned it so that the eye sockets were staring back at him. To hold the face plate of Darth Vader in his own hands tempted him more than any other item than he had ever beheld before, but he knew he had to return it to Tasha’Vel. She required it of him.

Placing it inside the canvas bag that he had brought to transport it he stood. Reaching into his belt pouches he removed several of the charges and set them. He would not leave any clues as to his passing, all traces must be erased. Approaching the hatch he accessed the door release before exitting and closing it behind him. Like a wraith he returned to the desert from which he came, retreating behind a large dune before keying the detonator. The Corellian cargo runner erupted in a mushroom of orange and yellow heat, shrapnel arcing away in all directions, the ‘plops’ of metal fragments impacting around him after the blast of the pressure wave had passed over him.

Satisfied that his work here was completed he turned away heading back towards the South, and his own ship deep in the desert. The darkness enveloped him as he retreated into the night carrying his precious cargo back to his Master. He would be home soon, back in the fold of his fellow Sadowans. And now he knew what the relic was, and where it was housed. The covetousness still burned within him, the embers fuelling his grip on the Dark Side. One day, when he needed it, it would be his. The fire inside was the only light as he began the journey home, no other illumination was required for the Sith, he could see his way plainly now.

Getting into the ship yard would have been so much more difficult in the days of the Empire. Security in the current age was not as stringent, and access could be attained at a small price. No longer were the Emperor’s stormtroopers a constant presence throughout the Galaxy, the First Orders soldiery being fewer in number, and scattered further than their predecessors. Quo doubted that they weren’t trained as highly either, his few encounters with them showing them to be able, though nothing more. In the days of the Empire this place would have been crawling with white clad troopers, all with specific areas of authority, and a determination that could only be achieved from years of training, and the ability to choose only the best, which was established through the use of clones. Every one of them was exemplary. Every one servile to the Emperor.

He sat at the bar of a run down drinking establishment. Even with his Zabrak features he didn’t stand out here. Every patron in the subterranean dive was too busy looking after their own affairs to be interested in anyone else. In here he didn’t need to use stealth or subterfuge, in here nobody else was interested, and that was just how he needed it to be. Ordering another drink from the bar tender he waited. He had been waiting for three days. He well knew that there was a time restriction on this mission, but his opposition would be experiencing the same problems as he was gaining the proper paperwork and passes for the ship yard, but he had a couple of extra tricks he could use should the need arise.

Before he even arrived on this temperate, soft world he had put wheels in motion. Passing himself off as a Jedi escapee he had put the feelers out through the Corellian underground for somebody who could get him close to the ships. Someone who could get him inside the security wall and under the local security services radar. He knew that the real Jedi would be doing something similar to get to the CR90 Corvette that they so desperately needed. There weren’t many that fitted the bill, and only two that worked from Corellia, and the other one was on the opposite side of the planet, so the odds were in his favour that this one was doing the same for his quarry.

In between bouts of isolationist socialising he had rented a single room directly opposite the main entrance to the yard, above what was loosely termed an eatery. His evenings spent watching the entrance, and patrolling the perimeter fence, he had gathered the shift patterns of the workers, and even learned some of them by sight. He knew the patterns of the private security guards, and who were the weak links. The hours of study would pay off later he told himself secretly wishing for the chance to spread some death and destruction about. That would have to wait though, this was, after all, an Inquisitorious mission, he was meant to be subtle.

The communicator at his belt vibrated. Plucking it from his belt he held it to his ear, listening intently to the incoming message. He finished his drink, spinning from the bar whilst tossing a credit chip to the barman. “Keep the change,” he said as he made his way out to the city. Exitting the bar room door he glanced left and right along the street. It was raining hard, and the light was glinting from the pavement and puddles, reflections glinting in his eyes. Turning left he followed the other foot traffic up to the main thoroughfare through the suburb.

Capital Spaceport was teeming with life. The colours and sounds bombarded the senses though Quo made his way as though he knew where he was going. He was heading for the waterfront, it was time to meet his enabler. Passers by didn’t even cast a second glance at the horned man as he made his way towards his rendezvous. There were so many people of so many different races and species here that another oddity didn’t warrant any interest. Moving down the stair to the harbour he looked out to sea, over the top of the playboy accoutrements that were berthed at the moorings. The stocky Zabrak was down by the water in no time heading to the predetermined meeting point, a small bar set back from the water down a nondescript alley way. Disappearing into the gloom Quo entered, his senses seeking out any sign of danger as he entered, unconsciously his arm moving the fabric of his tunic away from his lightsaber on his belt.

Entering the bar by a small set of steps leading down into another dive. Quo glanced around before heading to the bar. “Ale,” he said as the bartender came by, throwing a credit chip across the bar top. A bubbling green liquid filled glass was slid back to him, connecting with the Sith’s right hand. Turning away he made his way to a small seating booth at the back of the room, deep in the shadows, away from prying eyes. As he sat a small, thin looking Rodian slid into the seat opposite. A sense of deja-vu swept over Quo, he had a bad feeling about this. Placing a small translator unit between them the Rodian keyed in a code on the upper surface of the module.

“Welcome stranger, funding do you bring?” The little machine approximated Zabraki, although the dialect was not one that Quo recognised. Reaching into his belt pouch he produced his data pad, turning it so the Rodian could see the screen. The green man opposite nodded his assent and Quo put his thumb to the screen followed by the Rodian, the screen confirmed that the funds had been transferred.

“Many you kind I helped, stopped never have they,” the translator warbled, ”Kungo called am I, happy to help I are.” His lips curved upwards in an approximation for a smile, his arms spreading to either side of his shoulders.

“For the right money you are,” replied Quo, then thinking better of it to maintain his cover as a Jedi, “but thank you for your assistance”

“Papers I have of you, very good, very good, tell them from real will nobody. Guarantee will I.”

Quo forced his face to soften, this trying to think like a Jedi was harder than he thought. It left a bitter taste inside his breather. Regardless, it seemed to satisfy Kungo as he sat back and chuckled, his large eyes glinting with the merriment. From beneath the table he produced a small folder. Sliding it across the table, glancing at the other patrons as he did so he theatrically bowed as Quo swept them into the shadows with his arm. Catching the folder in his left hand he flipped open the cover, taking out the identification card, ship yard pass, terminal pass, and a very official looking manifest check sheet. Looking them over Quo was genuinely surprised. This Kungo character was good, scrutinising the identification closely he revised his assessment. He was better than good, he couldn’t tell that this was a forgery. He would make a note in his database that this Rodian was a true artist. He would be a good contact to nurture.

“These are very good, I may well be contacting you for more of these for my, er, friends. I applaud you Kungo, you are an artist.” Again he gave the softened Quo look, nodding sagely as he spoke.

“Please am I, and welcome you are. Many things for friendship I can do, all is needed is asking,” Kungo was grinning from ear to ear, or as far as his undersized mouth would allow, “but now I am for leaving, and hoping you are coming back after over the troubles.” Standing his gave a short bow, in one movement he had wheeled away and disappeared into the gloom.
Quo finished his drink slowly, no reason to attract attention to himself, and no telling who was watching Kungo’s movements, either in here or out on the street.

The next morning Quo was awake early. The shift started at 0600 local time and he wanted to look around the ship yard. Joining the mass of workers he approached the security gate, his identification ready in his left hand. The security was waving through all the regulars, the ones he recognised by sight, checking around a tenth of the entrants to ensure their credentials were in order. Stepping in front of the Zabrak he waited, his right hand extended before him.

“Identification please.” He looked the Sith directly in the eye awaiting his card. Quo passed it to him, waiting patiently as he read it, scanning the image contained against the face that was before him. “No problems mate. First day?” A smile was affixed to the wide, generous mouth.

“Yeah, working on that old cargo runner, short term contract.” Quo looked over his shoulder at the throng of workers moving past.

“Right mate, over to the left, there’s a large green hangar, in there. Thanks,” handing the ID back to Quo he turned, seeking out his next target for checking. Moving off Quo headed where he had been guided, following the flow of people heading to their designated work areas. As he approached the hangar his eyes took in the layout. The entrances and exits, the staircases that climbed the outside of the building, leading to differing levels for access to the ship contained inside. It was a massive building, it would be very easy to lose yourself in a place like that, or get lost on purpose.

The throng had thinned as the other workers headed in different directions. As he approached the building there were only about thirty or so workers heading to the hangar. Hanging back slightly he let the others continue on their way, opening a gap between himself and them. This was not a high priority area, the CR90 was an old ship. It was an old ship thirty four years ago when they had been used at the battle of Yavin IV, and these days there were better ships available. That was probably why it had been selected by the scattering Jedi, nobody would be taking any notice of an old hunk of junk. Watching as the workers approached the hangar he could see no sign of security on this particular bay, but he watched for another minute or two as the workers dissipated to their various stations. Satisfied that there were no hidden security measures he made his way directly to the main hangar doors. Most of the workers were up on high, carrying out repairs to the main systems of the ship, down here there was nobody to be seen. Working his way across the floor he headed for the underside of the Corvette, taking in her shape looming above him.

Quo was at home in the shadows, and used them to his full advantage, ensuring that no-one saw his movements. Searching the underside of the vessel he was looking for something in particular. Just aft of the ventral docking port was an access hatch, only for use in emergencies where the engineers could leap to the safety of space wearing EVA suits in the event of emergency. It was hard to locate in he gloom, but Quo had studied the plans for this vessel in the briefing, studied hard and long, ensuring that he knew the ship inside and out. After a couple of minutes he located it.

Pressing the emergency access button a hiss of escaping gas, and a cloud of hydraulic steam marked the port acceding to his control. Reaching out with his senses he checked the other side of the hatch, sensing nothing there he climbed aboard, reactivating the control panel once he was ensconced inside. The hatch closed with a dull thud, and a breath of vapour. Looking up the access shaft he assessed the ledge above him to be some twenty two feet higher than his current level. His legs bunched thrusting himself upwards, his body becoming an arrow, easily making the distance. A couple of taps on the door control and he was inside the ship proper, his feet on solid bulkheads, the light soft but fully illuminating.

He needed to stop this thing getting away from here, and bringing explosives on boards through the gates was not an option, he would have to improvise. He was near the engineering compartment, but he had a feeling that there would be workmen in there. He had the correct clearance to enter there though thanks to Kungo. Working his way aft and upwards through the maze of corridors he was stood outside the engine bay within ten minutes. The door was open to the control room as well as the double doors to the engines themselves. Entering the control room he was surprised to find that there was nobody there. Quickly he made his way to the consoles beneath the viewing windows to the bay beyond.

His fingers danced over the controls, bringing up the schematics for the power control relays. If he could access them there was a chance that he could cause a feedback loop in the main power conduits and either destroy the ship, or delay it long enough for Brotherhood forces to pounce on her as she attempted to escape. Reading quickly he found two that could likely be made to do that. Turning he made towards the first of them. As he reached the door instinct made him stop, recoiling as a bright blue saber blade sliced millimetres from his face. Stepping back his own saber leapt from his belt, snapping into his mechanical hand with a reassuring ‘thwack’. Instantly it ignited, bathing the room in a crimson glow, the reflection flashing from the glass of the viewing area.

“A Sith,” came a voice from the corridor, “I haven’t seen one of your kind for many years.” Rounding the corner was a large human male, easily two and half meters in height, with a chest the size of an escape pod, or so it seemed to the young Zabrak. ‘How had he sneaked up on me?’ thought Quo, his body dropping into the relaxed stance, one foot slightly forwards of the other, shoulder width apart. Reaching with his left hand he drew his vibroblade from its scabbard, holding it in a reverse grip.

“Where have you come from young Darksider?” The Jedi before him strolling slowly and deliberately across the room towards the Dark Knight.

“I come from your nightmares, Light walker,” spat Quo, his eyes flashing gold and red, filled with venom, “I am the envoy of your demise.” Striding forwards towards his adversary he twirled the saber in his right hand, the left hand twirling the blade in his other providing a constantly moving target to the Jedi.

The Jedi set his stance, wide and low, his saber levelled at the Sith warrior, a gesture from his hand clearing the mobile consoles away to the sides of the control room, their movement seemingly of their own volition. “Your over confidence will be your downfall young warrior, the Force is to be caressed, not bludgeoned.” Quo wanted to wipe that benevolent smile from his face.

A leap covered the distance between them, Quo’s saber swinging downwards toward the head of the huge human. The smell of ozone, and crash of the impact almost deafening them both in this confined space. The Jedi was already moving to his right, his left hand extending, spread. The Zabrak felt the pressure of the push hit his chest, throwing him backwards across the room, his feet scrabbling for purchase. Stopping himself from hitting the wall behind him, a single bound brought him back into range of the Jedi. The blue blade was arcing around at waist height in a double handed grip, the Jedi adding power to it by leaning into it with both shoulders. Quo met it with his vibroblade, the blade whining as it deflected the blow, spinning across the room, knocked free from his grip by the power of the blow. The Zabrak’s own blade followed the fist that he threw, feinting the strike, a dummy which the Jedi succumbed to, attempting to block it with his own saber.

Quo’s left hand shot forwards, flashes of blue lightning tendrils reaching forward from his finger tips, enveloping the Jedi in a cloak of blue and white energy, his body pulsing with the power. The Sith’s eyes narrowed as he urged more and more power to surge through him. The Jedi groaned under the onslaught. Abruptly it stopped, Quo reaching backwards, hand open, summoning his vibroblade back to his hand. With a ‘zing’ it left the floor, flying true to his outstretched palm.

The Jedi rolled back onto his shoulders, flipping himself back to his feet, adopting the same wide stance, looking in pain, but sticking to his task. A roar marked the next attack from the young Dark Jedi, the twin whirling blades leaving gouge and scorch marks on the floor of the control room. Seeing the approach the old Jedi retreated step by step, drawing the Zabrak, in his frenzy forwards towards him. Sparks showered the room, the clanging and whirring noises deafening to both of the fighters. Quo stepped quickly, his attack frenzied and relentless, the Jedi fending off each alternate blow from the rising and falling blades. The lust for victory gleamed in the red and gold eyes of the Sith.

As he kept up the pressure his opponent gestured upwards and backwards with his free hand. Suddenly Quo was airborne, crashing through the glass of the control room. He felt himself tumbling as he fell, trying to right himself, balance his spinning so that he could attempt to land on his feet. The ground came up too soon, and with a crunch he hit the floor, his momentum sending him into an uncontrolled roll, his limbs flailing as he came to a stop.

Dazed, his brain reeling he tried to stand, finding his legs failing beneath him. He couldn’t focus, images zooming in and out uncontrolled. His breather didn’t sound right either, the valves seeming to stick, causing a wheezing noise and restricting his breath. Rolling onto his back he looked back to the control room, the old Jedi was stood at the broken window looking down. With a leap he landed on the engine room floor, a mere two meters away from him.

“I would like to say that you will learn, young one, but I’m afraid that I cannot allow you to live. Rest reassured that I take no pleasure from it.” He strode across the floor, raising his saber above his head, readying for the fatal strike.

Quo’s hand reached out, the prosthesis withstanding the impact better than his real left arm, bruised and battered at his side. Fingers outstretched he snapped the fingers shut. At the zenith of its swing the blue blade above his head paused, the Jedi looking down with compassion in his eyes. It made Quo feel sick inside. Gesturing a pull one of the huge shards of glass front he broken window leapt from its resting place, unseen to the ageing Jedi. Before he could begin his killing stroke the glass passed at shoulder height, severing both arms,. and more importantly, the head of the Light Side advocate. He was dead before his body hit the floor.

Exhausted and wounded Quo regained his feet. He had a job to do. Gesturing with his prosthetic he called first his saber, then his vibroblade back to him, replacing them into their places on his belt. Moving slowly he knew he had to rig the ship.
Within an hour he had set the power control conduits to overload once the ship was in orbit. It would either cripple her or destroy her, he wasn’t bothered which. He hurt, and he had to get out, and do it when it was quiet. Making his way down the to the hangar floor through the same network of corridors and hatchways he waited until night fell. Under its beneficial cover he made his way back to his rented accommodation, signalling the Inquisitorious that his mission was successful, filling them in with all the details. For now he needed to sleep, to recover. There would be no rescue from this one, he would have to make his own way back to Sepros. Later. When it didn’t hurt as much.

Manually added by Augur Sanguinius Tsucyra Entar

Manually added by Augur Sanguinius Tsucyra Entar

His vantage point looked over the entrance of the jail building. Its massive walls sheer and standing at over five hundred meters in height. His field glasses took in the facade of the eastern side seeking out any weakness in the defences. There were none that he could make out from this distance, he would have to get closer.

Packing his gear into his belt pouches he worked his way down the escarpment, trying to be as stealthy as possible, using the twilight shadows as cover. Using the natural bracken and rocks he was a shadow morphing its way across the landscape. Like a finger of rock the ridge cut a line directly to the ground level of the jail, leaving a short sprint of about twenty meters to the wall itself. Within ten minutes Quo was crouching looking over the open area to the wall from the cover of an overhanging rock formation. Watching the ground around the base of the wall the only sound her could hear was the inlet and outlet valves on his breathing prosthetic pumping oxygen into his damaged lungs. It sounded like thunder to his ears. The only other sounds were the local wildlife, whistling and chirruping in prelude to their evening chorus. His eyes, never still, scanned the ground looking for any signs that there were alarms or detectors. In this light it would be difficult to ascertain.

Crouching low he moved quietly across the open ground, balanced on the balls of his feet as he moved fluidly through the night. Without warning beneath his right foot there was a click. Quo threw himself forwards, leaping a full three meters into the air, twisting and somersaulting as he flew. Landing gracefully he froze. Logically he knew he had just trodden on a mine, and should be picking bits of it out of his body, or bits of his body from the surrounding scenery, but nothing. Crouching low he waited. There was always a possibility that it was a delayed trigger, or a ‘jumping jack’. The three seconds he was waiting seemed like an eternity. A vibration from just below the surface briefly pre-empted the explosion of earth as the mine leapt from the ground. He dropped, flat to the ground, expecting the explosion and shrapnel impacts to hit him any second. Inside his head his brain counted the seconds....two......three.......four.... he risked a glance upwards from his prone position. Turning his head as his eyes scanned he watched the mine disappearing upwards, far more upwards than it should have done.

He watched as it cleared the height of the wall, exploding a split second later, murdering a small bird and approximately twenty roofing tiles. Standing and dusting himself down he started as a pin landed two inches in front of his feet. An eyebrow arched upward, the only sign that Quo had registered it at all. Well, he thought, there goes the element of surprise. Turning he craned his neck backwards, looking up, watching the falling masonry twisting and turning in the fading light. Moving across toward the wall he waited for the alarms to start. His cover had been blown, and there was now no way he would make it inside undetected.

The first impact from the roofing material hit the ground about thirty meters away from him. Bits of masonry and tiling struck in a staccato rhythm into the path that he had recently covered, the vibrations setting off several more of the mines buried beneath. The resulting volley erupted in all directions, some out to the surrounding country, a couple arrowing towards the jail wall, their journeys being marked by gouges in the brickwork, some of them even breaching the wall, disappearing inside. Again Quo hit the deck, narrowly being missed by another explosive device on its whirling track towards the young Zabrak. Shards of the masonry rattled down onto him, covering him in a light coloured dust. With a zinging noise it careened into the distance, rebounding away, further along the wall line, its impact setting off more of the over sprung devices.

The debris from the initial impact of the first land mine ever to achieve near orbit had registered on the automated laser defence system. Beams of white hot energy erupted from the batteries, their combined rate of fire lighting up the evening gloom. Quo watched as the evening erupted into a pyrotechnic display worthy of any provincial celebration. Laser bolts arrowed across the sky in all directions, with little or no directional control in evidence. Shots rained down in all directions as the blaster canons spun and danced on their mountings randomly. Quo pushed himself to his feet, and leapt fully thirty five meters to the cover of the rocky outcrop. Rolling into cover he watched as the pandemonium continued.

The more the mines erupted, the more the batteries fired, filling the space with smoke and debris, fragments and explosions rocking the outside of the wall as the bolts of light left scorched etchings along its surface. Several of the batteries momentarily concentrated their fire on a particularly vicious brick at the base of the wall, pulverising it into submission before it crumbled into dust. The sheer destructive force of the defensive barrage was wearing down the opposition of the stubborn invading jail with every volley. Quo could only watch in awe at the firepower amassed against the sedentary opposition.

A crack appeared at the point of the demolished brick, small at first, but growing with each passing second, creeping across the surface like a dark vine. Vibrations and impacts only hastened its course as it climbed aloft along the line of the wall following the line of least resistance. With every passing second the barrage inflicted further damage, the cumulative effect weakening the whole eastern wall at the point where Quo was watching. The ripple of destruction was spreading away from the epicentre, eruptions widening the area of damage. It was already halfway down the side, heading for the corner.

A crunch from above drew his attention. The crack had reached the top, and an offshoot had formed a pincer movement on the concrete of the wall at the top. Several laser bolts ricocheted against it rocking it forwards away from the jail building. With a roar it detached itself from the rest of the wall, the huge piece tumbling on its end as it fell. Twisting, seemingly in slow motion, it crashed back onto itself, fracture lines appearing in the face of the wall, dislodging several other large pieces which did their own damage on their plummet towards the ground. The blasters focussed on these large pieces, bolts rattling and shaking them as their energy dissipated through the jail.

Quo could feel the rumblings through his feet, the low growls of the tortured structure shaking his organs within his torso. Turning the ran, this muscles pumping as he put distance between himself and the impact site. He moved as a blur across the landscape, his only thought to get the frell out of there. His legs pounded, arms pumping, as he drove his body higher up the hillside. The only thing that was important now was getting himself a good distance away. Faster than seemed possible he was standing on the ridge overlooking the jail, looking dishevelled and more than a bit second hand.

The explosions continued for the next hour or so, the blasters continuing their tattoo on the structure, before they eventually toppled and fell into the growing rubble pile below. Ceilings of individual floors fell from above, crashing through the floors below, walls tumbled in all directions sweeping all before them. Eventually the dust began to settle, and the whole scene was revealed before Quo’s eyes. The whole jail had collapsed in on itself, aided and abetted by the defensive machinations of the weaponry. The survivors were scurrying backwards and forwards over the debris field, dazed and confused. He had been sent to infiltrate the place, and failed. He didn’t like failing, but at least another team wouldn’t required much help getting in. In his mind he was calling it a win, after all he had breached their defences.