Happy Landings Bar VIP Suite Palioxis Station Kiast System
“I should schedule meetings here more often,” Turel remarked as he waited to see who, if anyone, would accept his invite for a ‘job opportunity.’ The Jedi Master didn’t get to expense a VIP room for clan business very often. The tacky couch he had opted to sit on was supringisly comfortable. The room was eerily quiet save for the soft thumps of the music downstairs.
Turel absently thumbed a secure datapad with the mission details to help pass the time.
MISSION AUTHORITY: COUNCILLOR OF WAR SENTINEL NETWORK PRIORITY: CRITICAL
MISSION: INFILTRATE QUANTUM SHADOWS FACILITY ON CORUSCANT LEVEL 1077 AND SECURE SECURITY FOOTAGE BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY
OBJECTIVES: 1) ASSEMBLE A TEAM 2) LINK UP WITH TARGET CE’CELIA LATHOS 3) INFILTRATE TARGET FACILITY 4) SECURE EVIDENCE BY ANY MEANS 5) EXTRACT WITHOUT IMPLICATING ODAN-URR OR ANY BROTHERHOOD FORCES
The Sentinel’s thoughts were interrupted by a droid’s voice on the other side of the door, “your clients are starting to arrive sir.”
“Well, send them in,” Turel replied after taking a deep breath. Hopefully, the team candidates Miho had sent him would join without too much fuss.
Jon knocked on the frame of the door as he strolled in; despite the festive atmosphere occurring below, he lacked his usual cocky swagger. This was no time, for once, for jokes or games. He took a seat directly across from Turel and spread his arms out on the back of the couch.
“Well, this is a fine mess,” he said as he leaned back into the plush cushions. “You know, I had just gotten settled in after my last mission, and no sooner do I pour myself a glass of Alderaanian brandy – which is not easy to get, I’m sure you can guess – when SENnet, the Inquisitorius, and the Shroud Syndicate all put out Priority One holo-frequencies. The Collective really karked us in the ass this time.”
Jon leaned over, picked up a glass of something he didn’t bother to read the label on before downing it in two gulps; the pleasant buzz wasn’t enough to quell the anxiety roiling in his stomach.
“The New Republic,” Jon whispered, staring into the bottom of the empty glass before holding it out to the droid to refill. “Talk about an escalation in conflict. I don’t know wether to applaud or cry for how crazy that is.”
A young Zeltron woman strolled in, shoulders squared, head locked straight forward, the heels of her boots clicking softly along the hard floor, with every step she took. Her ocean blue hair was pulled tightly into a low donut bun. She wore a dark tee shirt, of which was tucked neatly into her dark green tactical pants, embellished with a thick belt. The pants themselves were bloused beautifully at the ankles, around her dark, albeit well worn, combat boots.
She carried in her right hand a large, dark green, medical bag. Peaking over her shoulder, two sensors could be seen with a black square frame - a BD-unit Backpack droid.
Her march stopped as she made quick eye contact to both of the folks in the room, before her gaze dropped and rested at the floor, her posture unmoving.
“Esen Dulle at your service.”
A brief pause, contemplating before stating more, she piped up again,
“I will be your medic for this mission, and this is Vox. Vox assists me with my duties.” She said angling her head slightly, gesturing to the BD backpack droid on her back.
All the while her gaze never reached theirs again, unless spoken to, reverting back to her time in the Dajorran Military. Her way of getting a feel for the environment and the crew.
As she joined the group, Sirra was thankful for the absence of other Mandalorians on the team. The last time she had been asked to join such a mission, the presence of a Clan Okami veteran had resulted in complications. Complications had led to accusations of her abandoning resol'nare due to her lack of beskar'gam plating. Then accusations had turned into an honour duel. Sirra had only found out after driving a knife through the shoulder of a future comrade that such bloodshed was frowned upon in Clan Odan-Urr.
Even without the risk of stabbing other operatives, those waiting in the Happy Landings’ suite were a curious mix. As Sirra silently stepped in through the open doors, her mind reached out and probed the stray thoughts drifting about each of them. Two were not unlike the older smugglers boasting of their exploits in the bar below. Each carried themselves with the arrogant swagger of men who had stared down death enough times to consider it an old companion, and walk away from its presence laughing. The third of their number had the hardened thoughts of one shaped by military life, but tinged by the pragmatic empathy of a healer.
Each of the team at least looked far more at home in the bar than Sirra did. Clad in the matte black of Inquisitorial infiltration armour and carrying an assortment of items useful in breaking an entering, the Kiffar felt out of place among the debatable finery and gaudy furnishings of the VIP suite.
“Sirra Werd'la,” Sirra said to the three, forcing down her distaste for spoken word and giving them polite bow. “You have a mission for me?”
Typically and obnoxiously late, Zebina strode out of the din echoing down the back hallway and through the open door of the VIP lounge with smile cocked crooked across his face and enough swagger to make a Rancor cringe. His outfit hardly matched his attitude - a simple and nondescript military cut which could have come from any number of local planetary defense forces and a single matching lightsaber hanging from his belt. He already had a drink in hand and, honestly, had been at the bar longer than he should probably cop to.
As he sauntered toward the table and dropped loudly into the last open chair, taking special care not to lose any of his beverage on the way down, the old Jedi caught Turel’s gaze and gave him a slight though not uncourteous nod.
“Turel,” he squeezed out through the smile still splitting his face in two. He didn’t know the others, but he had met Turel on occasion and, truth be told, had difficulty reading the other’s appraisal of him. He wasn’t overjoyed when he had learned who would be leading the mission, but… a favor was a favor and he had promised to at least make himself available.
Before the Jedi Master could acknowledge him, Zebina turned to appraise the Kiffar, now seated beside him, whose purposeful stride toward the back of the bar had reminded him how late he was. Well reminded him again, anyway.
“Wow. They’re even bringing out the spooks for this one,” he said with a sudden and uncharacteristic exasperation. “Kriff,” he muttered as he tilted his glass up and slammed back what remained.
Turel stood up and adjusted his brown jacket and bandoleer. The middle-aged human reached into a satchel and pulled out four datapads, handing one to each of the team candidates. He walked up to the door as the prospective team members began to look over the datapads and pressed a button to lock and secure the room. The ambient lighting in the room shifted to a red hue, indicating the heightened security status.
“Just a precaution. Now we can speak freely without being disturbed by any civilians.” The Sentinel pulled a small holoprojector out of his satchel and placed it in the center of the room between the couches and chairs the others were sitting in or standing around.
Turel took a breath as he composed himself, “You were all hand-selected by the Councillor of War for this mission.” His eyes slowly scanned the group as he let that thought linger in the air for a moment. “You’re here because Mihoshi believed you have the special skills to handle a mission of this sensitivity.” The Jedi Master made a few quick gestures on his own datapad and the holoprojector sprang to life, displaying a layout of the Quantum Shadows-controlled section of level 1077 on Coruscant.
“Our mission, if you choose to accept it, is to make contact with a Shadows defector Ce’celia Lathos then infiltrate the Quantum Shadows facility on Coruscant and get rid of the security camera footage on their server by any means necessary.” Turel pointed to the facility on the holoprojection for emphasis. “We have transport to Coruscant available but we can use a team member’s ship if needed. The rest of the plan we will develop as a team.” He gave another sweep of the group, making eye contact with each, “what are your thoughts?”
Jon set his glass down on the table with a sigh, mind already spinning with plans and possibilities.
“Two thoughts come to mind first,” he said looking out over steepled fingers. “The first is: how do we know this defector is genuine? If it were me on the other end of this, a fake defector to lure Brotherhood bodies to Coruscant is exactly the way I’d want to further incriminate us against the New Republic.”
He let that thought sink in for a few moments. “The second,” he continued, “Is to ask what we know about the area where the information is being kept. Law enforcement? The scene of the crime? Where exactly are we breaking into?”
Esen stepped forward, grabbing the datapad that Turel handed to her, and proceeded to flip through it. Vox peered down over her shoulder at it, producing small beeping and whirring noises. Her eyebrows furrowing as she took in the information produced by the others.
“I agree with Silvon. I would like to find out more about the building and preexisting security measures. Workers are creatures of habit. Maybe we could get a scouting party for a few days to see the regular schedule of the security team. Making sure our bases are covered.”
Looking up from her datapad to the displayed holoprojection map.
“As far as removal of the footage, we should make sure no other copies were made, and if they were made, removing those as well.” She gives a swift nod flicking off her datapad.
“If no other wishes to remove the footage, Vox is capable as he has a droid hacking matrix and a slicing link built in. However, I would much prefer he not leave my side.”
“That shouldn’t…” Sirra stopped and then started as she looked at Esen and then Vox. “Staying together won’t be a problem. Provided someone can talk us inside.”
She looked between the datapad and she had been handed and the holographic map, she tapped one particular passage which had quickly stood out on the glowing screen.
“The building is suffering from a growing mynock infestation, and keeps losing power when they chew on major cables. Posing as exterminators would be an easy way inside, along with any equipment we can disguise.”
They would still need to interrogate their contact for information, but it would be a start. Sirra tried to focus upon this and the floating holographic map between them and avoid shooting the last of their number a sideways look. Even through the haze of alcohol tinging the older human’s thoughts, the nondescript animosity radiating off of him was difficult to place but kept intruding upon her chain of thought. The word he had used for her - “Spook” - had carried more venom than she would have expected, and the feeling was mutual. For Sirra it was the latest in a seemingly unending supply of ridiculous slangs word people invented when using Basic she would need to learn and record.
“Some of us could also enter from elsewhere,” Sirra continued, keeping her mind on the task at hand. “But we only have a few options. There are too many automated defenses in the sewers to risk entering from there. They’re having problems with diagnogas, but the details are vague.” She pointed to a landing platform several levels above the location of their target. “What about posing as a delivery transport?”
Zebina took the proffered datapad and scrolled through it absentmindedly, humming a tune in his head as he pretended to listen to the conversation. He could feel the black-clad warrior absolutely bristling in the Force and made a mental note to keep an eye on her. The last thing he needed right now was a hunter hunting him… particularly one his contacts might not be able to protect him from.
The lull in her voice as she finished her question brought him back to attentiveness.
“Or food service staff,” he offered, hoping that would satisfy the others’ expectations… but only kind of hoping. “A facility of that size must have an enormous support staff, which means turnover and regularly unrecognized faces passing through security. Acquiring badges and uniforms, stolen or forged, shouldn’t be impossible with a bit of prep work.”
Zebina rubbed his chin. “Or we could send one person in uniform to open the door for the others. That would make smuggling in equipment easier.”
Turel listened carefully to the ideas being proposed by the group, each raised valid points. The exterminator angle in particular was something he had not considered or even thought to look for.
“All solid ideas, we can do a recon on the ground to suss out the best course of action, though I’m partial to the exterminator angle.”
I like the way you think he added telepathically to Sirra, tapping his forehead in a knowing gesture when her glance came his way.
He continued, “The files in question are kept on a local server that is not connected to the holonet. If it were, well we could take care of it from here. If they did make copies or take it out of the building it would have to be via droid or physical media.” He paused to focus the holoprojection on a bar two blocks away from the target building. “There’s a no questions asked flophouse down the street we can operate out of while we case the place. I’ve taken the liberty of having a contact secure us some rooms, pre-paid for the week of course. The bar downstairs from the rooms is just a bonus.”
It was 30 minutes before they left for the mission, 1 hour before showtime, and Esen managed to score a private meeting room at the back of the hotel. All she did was flash the guy a pretty little smile, and batted her eyelashes at him a few times, and he gave it over willingly for a few hours.
She had sent a message to everyone’s datapad, requesting them to meet in the room when they were ready. She had picked up a series of water bottles, as well as a variety of medical supplies, tucked neatly into her dark green medical bag. She wore a dark suit, outfitted that consisted of low light colors, ranging from black to dark blue.
Vox, her droid, hopped down onto the table right next to her bag, as she sat back into one of the plush armchairs. She had gone over the plan mentally many times, and she was running through it again waiting for the others to arrive. Vox sat staring at her, producing a small series of beeps occasionally.
She hoped they would bring up any last minute concerns they had, as they regrouped and ready to set out.
Sirra returned shortly after Esen, and after a friendly nod and smile at the medic had picked the wall furthest from the door to wait at. Withdrawing her sword from its hiding place in her backpack, she had spent some time silently toying with the pommel. It was the only weapon of hers that she had kept ready, the rest along with her armour hidden away inside an angular traveller’s backpack. Having taken great pains to separate herself from the warrior that had previously entered the Happy Landings, the ornate weapon was at odds with the mix of patchwork clothes, faded and resewn over a decade, that made her look like any other constant traveller in a chaotic galaxy. But touching the hilt to reclaim its memories had become something of a good luck tradition before each departure.
As her fingers brushed over the lightsaber crystal forged into its grip, distant memories and emotions of its long buried owner flowed past. The Ka Tarvitz’s joy in battle, reckless determination to win, and bloody minded determination danced across her mind, accompanied by vague suggestions of other conflicts. A thin smile crossed her face as she thought of her first tutor being selected for such a mission. Had Tarvitz participated in the planning, his suggestion for a subtle approach would have involved the word “air” followed by “strike”. She quietly wondered if the others had similar rituals, remembering those lost or just hoping to walk away alive. Yet tempting as it was to peer into their minds and find out, Sirra resisted the urge. Some things were meant to be private.
After a few more minutes, Sirra stowed away the sword again, the short time of remembrance done. As she did, she paused at a sudden outburst of emotion from the doors beyond and shook her head with a chuckle.
“The bar’s closing early,” Sirra said, more to break the silence than anything else. “Fitting really.”
“I’d like to volunteer my own ship to get us where we’re going,” Jon said as everyone regrouped. “The Grande Carnivale has enough stealth-tech to ensure she isn’t incidentally traced back to anything Brotherhood-related after this mess is cleaned up; it’d be a bit silly if we went to all this trouble to cover up the Brotherhood just to have some New Republic techie trace a ship’s ID’s back to use anyway.”
The words were said with a casual flare, but Jon couldn’t quite keep his hand from trembling as he set down his glass; it had been a long time since he had set foot on Coruscant, on his home-planet. Decades, in fact. One way or another he’d always found an excuse to avoid returning to the place where he was born, and the thought of going home now had him feeling… mixed.
“And really,” he continued. “You can’t ask for a more comfortable ship to travel in; I’ve put a lot of credits into making her that way. She’s waiting in the hangar as we speak, and I can have her ready to fly in half an hour.”