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The bubbling sounds of the undersea currents, and the dull whirring of hydro engines is slowly replaced with buzz of static as the submersible enters the protective force field shielding the underwater hangar of Hab-5. As the sub connects to one of the many airlocks in the hangar, and the pressure hatch slowly turns and hisses its disapproval with the surrounding ocean pressure, the deep creaking of the Hab’s pressure hulls rattles the teeth and brings an unnerving sensation of vulnerability to anyone not accustomed to the depths.
*Soon enough the small team of investigators climbs out of the submersible and find their way to dry ground, what looks to be a modified Mon Calamari hangar — a strange view for many of them, since the last place they’d seen such design was on a starship, well above a world’s oceans. The Mon Cala were, in fact, known for multi practical designs which could work just as easily in space as they could underwater. *
—
A small delegation welcomes you as you disembark from your vehicle. There are four security guards, dressed neatly in Tythas City blue and white uniforms, their jackets freshly pressed, their caps perfectly affixed atop their heads. Each of them is a different species, all humanoid, yet all equal in discipline and etiquette Batons at their sides, arms behind their backs, they wait patiently at ease. In front of them, a slight, short, female Mon Calamari stands with a datapad in one hand, calmly waiting for all of you to arrive before addressing you with a comforting smile.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Hab-5. I am Jesmi Chalu, I am Director Orsen Fa’leik’s assistant. Please follow me to the Administrative section. The Director will want a word before you begin your investigation,” she says and turns to leave, followed closely by your group. Two security officers walk immediately in front of the assistant, while the other two keep behind your group, comfortably distant but ready to react should the need arise.
You pass through white corridors, once pristine and new, but now damaged and in varying states of disrepair. Lights flicker on the walls and ceilings, here and there, and the climate controls seem to work erratically in some places as the temperature changes from noticeably warmer to colder, or the pressure lightly pops your ear drums. All these issues are a direct result of the Hab’s misfortunate crash and have, seemingly, not yet been fixed. As you pass through Public sectors 3 and 1 and their adjacent habitation zones, things somewhat improve. Likely because the repair team’s focused their efforts on the habitation zones and most important engineering sections to make the Hab livable.
You notice the people most of all, all of varying species, some looking at you with curiosity and subdued hope, others with annoyance and visible disdain. It is not easy for these people with nowhere else to go. The Hab was meant for them, after all, and all the bad luck which followed it crashed on their shoulders.
—
Finally you arrive at the Administration sector, the quarters, then the top most level whose windows are open to the clear blue sky topside, damaged bulkheads and data terminals long since replaced by newer models so as to allow for uninterrupted bureaucratic and administrative work. For those familiar with the design, it is clear these rooms would be part of a Mon Calamari ship’s auxiliary bridge, but have been refurbished into offices and control centers. There you find Orsen Fa’leik in a circular room with a hologram of the Hab and all the sectors located within it. (See Map) He greets you courteously, with a genuine smile and shows you to your seats around the small amphitheater. “Welcome. Please make yourselves comfortable. We will now commence the briefing…”
A long hour passes as Orsen briefs you: the situation in Hab-5 is dire as people living in it are losing hope of ever having a normal life here. The reconstruction team lead by the **Roan Dask, the guildmaster of the Hab’s maintenance crew, has been putting out one fire after another ever since the crash and has not had time to focus on the broader problems. Unfortunately there are no more people in Tythas City that can be seconded to one Hab, not while there are many other Hab’s with similar teething issues that require constant maintenance. Roan is a Chiss engineer who volunteered for the Hab-5 job, a decision he seemed to be regretting. Talking to him would be a good first step.
Orsen also shares several off-the-books rumors with you, ones that may require a follow up during your investigation, but ones that he personally could not get around to investigate. Apparently there is a **small black market ring* on Hab-5. Corruption rises from discord in any place, and Hab-5 is seemingly no exception. Apart from that he has no relevant information. Perhaps some of the lower deckers would know.*
Once the briefing is over you are all handed a datapad with the relevant data coded and encrypted with your genetic print. Should you need to reference or share any information, it is freely available. He leaves a small time frame for any questions you might have.
“Most of the mechanical stuff doesn’t mean much to me,” Blackwood admits to Orsen, looking over the datapad before handing it to one of the others. “‘Least beyond the basics. Utri Dza'Lya though, did she leave much in the way of notes on her vetting the Hab? Or any particular areas she was investigating before she went missing?”
Fa'leik inhaled a deep breath out of frustration, but not at Blackwood but at something else, likely related to Dza'Lya. “The data on her is tumultuous. She certainly left reports on the inspection, and they are clean.” Almost too clean. The implication hung in the air for any canny enough to notice, John especially. He flicked the buttons of his pad which revealed additional data on John’s own datapad.
“I have my suspicions that she was a plant. She came to Tythas only two months ago from Kiast, her records were as clean as can be, she came recommended by the Royal Engineers of Kiast, and so she was given a top level job here due to her expertise. In fact she volunteered, from what my sources say.” He stroked his elongated chin with a clawed finger.
“Except that my contacts in SENNET can’t find any prior mention of an individual of that name or description on Kiast, the Royal Engineers, or…well anywhere. And she’s been missing for the past three days, no less. Slipped under the radar of the local admins due to the chaotic situation on the Hab, at least until I came along and checked. Her last known location was in Public sector 2, the Education section. Apartment 206B, if you’re interested.”
“Very,” Blackwood nodded his thanks, making a mental note of the room and location. “If they’ve torched any paper trail behind her, best to look here and hope she got sloppy. Plant or not though, I’d like to know where she went.”
Blackwood started to reach for his cigarette case before giving an irritated sigh, remembering that its contents had been confiscated before they had boarded the sub.
“And to cover the obvious - Was she responsible for logistics? If you keep having the same mechanical problems, I’d like to know where those spare parts are coming from.”
“She was, for a time, though her logs indicate she delegated that duty to Guildmaster Seroandaskvar,” he paused. “As for where she went, there are no clues in the departure registry. If she did leave the Hab, she didn’t use official transport, and did so through other means, and there are few enough of those to investigate. Maintenance airlocks in the engineering sections on the Hab are an obvious choice, but they are fairly populated and a missing underwater suit would have been logged. Though, if she had insider assistance…” His concern grew more and more with every possibility. He had thought of all of this many times, that was certain.
“A good place to start might be her quarters, or the Guildmaster, he might know of any illicit activity in his sectors. That said, I am authorizing you to use any and all methods to…extract valuable information, should you need it. I have the utmost confidence in your abilities to discover any misconduct, as does the Governor. That is why you are here.”
Siv quietly listened, sanguine eyes pacing back and forth between Blackwood and Fa'leik as they talked. Her expression had stayed the same through the entirity of the breif, and stayed the same still– a soft look of concern. While Fa'leik went on about how there was no trace of Dza'Lya, no transportation logs, no hint of where they went Siv cast a look dowards at the datapad in her hands and began to work at her cheek. Cream glove covered hands flipped through reports and logs…
“Has anyone been to her quarters since she disappeared, or where she worked most often?”
It was entirely possible that Dza'Lya was no longer alive. It was not uncommon for someone to be assassinated by their own corrupt peers– it was something she had seen before, both in Dajorra and on Coruscant. In fact, a few of the contracts she had taken under Connor were leaders putting hits on their own people. Even if they didn’t find the woman’s body in her quarters, it was entirely possible they could still find it elsewhere.
“I have sent a security team to maintain order. There have been…inquiring voices from the workers. They’re not detectives, however. I forbade them from entering until a professional team comes along and investigates.” He took his cup of tea in hand and added before drinking. “I thought it prudent to leave any possible evidence intact. That said, I have issued a new cylinder for this purpose.” He reached out and placed a code cylinder on the table before the team. “This will help with any access issues.”
Celevon Werd'a had maintained his silence the entire time, though it was mostly to keep his nerves at bay. It was a conscious decision not to lightly touch the minds of each of his companions for this mission, even if for something to distract him from the claustrophobic anxieties.
However, his thoughts matched those of Sivall. It was very likely that the woman was dead, if she had not been detected. It tugged at something in his memory, a discussion with Elyon De Neverse about an attack on the Jedi Temple during the Clone Wars, just a few weeks before she had been suspended in cryo-animation.
As Crash, his C1 droid — normally assigned to their ship — that his daughter had rebuilt moved forward to grab the code cylinder, the memory resurfaced.
Celevon abruptly turned to John Blackwood, startling his long-time companion and sister-in-law at the sudden movement. He also included Fa'leik in this general question, at last breaking his silence. “Do you think they could’ve used nano droids? There was an attack on the Jedi Temple during the Clone Wars, where the source of the explosion was a mechanic, unaware he had been fed nano droids. All they could find of his remains was a hand, I think…”
-# <@690640377262243843> <@326457564994994176>
Orsen paused, pondering the information but finally shook his head lightly.
“I doubt such a thing would happen here, mostly because such weapons are far beyond the financial means of one star system, and a far too drastic measure to employ just to create a crisis in this situation, on this specific Hab. A much better target would have been the Terraformer.” He sipped his tea once more and set the cup down on its saucer with a light clink.
“I have a strong suspicion the means are far more mundane, but no less sinister, but I will let you come to your own conclusions as evidence arises. That said, should you find any hints of such a weapon, I will be informed immediately to implement a quarantine to isolate Hab-5 from the rest of the City. Until then I would rather not create a panic among the agitated civilians.”
“I agree,” Siv added, standing up from her seat, “Panic will not only hinder our investigation, but it might obscure clues.” The Chiss softly sighed, picking up the cylinder offered. “I hope mine and Celevon’s hunches are wrong and that they are still alive.”
She gave a respectful nod to the intelligence officer, placing the newly obtained cylinder in her pack.
“That’s all the questions I had. If no one else has any, we should be on our way. Are we all in agreement we should head to Dza'Lya’s apartment?”
“Can’t do much else until we find our first lead,” Blackwood agreed, already running a few potential situations through his head as he mulled over the information they had. “Just don’t count out anything at first. If we’ve got a mystery that leaves a lot of room for crazy possibilities.”
He looked over his shoulder and jerked a thumb behind him. “Her quarters are down that way, right?”
The Mandalorian quirked an eyebrow at her brother-in-law, only to receive a shrug in reply, followed by a brief nod to both the Detective and the Doctor. It had taken years to reach this level of silent communication between the duo, which roughly translated to:
‘Didn’t expect such an idea from you’ on Jade’s part, followed by ‘it was an idea’, then ‘let’s follow their lead; it’s a good plan’.
Meanwhile, Crash had begun swearing up a storm toward the Chiss that had grabbed the code cylinder before he could.
“Do we need to have another talk about your language?” the Mercenary hissed at the C1 unit, only to get a coarse response that required no translation.
Celevon dutifully bit his lip to keep from laughing, then cleared his facial expression before his sister-in-law turned his way. He knew very well not to draw the ire of redheads… especially those with a penchant for explosives.
“Well, that’s the beautiful thing about Binary, it censors itself to anyone who doesn’t understand it,” Blackwood said, managing to hide a smirk at some of the droid’s choice bleeps, and wishing he’d brought a notepad given the creative touch to some of the droid’s insults.
“Actually, one last question for you all - Do we tend to have Sith or their like around here? I only ask as they tend to create complications in my experience.”
The Shaevalian-Umbaran managed to suppress a twitch at the question, as people often tended to assume that he was a Sith… or he was accused of such by the more closed minded of their Jedi brethren.
He tended to avoid the religious bent or more philosophical views on the Force. Whilst it was alive, it was just another tool in his arsenal.
He noticed the cold blue of his sister-in-law’s eyes on him and lightly shook his head. Celevon wasn’t taking offense.
“We do have a few here and there,” Jade admitted, managing to refrain from glaring at the droid which released the equivalent of a snort. “But I’ll let our security specialist here handle the ‘public friendly’ version,” the Mandalorian finished, air quotes and all.
“My own apprentice is technically a Sith, but she prefers to live elsewhere,” the Seeker revealed, unbothered, still trying to restrain the smirk at their droid’s continued profane commentary. He noticed a look from the Detective and explained in a succinct manner. “She’s a Firrerreo.”
“If you are all certain her apartment is your next stop,” he says as he pushes several buttons on his datapad and synchronizes the Hab’s map to each of yours. A clear image of all the levels of the Hab shows up, with pathways, major locations, and directions. The location of Apartment 206B, Education section, Public sector 2 flashes brightly indicating your destination. With an assuring nod he shows you the way out and adds, “the Governor has faith in you, as do I. Should you need anything, I am a call away.”
As you walk out of the Administration center no guards follow you, no assistants keep you company, except for the bureaucrats and agents rushing about their own business, you are alone, or at least without outside interference. It seems that is intentional. Your investigation is your own, as are your choices and judgements.
—
You proceed down through the Hab with a brisk walk, passing through elevators and stairwells as the map guides you. The Hab itself is labyrinthine — a massive structure of snaking tunnels and open spaces, maintenance shafts, ducts, living quarters, cargo bays, and hangars. There is an overwhelming feeling that your task is not an easy one. If indeed the enginer is dead, the body could have been hidden anywhere, or if she is alive she could be hiding anywhere.
With a capacity of several thousand, the Hab looks downright abandoned with the meager complement of four hundred souls aboard. You see few people in the secondary hallways and elevators. Most of the foot traffic is done through the main access corridors and lifts, wider, bigger, more accessible.
You proceed downwards into the middle decks, among the hustle and bustle of the public areas. Here there are people aplenty concentrated in various places, some in newly furbished bars, some in freshly decorated and stocked stores, others finding whatever entertainment they can after their shifts. Still you can’t help but feel the place looks like a ghost town. There are closed shop fronts, darkened apartments, blocked off public spaces, all intended to serve a much larger population. You imagine a future where that could be possible, hopefully very soon.
Some people greet you kindly and warmly, others simply stare. Children wave as they head to school, students gossip as they return from classes. Very little out of the ordinary catches your eye. Thee are regular people going about their lives.
Finally you arrive at a plain white door: Apartment 206B. The door itself is unblemished, unadorned. Stock, as it were, straight from the factory. There is a shaded window looking out onto a small circular space the apartment shares with fice others. There is a small artificial waterfall in the middle of the space, circled by benches and some greenery. Artificial sunlight shines through a skyline above the waterfall, illuminating the space. The other apartments seem to be inhabited as well, since you can see internal lights shining through the partially shaded windows.
As you apply the code cylinder to the door lock, an audible click sounds from the door and the lock’s screen shows ‘Access granted’. You enter one by one and are greeted by bright illumination covering the apartment in a soft, almost sun-like glow. Two rooms and a bathroom, simple and efficient, as expected for a single-person hab-unit. You enter first into the living room whose window looks onto the waterfall outside, though no light enters through the closed shades. It is the bigger of the two rooms with a sitting area with a caf table to your left, right beside the aforementioned window, and a small bar and kitchen area directly in front, neatly dividing the space into visitor and host areas. To the left of the kitchen is the door to the bedroom, closed, and further along the wall a door to the bathroom, also closed. The apartment looks to be clean, well maintained, and tidy.
There is a rack of jackets on the wall next to the door, various personal effects on the caf table — as well as a half-empty cup — and some neatly grouped crystal glasses on the bar, set right next to a expensive-looking crystal bottle of amber liquid, half-drunk. The dish washer door has been left open, as has one of the drawers.
“Someone left in a hurry,” Ruana mumbled, stepping back out of the way of the others to lean against the wall.
“Or it was made to appear that way,” Celevon agreed with his daughter-in-law, slowly taking in all of the details whilst Jade went over the datapad of information.
Blackwood had enjoyed the short journey. Even accounting for the Hab’s near abandoned state, it was the closest he’d come to normality in a long time, and reminded him more of CoroNet city’s rougher districts than he’d liked to admit. All it was missing was a sky full of ships, and a few unruly spacers being ejected from bars.
“Anything’s possible depending on how much time she had to prepare,” Blackwood said after Celevon and Ruana exchanged their thoughts. “We’re lucky, there’s not much space we need to cover either.”
Tugging on a pair of gloves - the closest thing he had to a proper medical set at that point - Blackwood took a moment to look around before prizing anything open. Then, considering Ruana’s comment, he decided to start looking through the jackets and the rack they were on. It was an outside chance, but people had a habit of forgetting important items in coat pockets.
“Keep in mind, a few folks have already gone over this place. We don’t know how detailed a sweep they pulled, but try to think of stuff that would be skimmed over on a cursory examination.”
Jade had been taking a look around the room, a frown creasing her brows before she looked to her brother-in-law. “Celevon, maybe instead of standing around and offering suggestions, you could do your… psychic thing.”
“Psychic thing?” Came the question from several of their group at once.
The Seeker in question sighed loudly, ignoring the smirk from Ruana. “She means Psychometry. I can attune my senses into objects to pick up upon impressions and information involving their use, as well as events surrounding it,” Celevon explained as he moved toward the half-empty caf cup, which was stone cold by now.
He reached out a hand toward it, barely an inch away, though the Seeker did not initiate physical contact. He’d been a victim of contact poisons more than enough times to learn his lesson.
Celevon took a deep breath, his lone organic eye falling closed as he focused intently on the mug. On its history and what went on around it…
Three jackets hang on the rack next to the door. A brown jacket made of rough, almost scaly, likely imported leather, but it is locally made evident by the ‘Sauer & Sauer Couture, Kiast’ stamped on the inside. It is lined with what looks to be short, soft and well made Nexu or other feline fur, expensive but not opulent. It is sized for a lithe individual, around five-foot-five-inches tall. It still smells rather new, recently bought most likely. The leather isn’t yet worn out enough.
The second jacket, however, looks to be well worn. It is a safety jacket used by tech crews on Tythas. It has a bright green outer layer with some high-visibility patches here and there that reflect the light rather well. It is beaten up and looks to have been worn by multiple individuals, clear from the overlapping tags on the collar. The most recent one says ‘Dza'Lya’ scribbled over it with black marker. Rather big for someone of Utri Dza'Lya’s stature, the jacket was recently cleaned as evident by the lack of soot, smog, or dirt on the surface. It isn’t even dusty. Rummaging through the pockets, John finds a used inoculator. Whatever liquid was inside was emptied out a while ago. Some lint and crumpled scrap papers are all that’s left in the other pockets.
The third is a well worn summer jacket, soft, light and breathable. Made from synth-materials, it is rather cheap and disposable, and yet it looks to be well kept and cleaned, perhaps as a favored piece of clothing. There is a mechanical stop watch in one pocket, a rather interesting antique that isn’t working. The jacket is about the right size for Utri Dza'Lya but hasn’t been moved from the rack a while, evident by the gathering dust on the collar where the jacket hangs.
<@326457564994994176>
—
Celevon touches the cup through the Force, sheepishly at first, but when he senses no danger he pushes further into the memories and feelings associated with the object.
At first he feels cold, rattling, movement, ceramic clinking against ceramic, darkness. He hears the unpacking of cargo crates, the chirping of worker droids as they carry items to-and-fro. He feels warm hands on the cup, the rattle of ceramic against plastic as the cup is almost tossed into the caf maker. The buzzing and grinding of fresh caf, the pouring of liquid. He feels his fingertips burn with the heat of the hot liquid as it spreads through the cup, an audible grunt escapes his lips as his vision turns rather more real than he expected.
Finally, he sees the cup being used by the individual it belongs to. She looks to be a middle-aged Mirialan with intricate tattoos on her face. When she drinks the liquid usually she has some sort of glasses on, reading something from a datapad or book. The cup is used frequenty, daily, in the mornings and evenings.
These flashes of memory pass so fast, too fast for almost anyone to catch any specific details, but an impression is left on Celevon’s mind: a coarse hand, rough like leather and scales, grasping the cup. Panicked emotion seeps in in that moment, echoing through the object. Drinking, fast drinking. Drinking several times in a row. Filling the cup again. He can not discern any details, and as the memories and visions slowly begin to fade, Celevon sees the cup left on the table without activity until the doors of the apartment open and several individuals walk in. Their activities are blurred and unclear, but what is clear is that it is not their group. Someone else was in this place before them.
<@248237225202941964>
Blackwood spent some time going from one to the next, checking through them and confirming their status. After a time he gave up looking between the jackets, but gave up after a few short minutes of examinations.
“All fairly clean, save for this one, which hasn’t been moved in days if not weeks,” Blackwood said more to himself than the others, indicating the summer jacket. “And all of a similar size save for the tech jacket. Could be nothing but still worth noting.”
Blackwood removed each of the items from the pockets in turn, walking over to the bar and setting them down. After spending a few moments shifting the torn pieces of paper about on the surface to see if they might fit together at all, he looked over the watch, weighing it in his hand and checking for any signs of serious wear or oddities on its surface.
“Family heirloom, do you think? Seems like a strange thing to leave behind if she did cut and run,” Blackwood asked the others before seeing Celevon’s reaction to peering into the past. “See anything interesting?”
The Seeker almost flinched back as his focus returned to the real world, anxieties already high from being within what he considered a metal death trap waiting to implode.
“After more mundane things, such as moving in and caf being poured, I was able to focus on Dza'Lya herself. She was panicked and drinking in a rush…” Celevon reported on autopilot, his mind working through what his senses told him. “She left the cup on the table and there was no activity for a while. Several people entered the apartment before us or security locked it down, though I did not see what happened to Dza'Lya.”
The Shaevalian-Umbaran took a deep breath, visible relaxing as he exhaled in a slow, controlled manner.
His lone organic eye flicked from one to the other, person to person to emphasize the serious nature. “Be mindful of traps. It’s entirely possible that they left explosives behind to cover their tracks.”
“Noted,” Blackwood said appreciatively, then looked about for a moment. “Probably should be careful around the bathroom and kitchen. Every damn time I’ve run into a tripwire, it’s always been those two. Must be some kind of in-joke among criminals.”
Blackwood took a moment to look over the only two open containers in the room - first the drawer followed by the dish washer. Extending his claws on one hand, he carefully poked about each, examining each for the more common signs of rigged explosives, before examining their interiors for any oddities. Afterward, considering the threat posed and Celevon’s own comments, he made a general sweep of the apartment for any signs of traps or explosives.
Finding nothing, Blackwood’s brow creased. This didn’t seem right somehow. If this person was a professional, they could have hidden traps or any number of items in place behind anything. That meant he’d have to show care and tact for a rare moment in his life.
The next several minutes were filled with the sound of panels being steadily removed and draws ripped out from their runners as Blackwood went to work across the entire kitchen, steadily working his way outward. A slowly growing pyramid of removed parts grew next to the bar; the mess of ripped out sections, components, and items soon rising until they were almost the same height as Celevon. It was only when they began to reach the height of Blackwood’s eyes that he realised there was likely no traps in the place, if only because there was little to nothing left that they could be hidden behind.
Whilst Celevon began to move toward the bedroom to continue his own search, Ruana Suoh-Werd'la joined Blackwood in the continued search for explosives.
Jade, on the other hand, began a systematic search of the living area for hidey-holes and nooks, nothing that would be out of place if their missing woman was in the spy trade. At the same time, she kept an ear out, ready to assist the others should an explosive device be discovered.
The Mandalorian could tell that the room had been thoroughly cleaned up. As well as the fact that a number of people had been through here, even without her brother-in-law’s warning from his psychic scan of the caf mug.
Still, she continued the search, occasionally knocking on walls and glanced over the door frames (anywhere that something could be hidden, even channels that could have been carved in to conceal notes), pale blue eyes taking in all of the details with a combination of the Legion’s Eye beneath her helmet and the HUD within the helmet itself.
The Pantoran, on the other hand, grumbled as her search beneath the sofa revealed only a dirty pair of underwear. Ruana quickly tossed it aside, making a mental note to thoroughly clean her armor after this mission.
As the search goes on, John takes to searching every inch of the room for clues. Given his lack of results earlier after rearranging the apartment’s walls, he takes to a more methodical, less-destructive search. Ruana joins him to double the effort, however they seem to trip over each others’ progress as they carry on, often checking the same places. Some frustration might build after realizing they find nothing in particular. John does come to a conclusion that this apartment was cleaned a while ago, deliberately, the smell of bleach already well evaporated.
Jade and Celevon take to their investigative task with gusto. Searching through the apartments small refrigerator they find six bags of a clear, watery liquid. Upon closer inspection it is a saline solution. Five of the six bags are full, the sixth is partially empty with a twelve inch tube stuck into it, clipped down by a medical clamp. Further investigation leads them into the bedroom, where a strategic black light search (proposed by Celevon, of course) leads them to find biological residue of an entirely mundane nature. Skin, probably. they also find a datapad in one of the drawers. It is wiped to factory settings but clearly well used. They find one additional thing in the bathroom: a small patch of cloth stuck to a poorly-made, jagged shower door. The patch is orange, synthetic cloth.
Blackwood was starting to realise just how out of practice he was. He’d been taking constant mental notes, detailed potential clue from the scant hints they found and indications of their suspect’s life within the hab for some time. It had only been after he had closed the same draw for the sixth time, that he realised Ruana had been making the same notes and performing slight alterations, each time undermining one another’s work.
“Emperor’s black bones why couldn’t it just have been a howling Sith ghost,” Blackood signed. For all the death and bloodshed that surrounded them, at least those cases were remarkably uncomplicated.
“Something wrong?” Ruana asked, stopping in her own efforts and putting back one of the items he’d set aside only minutes before.
“Nothing, nothing,” Blackwood said, not realising he’d spoken so loudly. “Just speaking to myself. Old habit when investigating this sort of thing.”
Ruana’s expression indicated she didn’t believe him at all, but she didn’t press the matter. “Well, we’re not going to find much here. This place is practically spotless.”
“Interesting point,” Blackwood mulled, starting to nod before realising the obvious. Save for a few outliers the flat was almost showroom pristine, and even with the multiple security personnel who had supposedly picked over the place, there should have been more signs of life. A caf stain here, some dust build up there; even the floor didn’t seem especially scuffed.
“Back in a minute,” I just want to check on something, Blackwood said while handing Ruana the code cylinder. “Keep it closed until I get back.”
“Well, how will we tell it’s you?”
“Your dad’s the mind reader, trust me, he’ll know if it’s me standing out there.”
Blackwood exited the crime scene and, picking the residence to the right of Apartment 206B, knocked on the door.
A few moments passed before the automated camera on top of the door turned to face him with an audible buzz of servos. It resembled the spherical head of a TT-8L gatekeeper droid, though much more sophisticated. In all likelihood it was no more than a ‘spyhole’ through which to see arriving guests
“Yes, please? Who is it and what do you want?” An soft yet tired voice echoed through the door — a woman, elderly, somewhat annoyed by the tone alone — followed closely by a more mechanical, raspier voice — a droid, protocol type, unknown make.
“Madam, may I be of assistance?”
“We have a guest. Well? who is it?” the voice echoed through the intercom located on the side of the door.
<@326457564994994176>
“Hello ma'am,” Blackwood said, making an effort to remain polite and nodding to the spherical camera. “My name’s Detective John Blackwood. I’m part of a small team investigating the disappearance of your neighbour. If you could spare a moment I’d like to ask a few questions.”
Sheepish, silent conversation followed, barely audible through the door, and it took nearly half a minute of pressing keys for the door to open, but finally, glacially, it did. The woman behind the door was an elderly Mon Calamari wearing a robe and what amounted to pajamas and slippers. She leaned on a walking cane, her back bent forward, and her eyes stared in John’s general direction. Both were filled with cataracts, clearly necessitating the help of the Emdee droid standing behind her. It was in mint condition, though its factory claws and instruments were replaced by soft-padded humanoid hands and several compartments that looked to house compartments for something or other. Medicine, more than likely.
“Yes? Speak up!” the old woman spoke louder, clearly hard of hearing as well.
“Madam, please return to your room. You must not be walking at this stage of medication,” the droid’s polite bedside manner shone through, but the woman ignored him, clearly eager for some socializing, even with a stranger at her door.
<@326457564994994176>
“Thank you, this won’t take long,” Blackwood said, nodding again in thanks. Recognising she wanted to be social, he decided to keep his questions open. “Your neighbour, Ms. Utri Dza'Lya, she disappeared three days ago. In the past few weeks have you noticed any oddities. Strange sounds or even strong chemical smells, mrs…?”
<@690640377262243843>
“Lor,” she replied kindly, “but you can call me Gasenna, officer Blackwood.” She turned her head partially to the droid behind her. “Oh what a polite guest, Emdee.” As she turned she lost her step but the Emdee droid was there in an instant to help her regain her balance.
“Sir,” he addressed the detective with all the politeness programmed into his droid brain. “Madam is not well.”
“I’m well enough, you heap of scrap. Waves take you and your programming.” She cursed him out as she straightened again. With a moment’s pause she turned to John again. “My eyes are not what they used to be. I could see a Firaxan from a mile away in murky waters when I was younger.” She paused again, breathing heavily. “But I have heard things and my son has seen them too. We talk every day before he goes to work for the Engineering Guild, you know.” Another pause, another couple of breaths. “He’s a good boy, my Yakbok.”
Again she paused.
Despite her eagerness the exchange was clearly taking a toll. “I have heard sounds from her apartment before. Loud yelling and disagreements. Why, not a week ago she had several of those orange-coats here, those technicians from the lower engine bays. Emdee told me so. He’s my eyes you know, as well as my helper. They say bad things about those technicians. Bad things, I tell you.”
<@326457564994994176>
“Is that so?” Blackwood said, mentally noting down much of this and quietly wishing he’d had the foresight to bring a datapad. The name Yakbok at least wouldn’t be hard to forget as a second potential witness. “Thank you, that is extremely helpful, Gasenna. I won’t keep you for long, but what sort of things are they saying about the technicians?”
Blackwood made a point of looking between the Mon Calamari and the droid, leaving an opening for Emdee to step in and pass on any relevant data. The last thing they needed was for Gasenna to suffer from overexerting herself and costing them a vital witness. “You don’t have to answer right now, but if you could recall and pass on any names mentioned or specific statements, we’d be very grateful.” <@690640377262243843>
“They’re a bad influence, may the waves take them. Mostly Quarren own there, humans too. Why, my cousin’s daughter’s husband Yeehno said to me ‘Nana, they’re doing bad things down there. Stay away from them. If you see orange, go the other way.’ She said with a scoff. And Yeehno is a good boy, you know. He’d never get into any sort of trouble. So I told him I’d never, and I’ve done that ever since, even when my sight is bad, but I can see the orange even through my poor eyes.” She waved her hands around, losing balance again as her cane left the floor.
An noise came from the droid — a sigh? Maybe, but not likely. If he could show emotion, he’d probably show a few. “Madam, that is enough for now.” Gently, gingerly, he pulled her into the apartment followed by a slew of curses from the old woman. She had started to ramble as he sat her back into her chair, but before John could leave, his task only partially done, the droid spoke up.
“Detective.” He drew Blackwood’s attention. “It is my duty as an operational medical droid in Tythas City to assist any and all efforts of law enforcement. I am willing to download my memory banks onto an appropriate device of your choosing contingent on proper identification from your person. A badge of office would suffice.”
It took a few minutes for John to retrieve his datapad, but eventually the droid copied the relevant databank information onto it, leaving John to his investigation with a polite farewell.
*The airlock hissed into place and startled Len Eode. He was most certainly not used to being underwater, it was worse than being in space. However, duty called and he would push through.
Climbing up into the somewhat familiar hangar space taking a sure step onto the deck plating he tugged at his uniform top to remove the creases. The Chiss officer took the neatly folded cloak from under his arm and put it on to cover up his OUSC uniform.*
Len’s communicator beeps, alerting the veteran to an incoming call. “Colonel, allow me to welcome you to Hab-5, my name is Orsen Fa'leik, Sentinel Intelligence. This is a prerecorded message as I am likely indisposed at the moment. Along with this message the Hab’s security system has dispatched a protocol droid to escort you to the investigation team per the orders of the Governor.”
Len sees a worn-looking RQ protocol droid holding a datapad turn around a corner and look at him. With a surprised exclamation and a hand wave, the droid hobbles over. “Kind day, Colonel Iode. I am RQ-B3, human-cyborg relations. The Administrator was adamant I had this over to you.” He hands over the datapad and, with a polite gesture, takes the lead. “Please, follow me, sir.”
“You will find all the relevant information on the datapad, even the information the investigation team has found before your arrival.” The voice in Len’s comm continues. “Good hunting, sir.” The message ends, disconnecting the comm line.
The droid takes Len through the Hab, down into the communal areas and the living quarters. They meet the investigation team, still in and around the apartment, and the droid departs leaving Len to his work.
<@259516016554409984>
As John reads through Emdee’s logs on his datapad he finds a lot of material, most of it irrelevant and downright voyeuristic. Clearly the droid’s privacy settings had been interfered with, however that small misdemenor also brought him some relevant information. There are at least 2 recordings of some sort of spat from Utri’s apartment. Another 5 more are far too faint to confim them at all. The 2 he does manage to pull out are partial audio recordings, mostly due to the thickness of the walls and distance from the source. Only a few words can be discerned: –techs–, –Dask–, –ma coils–, –pressurized–, –envi–suit–, –pe pod–, –sguise–, -rking fine–, –pect me–. There are no visual logs of people coming or going to or from the apartment during the exchanges.
The visual information does show several techs coming and going in different times of day and night to and from the apartment. A Gamorean, a Duros and a Quarren. While details are hard to discern due to the droid peeking theough the shutters, it seems the Duros has a long scar marking his neck and left side of his head. It never healed properly, leaving a harsh, jagged mark. The Gamorean light have a tattoo on his forearm. Bit it is not clear. All of them wore orange overalls and helmets. They were greasy and dirty.
<@326457564994994176>
“Thank the Force for bored old folks and their droids,” Blackwood said as he skimmed through the data before pausing to read through it properly. Not knowing how the others were progressing and unwilling to interrupt their own efforts inside the apartment, Blackwood leaned with his back to the wall next to the door.
For a single conversation he’d been given a lot to consider.They now had a few faces to hunt down and interrogate, but the brief snippets of dialogue where what concerned him the most. Blackwood kept rewinding and listening to them as he considered his options.
“Escape pod,” he said at length, mostly to run it through his head, confirming if the words matched up with the fragment captured on audio. “Coils… Terraformer coils? Magma coils?”
He sighed. That last one was for a tech expert, not for someone who was fumbling around in the dark making vague guesses. Sliding the datapad in his jacket pocket he knocked on the apartment door. “It’s me, I’ve got some information you lot might want to see.”
After making a few finds that led to a lewd joke or two — with a subsequent smack upside his head and a wry smile from Jade — Celevon had returned from the bedroom with a scrap of orange, synthetic cloth in one evidence bag, as well as a swath from the bedsheets in another sealed bag. The Seeker had used the Force to retrieve the former, whilst the Mandalorian had simply utilized the gloves to grab the scrubbed datapad.
A glance toward Ruana, his daughter-in-law resulted in a shake of her head and a sigh from the Pantoran. She had found nothing of use and had given up shortly after Blackwood departed to check out something or other.
It was at that precise time that there came a knock on the door. As he could hear Blackwood speaking, Celevon reached out with his telepathy and was able to immediately discern that this was the true detective and not an imposter. However, he could sense a familiar presence approaching and decided to mess with the Barabel.
-# <@259516016554409984>
Just a little bit, anyway.
“Me who?” the Seeker drawled back playfully through the door, a devilish grin having spread across his lips.
He could hear groans from Aryn and Ruana behind him, though Crash, Jade’s personal C1 astromech, let out at warbling cackle at free entertainment. The lone Chiss in their group merely stared, unaccustomed to the eccentricities and antics of the Shaevalian-Umbaran.
-# <@264959101384130560>
Putting two and two together quickly realized his use in the joke. His eyebrow raised Len smirked. “Do I want to know?”
<@248237225202941964>
Stepping inside, the Colonel silently entered the apartment and removed his cap. The home gave him pause: people lived here and those people were potentially at risk. If it were up to him, he would have ordered a special operations group in to investigate. However, he understood the higher ups opinion that an operation like that, if discovered, would be disastrous to relations.
Len quietly addressed the group not in conversation with the neighbor. “I read the file on the way up and believe I am up to speed with the investigation so far.” He paused a moment, “Does anyone feel that there isn’t more going on here? That this is a wild goose chase?”
<@248237225202941964>
“Me - as in the guy who just got us more leads in two minutes than the twenty we spent in that apartment,” Blackwood said. “I was going to head straight after them, but it seemed only fair to clue the rest of you in on what I’ve found first.”
Len withdrew the somewhat flippant question, meant to create debate and get the creative thoughts going, by turning his attention to the Barabel and nodding to him.
“I presume then the woman had something off interest to us then Detective?”
Celevon paused, then reluctantly opened the door, giving the pair a playful pout for ruining his fun.
“All we found was several bags of saline solution in the fridge, a scrap of fabric and… possible DNA on the bedsheets. I have some of each for analysis, as well as the needle and tubing. It’s entirely possible that she planned to fake her death, so she could’ve been siphoning blood as well.”
-# <@326457564994994176> <@259516016554409984>
The Seeker nodded in greeting to his old friend, the Colonel, glancing between the two in silent query whilst Crash made a sad warble behind him.
“And her droid. Nice person, starved of attention and very happy to talk,” Blackwood said with a nod to Len. Given the lack of reactions from the others, it was easy enough to assume Len was another member of Clan Odan-Urr. “John Blackwood by the way, nice to meet you.”
He held up the datapad and then handed it out to the others to review. “Looks like our missing human had quite a few guests, several of who you’d expect to run into in a dark alley. We’ve got times, dates of meetings, and even a few fragments of conversations you’ll find very interesting.”
As Celevon outlined their own findings Blackwood stroked his chin, considering the possible link between it and the few statements their neighbour had overheard. “That might link into what we found in our initial sweep out here. Someone had swept through the place and given it the kind of deep clean usually reserved for a hotel that’s had a Hutt in their guest room.”
<@259516016554409984> <@248237225202941964>
Len return the nod to his old friend and extended his hand to John.
“Len Iode, Odanite military ground branch name of the week. I feel like we change names every few years.” The Chiss “Nice to meet you John. I was given your name on the way over. Looking forward to working with one of CorSec’s finest.”
The Chiss listened to Celevon describe the items found and his conclusion. Then to Blackwood’s added information.
“If that’s the case do we have any names of the cleaner crew or video information? And if she was trying to fake her death why clean so throughly after? They would want us to see the result, would they not?”
<@248237225202941964> <@326457564994994176>
The datapad came to him for copy and review. Iode scratched his short hair as he mused, “Do we have enough for an ID on these characters?”
“Or leave obvious cleaning chemicals next to the milk in her fridge,” Blackwood agreed. “If this was a cut and run, that’s a hell of an obvious clue to leave behind even without things like the skin. Especially if she knew disappearing off of the face of the planet would draw attention.”
“As for our suspects - The Quarren might be hard to find, but there’s only so many tattooed Gamoreans on the planet, and not many Duros with an old scar like that,” Blackwood said. “I’m willing to put money on that last one being our best lead, but I’d be happy to pursue any of them.
Admin, security, and possibly the medical wing would be good options to try and grab details on any of this. The city might not have top of the line facilities, but it might be enough to draw up a decent DNA match or pull up a name from the right mug shot.”
<@259516016554409984>
“Tracking won’t be a problem for us,” Celevon replied to both, gesturing between himself, Ruana and Jade. The latter was a well known Hunter, who had taught his daughter all of the tips and tricks of the trade from childhood. And that was before Artemis had begun integrating the Force into her skills. “If we get DNA from any of them, I can track them across the Galaxy.”
-# <@259516016554409984>
The Mandalorian simply smirked as the gaze of Colonel Iode went to her, flipping the fiery red hair over her shoulder as she tucked her helmet back beneath her arm. Ruana, the Seeker’s daughter-in-law, simply nodded from under her inherited ARC Trooper helmet. The Pantoran patted her Bo-Rifle, eager to begin the hunt.
“Well, whatever works, but I don’t see the harm in having medical professionals take a look at this stuff as well,” Blackwood said. He didn’t want to disparage the abilities of his allies, but there was something to be said of tried and true methods which didn’t involve tapping into the Force. “The Hab has a medical wing so I’d say we ask them to have a look at some of the chemical findings here. While we’re at it we can have security to take a look at the stuff droid picked up on, photographs especially, and update our friends on what we’ve uncovered so far.”
As Blackwood spoke he headed over to the coat rack once more, picked out the tech jacket, and stuffed it into the larger pocket of his overcoat. Something kept nagging him about it, as if it was more important than he’d suspected, or that it could at least be useful for poking about on the engineering levels.
“If there’s no objections, I’d say we get a move on before something else in this place starts breaking down.”
“Agreed, time is of the essence and hitting as many birds with one stone at once is the best option.” Turning to Celevon and the hunters, “Take the trace evidence to the Med center, see if they can get a name and use your methods to track whoever the material came from.”
Turning towards John, the Chiss held up the datapad he had finished copying and handed it back to the Barabel. “Let’s take this to the Security Chief and see if that Duros has a record. I’m willing to bet that he does.”
With the Colonel’s arrival and the end to their apartment search, the team splits up in search for answers.
Ruana, Blackwood and Len proceed to Security to discover what they can from the data they had found. The recordings, the facial scans, as well as their activities are processed. The effort takes a batter part of the day, however due to their help as well as the professionalism of Tythas Security, they discover new details.
The recordings are further refined, as much as they can be: * 1st recording: Female voice: The drukkin’ techs are nosey, especially Dask, might have to escal–GARBLED–an for the plasma coils.
Recording analysis: The same woman is recorded in both recordings. Very little tonal shift, no discernable dialect. Voice is measured and precise. Likely practiced. Professional.
–
Mug shorts were produced as well, mostly data limited to Tythas City and the recent past.
Gamorean: Gluak Ar
Duros - Fadwal Tral-Tohon
Quarren: Jern Tral
Mon Cala: Yeehno Yur
Mon Cala: Yakbok Lor
Celevon, Jade and Sivall head to the medical bay in search for answers. Physical analysis of the liquid saline shows no notable differences from regular saline, except that it contains 2% more salt in the mixture, an amount too high for a human in almost any circumstance.
DNS analysis takes a while longer, almost a full day.
While the DNS is being processed, the trio delve into medical records and seem to find no file of Utri Dza'Lya at all. They find the name, the folder and the date of creation, and all are accurate, but there are no medical records inside to speak of. A detective is needed for further speculation.
The DNS tests finally come in: Clawdite
*As news of the findings is transferred to both SENNET intelligence and Tythas Security, it is revealed that whoever was living in that apartment was, indeed, a Clawdite since their species uses saline pumps to regulate the amount of it in their bodies to better disguise themselves. Though questions are raised as to the plan they mention. Further inquiries are required. *
Fa’leik is ready to assist in any technical capacity, forensics, medical, etc. Your investigation now has priority. Nisari has delegated three squads of enforcers to the Hab’s security. They will arrive soon to offer support should there be any riots, but otherwise stay out of sight.
–
With their investigation so far pointing at a Clawdite who, apparently, infiltrated the Hab to achieve some sort of nefarious plan, and hints pointing at happenings in the lower decks amongst the Engineering Guild, you find your way lower, down into Public Sector 4.
This is the pleasure sector of the Hab — night clubs, casinos, bars, brothels. Anything you can think of you can likely find here in one form or another. Not yet as populated as expected, and not yet as civilized, Sector 4 has been turned into somewhat of a hovel People look at you from under their hard hats, they keep to themselves, and barely acknowledge your existence as you pass. Record say most of techs live here, and most of the techs are former convicts liberated after Daleem’s change of governorship. They were given a fresh chance before Hab-5’s disaster, and many still hold out hope life can get better, but they’re stuck until it does.
You proceed through Sector 4 into Lower Deck Maintenance, and here you find the office of the Engineering Guild leader, Seroandaskvar, aka Roan Dask. The office itself is just a blocked off section of a larger room that holds a lot of lockers, gear, sleeping capsules and some amenities for the shift workers. Techs of many species scurry about the space, some ending their shift, others starting, but the atmosphere seems to be dour and sullen.
The office itself is minimal, only a small table, three chairs — one for Dask and two for visitors — and a console for data entry. There is also an analysis droid in the corner, connected to a charging port, currently in apparent hibernation, or suffering a severe lack of maintenance. Nothing here is particularly clean or new. Everything looks used.
Behind the table, typing onto a datapad, the Chiss Guild Master sits in silence, head in one hand as if pushing back fatigue. His eyes are sunken, his brow greasy, as is his dark blue hair. He’s wearing overalls of dark gray and orange with a symbol of his guild upon it. On the coat hanger behind him a thick jacket and a hard hat hang unused, likely for a while.
As he notices you enter he stands up with a worried look on his face
“May I help you?”
“Ironically we were going to ask you the same thing,” Blackwood said, the sights they’d widnessed playing upon his mind. It should have been obvious despite the Hab’s nature as a flying ship, but every city had its seedy underbelly somewhere, and that so often went hand in hand with blue collar workers. The kind of people demanded too much by those higher up the social ladder and little hope of reaching a peaceful old age.
Upon recognising in Dask the frayed look of a man pushed past the point of burnout, he coughed slightly and cut to the chase. “My name’s Detective Blackwood, this is Len Iode, Celevon, Ruana, and Jade. Clan Odan-Urr sent us to investigate the Hab’s problems, and we think we’ve got a lead. But we’ll need your help with some of the fine details.
Who wants to fill him in on our findings?”
After nodding during his part of the introduction, Len began to throughly sweep the room with his eyes looking for any unusual paperwork on the desk, any out of place objects, or concealed weapons.
As John asked his question to the investigative team, the Colonel clasped his hands behind his back and spoke as flatly as he could without sounding like a binary loadlifter. “Guild Master, are you aware of any missing plasma coils before or around the time of the disappearance of Utri Dza'Lya? Furthermore, did you have any suspicion about who Utri Dza'Lya is or was?”
“Now, hold on just a moment,” Roan replied, somewhat miffed at the intrusion. “I will require some official document, warrant, or a badge from all of you to cooperate. I wasn’t notified about this at all.”
Len stares around the room, keeping his intent as concealed as possible. There are a few things of note, mostly things done in haste: the paperwork flimsi pile hadn’t been moved for at least a few days, just added to every so often so it became a rather large pile on the table. The caf cup on the table is piping hot, and it seems from the half empty caf bag next to the caf machine in the corner, it is being used very, very regularly. He notices a half-opened office cupboard with a mixture of spices: salt, pepper, various exotic spices from Kiast or off world. The cupboard doors seem not to close right. Could be broken. No hidden weapons or devices are clearly visible.
Blackwood didn’t interrupt Len and let him take point, but to follow up on Dask’s question he pulled his CorSec badge out of his coat and placed it on the table without comment.
Iode stood a bit taller. “Saroandaskvar, I assure you we are only here to ask questions, not arrest you.”
for now Len thought wondering if using the Chiss’ formal name was a bit too far.
“Shall we proceed so we can all get back to our important work?”
Dask checked the badge and nodded in respect. “If you were here to arrest me, we would not be conversing, you would be reading me my rights, Mr. Iode.” His tone betrayed no malice nor humor. This was just a man who knew his rights and would not be pushed around by cheap intimidation and elbow pushing.
“Now that we’re clear on procedure, I am ready to assist you. As to your earlier question, I did have suspicions about the engineering inspector. She showed up on my roster much as everyone else did, but usually kept to herself and spent all her working hours in the lower decks, inspecting the Hab. Her assessments on the state of the Hab were…dubious at best. Her assessments of certain sections of the Hab betrayed a lack of experience with underwater structures, which led to more work for my guildsmen. But unfortunately we’re short on Mon Calamari engineers to make the reviews themselves. Whatever are left are handling other crises in the city, or so I’m told. In any case, I assumed she was a nepotism pick and left it at that. We never interacted beyond her reports.”
As he went to sit down a beeping sound echoed from his wrist chrono. “Excuse me,” he said as he reached into the table and pulled out a medical hypo and inoculated himself. “I apologize, I had to take my medicine. Lung rot due to far too many hours in the engine bays of ships like this.” He turned back to face them in the same manner anc continued, “as for the plasma coils, I’m unsure what you meant. We have plasma coils on this Hab block, but they are nearly six thousand pounds each and integrated into the engines below. ”
“We have an audio recording from…near her apartment in which Ms. Dza'Lya mentions ‘plasma coils’. Was she working on something related to the engines?”
“She was the senior engineering inspector for Hab-5. She was to record and assess all issues after the crash and submit a detailed report to the Guild and City authorities. She sent that report out a month ago, but as I said I had my doubts She was left on the Hab to further vet our work and Hab-5’s progress.” He caought himself rambling. “I apologize, to answer your question, yes, she dealt with the engines often.”
As the Guild Master spoke, Celevon reached out with his senses toward the Chiss. An attempt to lightly brush across the outskirts of the man’s mind with his Telepathy revealed nothing beyond a very strong will, a powerful mind and a sense of duty.
The senses of the Seeker picked up on a healthy dose of suspicion, as well as anxiety, though with no specific reason. The sense of duty was also reinforced. Could very likely be a result of the large, armed group barging into his office unannounced, Celevon silently mused, sharing this thought and his impressions with Jade and Ruana.
“Any chance I could get a cup of caf, Guild Master? That brew smells heaven-sent.”
“Of course.” He nodded with a smile and turned to prepare the beverage on his caf machine. “Would anyone else like one?”
“Certainly and thank you.” Len replied having been up for nearly 12 hours to come in for the investigation and participating in the reconstruction. “Would any of her inspection work involve using a pressure suit or a maintenance pod?”
Celevon took note of the brand on the bag as he took off his helmet and accepted the mug with a slight bow of his head. “Yes, many thanks. I’ll have to pick some of this up when I get a chance.”
“I’ll pass,” Blackwood said. “Never was fond of the stuff personally, thanks.” He kept watch on the injector Dask was using, thinking back to what the medical reports had covered. It would have been an easy way to disguise using more saline injections, but the injector itself was too different to judge and there was no clear differentiation between the chemicals there or what they had found in the apartment. The problem was, if lung rot was widespread, that meant any number of possible targets could hide using the chemicals.
As he gae Len and Celevon their beverages and palced a few more on the table for good measure, Dask answered, “Pressure suit and a maintenance pod? No, only the highest trained technicians and engineers would have access to those. Having to fix up the hull while under saturation and high pressure is not an easy job. Mostly they spend their time in pressurized sections in the lower decks. No one goes in or out between shifts.” He sipped on his own coffee as well. “No, the senior engineer did all her work inside.”
Celevon took one sip and groaned aloud. “This is some damn fine caf… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Where did you get this?”
“That fits then,” Blackwood said, stroking his chin. “What little detail we did pick up had them trying to specify if the area was pressurized, and avoiding using any equipment.” Given his experience with medicine was largely limited to blaster wounds and basic first aid, he only had a few points to work with. “If the the ejection ports are so deep she’d need medical help or time to adjust back on the surface, that’d undermine any stealthy escape and mean she’d be stuck here for a time. That at least means she’s probably in an area already safe and secure over anything outside.
Were there any particular techs she kept working with or conversing with while she worked? Anyone specifically in engine maintenance or working on the lower decks?”
“Wait, hold on.” Dask barely registered Celevon’s question as John’s questions landed. “She’s missing. You think she’s some sort of suspect?”
“She’s among a list of possible suspects until we gain further information. So far we think she’s at least involved in the problems the Hab is facing,” Blackwood said, deciding to hold off on the fact they had learned she was a Clawdite. “Enough to at least ask further questions about her work and anyone she was associating herself with.”
The Colonel sipped his caf. That is really good he thought then spoke. “What area was covered in her last report?”
Addressing John Dask nodded, an expression of light shock across his features. “Of course, I just didn’t expect it.” Shaking off his surprise he addressed Len again. “The last report, I believe, ” he rummaged through the flimsi pile. It took him a solid moment to find what he was looking for before he handed it to the Colonel. “was about the malfunctions in the Main engineering section, sub-sector 2c. With an addendum of her opinion on certain techs working that section.”
Len scanned the document looking for the names on the list. “So she at least had some engineering training?” He said while reviewing
The names displayed on the flimsi correspond to the Gamorrean, Quarren, and Duros from your investigation. All three are listed as poor workers and likely in connection with criminal elements.
“She seemed to, yes. Though, like I said, not enough to be satisfactory.”
Len handed the list over to John for his review. “Do you know the workers assigned to that location?”
“Three of these in particular were among our suspects,” Blackwood said, noting the names Gluak Ar, Fadwal Tral-Tohon, and Jern Tral-Tohon. He mulled over keeping Dask further out of the loop, but decided to take a risk. Three people known for a history of criminal activities being on their list wouldn’t be surprising to him. “Gluak Ar, Fadwal Tral-Tohon, and Jern Tral-Tohon are all chief suspects in this case, and we’ve reason to believe they are closely associated with possible sabotage efforts. The latter two especially, given certain information we found them passing onto others. It’s part of why we were asking about pressurized environments, possible environmental gear, and plasma coils.”
Celevon had opened his mouth to repeat his question, only to receive sharp telepathic prods from both Aryn and Ruana simultaneously. Their silent ‘shut up’, whilst unplanned, made the Shaevalian-Umbaran visibly wince. Thankfully, he had been taking a sip of caf at the time and made a point of blowing on the scalding liquid to cover the reaction.
It did not stop the Mandalorian from releasing a hiss of an exasperated sigh through her helmet.
“I understand. I don’t know them personally. They are part of the guild but we have up too one hundred members at any time. It’s hard to keep track of everyone. Most of them have similar backstories, criminal records, rehabilitated people just trying to survive and get back on their feet.” He looked for another, newer flimsi. “These are their shift assignments for this week, among others, should you need to talk to them.”
The flimsi contains shift times and compartments delegated to each tech. All three men work subsector 2b in the same shift.
“Much appreciated, sir. Does subsection 2c or b have anything related to plasma coils?”
“Also how big of an area are we talking here,” Blackwood said. “I’d hate for one of them to get spooked and run, or for the others to get away. Is there any chance you could call one of them up so we could speak to them directly, perhaps get them isolated from the other two?”
The Mandalorian and the Pantoran exchanged a glance, wondering if their brother/father-in-law (respectively) could get the Guild Master to loosen up with his unique combination of charm, wit and a knack for languages.
The duo went unnoticed as they spoke, not with Telepathy, but with a series of silent gestures that often left the aforementioned Force Disciple baffled. He often got smacked upside the head for referring to it as ‘woman-speak’.
Meanwhile, Celevon continued to sip appreciatively at the mug of caf.
“Subsections 2b and 2c take up a smaller part of that deck, 2b is starboard, 2c port and they encircle the main engine shaft. They do border the plasma coil chambers as well, since those are connected to the engines. We have a constant shift there to monitor coolant.” Dask replied without going into too much technical detail, mostly out of the habit of talking to lay people.
“If they can’t be called away from it, we’ll have to go and speak to them ourselves,” Blackwood sighed. There was very chance this could turn into a situation where one of them would cut and run. “Assuming they get spooked and don’t want to come quietly, and we can’t talk to them down, any suggestions for areas down there where we could easily corner them?”
“We should also be concerned they may try to blow something up down there too” Iode closed his eyes thinking back on the conversation they had deciphered.
“When had you planned to have the next progress report from that crew?”
Before the Guild Master could begin to respond to the queries of the Colonel and the Detective, Celevon spoke up. “All of our datapads have detailed schematics of the Hab, so we could easily plan for all eventualities. I’m also concerned about the effects a brawl or blasters blazing would have in that particular sector.”
“If they’ve set explosives, I can handle those,” Jade spoke up to Len as she removed her helmet, then deftly snatched the mug from her brother-in-law’s hands. She dutifully ignored his protests and subsequent pout as the Mandalorian drained its contents in one long swig.
Taking her queue from the other two, the Pantoran in her inherited ARC Trooper armor added a quick thought. “You’re overcomplicating things as always, you two. If it becomes necessary and the situation escalates, Cel could just use his mind karkery to command them to sleep. Disabled suspects, no lethal damage… which means a lot more answers and less drama.”
Roan Dask, usually a rather calm individual couldn’t help but let out a stifled laugh. “I assume there are plenty of spaces you could corner them. And as your colleague said, if you have a map, it shouldn’t be too hard. I have no idea what the young lady meant, though, I’m sorry.” He regained his composure once more and addressed Len. “We have progress reports at the end of every individual’s shift. I compile them at the end of my shift, so not for another eight hours or so.”
He cleared his throat, “I can understand this is a difficult situation, and a delicate one, so I’m prepared to help in any way I can. I can come with you and maybe help with whatever plans you come up with. I may not know them personally, but they will defer to authority, and besides I’d rather be there so you don’t blast my Hab after we worked so hard to mostly fix it. Deal?”
“Given your health, is that wise?” Blackwood asked, arching the brow above one eye. “You did just take that medicine to keep your illness in check.”
“If my condition were to keep me from my work down in the engine bays, I wouldn’t be here, detective.” Dask sighed. “Listen, I mean no offence when I say this, but I get these questions every time some outsider comes along. Despite its ugly name, lung rot is curable through therapy. As long as I remeber my breath mask down there, I’ll be fine. Which I suggest to all of you as well. We have some in the lockers outside, marked ‘communal’.” He pointed in the direction of the lockers. “I still have a few papers to handle, so we can go in about ten minutes, if you’ll allow me some time.”
“Of course,” Len mulled the option in his mind looking to the portion of the group even with himself, Celevon, Jade, and Blackwood. “We wouldn’t be asking for this if we didn’t have enough on them for the Magistrate to issue a warrant. We just want to talk to them first before we throw accusations publicly.”
He laid the datapad down and pressed play on the audio files. As the last one finished Iode had a serious expression on his face.
Genuine shock covers Dask’s face as he listens to the recordings. “How did you come by these?” He asked worry covering his features. “You don’t think she,” catching himself, he lowered his voice to a whisper, “sabotaged the Hab somehow? Is that why we’re having all these problems?”
Iode picked up the datapad. “That’s why we want to talk to her associates. That’s why weve been cagey with you, we need to know before we spark panic in the station.”
“Of course, of course.” A touch of relief returned to Dask’s face as he took to his papers again. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes. I only have a few priority things to do, the rest can wait. Please, feel free to grab any gear you think you might need, but breath masks first.”
“Alright, ten minutes,” Blackwood accepted. He headed off to grab a selection of breath masks to bring back to the group. Reading Dask’s response had been difficult. Shock certainly, but nothing incriminating.
Using the opportunity to step away from the others, Blackwood used a moment to speak quietly into his comlink. “Dask is going to lead us down to find the trio. He’s just injected himself with something to help cope with his lung rot and is sorting through a few matters. If the trio proves to be hostile or attempts to flee upon seeing us, do we have your permission to take them into custody?”
Moments later, through a short static, Alin Nisari sounded off. “You do. If they run or refuse to assist, you are allowed to detain them for a time. Bring them to the security station in Admin, if that happens. Take a turbolift and use your code cylinder for a direct route. But I’d be happier if they talked.” He paused for a moment and then continued. “We have a situation in Public Sector Four above you with some protestors. I’ve moved a squad there just in case and have some people calming everyone down. It shouldn’t be a problem, but if they do run they may try to hide there if it escalates. Word about it is spreading fast.”
Len brought his hands to his side. “Thank you Guild Master we will await your departure.”
Iode stepped past the Mandalorian band silently signaling them to follow. He turned the corner and pressed himself against the wall desperately trying to listen to what was happening in the room, while also trying, but failing to look normal.
“Damn, that’s inconvenient timing,” Blackwood muttered. “Do what you have to there and we’ll try to keep things clean here. We’ll only take them forcefully as a last resort.”
Blackwood checked over the masks, using what experience he had to confirm the state of their mechanisms. Then, thinking about the environment they were going into, he hunted about for a few spare glowrods and environmental scanners to be on the safe side.
After rejoining the others he looked on nonplussed at Len’s efforts. “Anything of interest?” he asked as he handed out masks to those who needed them.
The door closed just as John asked the Chiss. Len took the offered mask, “Nothing we better move out, I’ve got a bad feeling about this. I think you were on to something. Remember the injector you found in the large coat back at the apartment?”
“Yeah, the empty one,” Blackwood nodded. “Something wrong about it?”
“Well he used one to administer the meds, as you noted. Let’s play it cool for now, but be ready for an ambush. We send Celevon, Ruana, and Jade to trail behind us while saying they are heading to the Security office. You and me head with our friend into the maw”
“This could just be a coincidence, given the Hab’s operators look like they buy their equipment in bulk, but I get your point. Better to be safe than sorry, and to have someone covering our back.”
Blackwood also handed Len one of the scanners and a glowrod he’d picked up.
“Take these as well, I pinched it from the same place as the masks. Given how my last case went in a place like this, they might be helpful if things go south and we need to find our way back.”
Len checked the glow glowrod and checked the ease of access to his DL-44 blaster. Quickly setting it to stun and pulling the cloak back over his uniform. Lastly he gingerly checked the breath mask.
Further down the hallway, the trio were also checking their gear… well, Celevon and Jade were. Ruana had taken to muttering to herself about missing Artemis and how she needed to get her hands on one of the Mandalorian vambraces, since the Pantoran herself was the only one in their group without one.
“Focus on the mission, Ru,” Jade reminded the younger woman gently… or, at least, as gentle as the Mandalorian could be. “We’re the backup, in case the mission goes to osik for the other two, since we don’t have any proof that the friendly Guild Master isn’t in on this.”
“If that’s actually him,” Celevon muttered in an aside, which was dutifully ignored by the two women.
They were quite well accustomed to his paranoia and even agreed with it. However, voicing said agreement tended to make the Shaevalian-Umbaran unbearably smug.
Regardless, the only true Mandalorian of the trio continued as though her brother-in-law hadn’t spoken. “If you want a Vambrace, request one from your wife. More importantly, has everyone uploaded the schematics to sync with our armor’s systems?”
“Is that the little box that popped up on my HUD with glowing suggestions?” the Seeker quipped, which was again ignored by the other two.
“Fully synchronized, aye,” Ruana answered her aunt by marriage as she returned her bo-rifle to its place on her back.
“Whatever goes down, let’s try to keep civvies from getting injured,” Jade finished with a decisive nod, before a small smirk curved her lips beneath her own helmet. “We don’t need Cel here whining about paperwork. It’ll never end and we’ll wind up stunning him anyway.”
“Amen to that,” the Pantoran snorted, smiling — not that Celevon could see it through the helmets — at the injured stare from the aforementioned male.
With you plans set, and Roan’s tasks finished, you gather your party and proceed deeper into the engineering sections of the Hab. It is only when you reach these sections that you see the issues these techs and engineers have been fighting with — damaged panels, overloaded circuits, bypassed and jury-rigged wiring. Nikora’s effort to save the Hab achieved miracles, but even miracles have consequences. A lot of this Hab will have to be replaced, but with the City struggling as is, it may take a while.
Dask takes you several levels down, through the Lower Deck Maintenance, into Main Engineering. Past subsections 1A and 1C, you enter the level you want to be on. To your right you see the signs for the escape pods, to your left section 2 with it’s subsections. The air is filled with steam, dust and fog. Your vision is extremely obsucred as you pass through this area. Dask explains that the airscrubbers on this section were damaged and bypassed for more important systems, hence the breath masks. The cloud seems to permeate section 2 completely. There are otherwise no environmental issues.
As the party travels through subsection 2D to reach their goal, there is a sudden red light and klaxon sound around them, splitting the main party from the their shadows. There is a voice audible in Mon Calamarian, Quarren and Basic: “Emergency shutters closing. Riot in progress. Please remain in your designated compartments.” And does so on repeat.
In between escape pods and section 2D, Celevon’s team is trapped. <@248237225202941964>
Meanwhile the main team find themselves in subsection 2D, in front of a blast door in section 2C.
“I can’t open this, not with the lockdown,” Dask exclaims as he inserts his code cylinder into the port and it flashes red. “Any ideas?”
“Emperor’s Black Bones,” Blackwood muttered walking back to the door and looking over it. “Think slicing might work? I’ve only ever popped very basic security measures before, but they’ve got a droid on that side.”
He stepped back from the door and let Dask keep looking at it before quietly speaking into his comlink. “Blackwood here, we have some of our team stuck behind emergency shutters in subsection 2D. Can you lift the lockdown for individual doors if we can get you the right details?”
The instant the klaxons began and the emergency lights began flashing, Celevon instinctively shouted. “It wasn’t me this time!”
Before either of the other two could snap at the Seeker, the announcement for the emergency lockdown was spoken over the internal comms. They could hear commotion from all sides, even despite the blast doors.
“Crash, get that blast door open!” Ruana shouted to the droid, which had been behaving oddly since they arrived. Not odd enough to draw suspicion, but odd in the sense that there was no sardonic retorts or foul language.
The quickly chirped agreement from the Clone War era Astromech made the Pantoran’s eyes narrow. As her wife was often the one speaking to all of their droids as though they were sentient creatures, Ruana had begun to get a better feel for their individual personalities and programming quirks.
Unless she was wrong on her guess, Crash was… nervous?
“Just our luck that there’s a riot that triggers an emergency lockdown during a crisis,” Celevon grumbled, reaching out with the Force to check on the others in their group.
This was often how their luck turned out, so the other two didn’t bother to argue the point.
By the terminal, the C1 unit plugged in with a mechanized sigh that came across as a sad warble. He didn’t have the necessary equipment to easily slice in and bypass the lockdown, so Crash decided to trigger a glitch and get in during the reboot…
“Considering the situation… and the fact that none of us thought to check the Guild Master’s office for bugs, it’s entirely likely that this riot was orchestrated to delay us,” Jade mused darkly, which drew the gazes of the other two.
The blast door standing in between them and the rest of their group chose thatprecise moment to audibly unlock and slide open.
Len drew his blaster ready for action in case there was a surprise waiting for them.
Iode swore in frustration mostly at himself and their clever opponent. “Blast it, of course they would set this up. We should have diverted to the riot. I bet shes up there leading it in another form!”
The door began to open.
several seconds earlier
Crash whistled a greeting to the others whilst Celevon, Jade and Ruana quickly made their way over. The battle seasoned Astromech followed along at a more stately pace.
“Another blast door? I think I can handle this one,” the Pantoran muttered to herself as she saw how cautious C1-11C was being. It was that or Crash was moving at an irritating slow pace just to be an ad'osik.
Whilst Jade updated the others on the thought that none had thought to check for listening devices in the Guild Master’s office, Ruana stalked over to the terminal in question. It took less than a minute for her to get into the system, bypassing the firewall before deactivating the lockdown in the room ahead.
Blackwood tapped the comlink several times, testing for any kind of signal, then swore under his breath again. He momentarily felt the old creeping sensation of pre-combat nerves playing on his senses before his training kicked in, running possibilities and crisis scenarios through his head. He’d been in these situations too often for it to truly terrify him anymore, but enough was left to put him on edge.
He looked back just in time to see the door opening again, allowing the others out. He kept one hand on his pistol but didn’t draw it from his holster, his eyes glancing at his surroundings as he stepped back toward Dask and Len.
“If she is we’re on our own in more ways than one,” Blackwood quietly said to Len as the door finished grinding back open once more. He indicated the comlink. “Out of range. Likely more metal than it can handle. Let’s just hope our time down here is quieter than what’s going on up there.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Why are you drawing weapons?!” Roan’s confused and worried tone betrayed no small amount of concern. He might have made a mistake when he joined these people. “Weren’t they,” he pointed at Celevon and the rest of his group, “supposed to be at the security station? Whatis going on here?!” He raised his hands and pulled back. With no weapons of his own to defend himself he looked around for any means of defense. “Are you the saboteurs?! You brought me here to help you , is that it?”
Len sighed a beyond exasperated sigh. “It’s on stun. There’s an active riot. Three hardened criminals in a sensitive part of the ship, we conveniently get locked up in this on the way down. If we wanted to force you to do anything wouldn’t we have whipped our guns out sooner?”
Len did not wait for the other Chiss to respond and walked out clearing the path infront of him until he saw the rest of their party. Taking his blaster to the low ready when coming across them.
The Shaevalian-Umbaran frowned, looking to the near-panicked Guild Master and could immediately tell that Len’s brusque manner had done nothing to calm the other Chiss’ nerves. Before he could truly ponder how to respond, his sister-in-law stepped up to Roan, holding up her empty hands.
“We’re not the saboteurs, sir. As Colonel Iode just informed you, any weapons that have been drawn have stun settings. As there is an active riot, with at least three known convicted criminals amongst others, I would say this is a measured response,” Aryn explained as patiently as she could, though her eyes were already sweeping the corridor ahead. The Mandalorian could easily draw both of her Westars and be ready to fire in a heartbeat or less should an enemy approach. “Detective Blackwood is CorSec, as the badge he showed you earlier proved. We were requested by the head of security on-site — specifically, Director Fa'leik, the Head of Covert Intelligence and Counter-Sabotage Efforts — as we have also proven with the code cylinder we were provided.”
Whilst the Mandalorian began to explain the situation in full, Celevon Werd'a removed his helmet and took a non-threatening step toward the Guild Master. This was taking far too much time; there was no telling if their suspects were even still in their designated area of the Hab.
Plus, it was clear that Jade herself wasn’t quite getting through to the Chiss, despite that her words had conveyed some measure of reassurance.
They were looking for a Clawdite and what better way to attempt to expose a possible infiltrator than the ultimate test of their cover?
“You have my utmost apology for the deception, Guild Master Saroandaskvar,” the Seeker spoke up in utterly flawless Cheunh, projecting his telepathic translation to the others in their group that he knew didn’t speak the language. “Whilst Detective Blackwood is CorSec, myself and the others are here on behalf of the interests of the Noble House of Sunrider.”
Dask’s hands dropped slowly as Jade and Celevon spoke. The nervousness was clear, but there was no panic there. He clearly still wanted to leave, unsure about his companions, but he took a breath and relaxed against a wall. A slight expression of contempt crossed his face as Celevon spoke. “Alright,” he replied curtly in Cheunh in a rather thick accent, and turned to speak to Jade in basic. “You’re all strangers to me, so I apologize if my reaction is appropriate. I don’t know you people, and flashing guns suddenly doesn’t instill a lot of confidence, I’m sorry. If you have a code cylinder and access, why not open the door with that instead of making a fuss?”
“Because we, myself included, aren’t smart enough to realize that would open it,” Iode said softening his tone while he walked up to the nearest companel and began checking the wiring. Similar enough he thought. Pulling and twisting the wires in a rapid fashion, he heard a warble from C1.
“Whats that?” Len asked perplexed holding the wires but getting down to C1’s level.
“For all I know, he just said there are strumpets gathering in subsection D.”
Jade immediately thwacked her brother-in-law upside the head, thankful that Celevon had taken his helmet off. “That’s not what Crash said, di'kut.”
C1 chirped and hooted loudly, spinning his head in whatever amounted to anger in a droid. The SCOMP link engaged with an access port underneath the panel and rotated, sounds of binary echoing through the droid’s frame. Soon the companel flashed several times and a link opened. C1 chirped again, his job finished.
“Thanks C1,” the officer said setting the cable down gently. He keyed in the Intelligence Chief’s comlink code. “Director, this is the investigation team can you read us?”
“Fa'leik here,” the Director replied almost immediately. “Colonel Iode? What can I do for you?” His tone was leveled and measured, though there was a clear commontion around him.
Blackwood, deciding to make use of the scanner he had pilfered from up above, opted to scan their surroundings while Len was speaking to those overhead. Even in the scrambled and busy environment of the Hab’s lower levels, he hoped to pick up any potential life sign nearby. There was always the chance others had been cut off by the lockdown, or were trying to find a way up and past the blast doors.
Len hated being in this position, he had no idea what was going on, but he knew it was not good and was only going to get out of hand from here. He steeled himself.
“Director we were trapped in the lower levels by automatic barriers. We are looking for 3 persons of interest down near the 2B and 2C area.” Iode paused and looked at his compatriots then back at the comm. “Sir is there any indication who started this riot or what their demands are?”
Without a lot of effort, Blackwood initiates the scanner and notices twenty-two (22) life signs on this deck, not including their group. A lot of techs and engineers are working overtime to keep the Hab afloat.
“I apologize for the inconvenience, Security Chief Nisari seems to have taken his job rather seriously. The ‘riot’,” the quotations were painfully audible, “is around fifty individuals in Public Sector Four from various local guilds protesting the state of the Hab and Tythas City. It seems rumor has spread the Governor has had to depart on some royal to-do. Cakes and wine were mentioned, I’m sure.”
He seemed to speak away from the comm for a moment, as if speaking to someone else. Quickly he returned to the conversation. “Suffice to say, that was a bit of a spark. There were fringe cases of assault on security personnel in that Sector, so Nisari is transferring everyone available there to contain it. It seems the Hab systems are out of sorts as well, and the order to shut off that sector shut off every sector.” There was anotehr pause and audible conversation to the side. Something about reports from the Terraformer.
With a gruff sigh Fa'leik continued, “unfortunately I don’t have the capacity to track you and open every door on your path. Use the code cylinder. It should administrator privileges.”
“Just to check, how many people should be down here right now?” Blackwood asked Dask, more curious than anything else.
Dask turned from Len’s conversation to John with a snap. “What? Oh, twenty per shift.”
“Thanks,” Blackwood answered. “Just figured I should check. Ignoring us, the scanner’s picking up twenty-two life signs on this deck.”
“Thanks Director, what is that about the Terraformer?”
“Just orderlies bring me reports on the Terraformer’s status. I’m handling several jobs at once here, Colonel, if you have anything else now’s the tiem to ask.”
“Can you try and get the Chief to send a few officers down this way to assist?”
“I can ask, but I doubt it, Colonel. Nisari has his hands full, and so do his squads. Expect to be alone down there for the time being.”
“Roger that, Out.” Len shut off the console. He looked over to the group including the Guild Master. “We are on our own, but they know where we are. Riot isn’t really a riot and does appear unrelated. Something about the Governor heading to a meeting with the Empress”
“We’ve only got three people to find and speak with,” Blackwood said. “And the riot has several blast doors to go through if they want to reach us. Several blast doors minus one, but the point stands. Whatever else is happening overhead our job hasn’t changed. We go in, do it, and make sure everyone walks away alive. Agreed?”
Ruana takes the lead as she inserts the silver code cylinder into the scomp link. The massive blast door drags open with a grinding of servos as a thicker mist slowly pours from the room beyond, mixing with the already steamy and dusty air.
“Masks stay on,” Dask says as he checks his breath mask once again. “This is no longer steam and dust, this is coolant vapor. Harmless unless inhaled,” he adds after a long, scratchy breath from the mask.
–
*You move further throughs section 2C as you see techs and engineers hard at work…or rather making it work. From what you can tell they’re not only understaffed and overworked, but lack the proper tools to work. Many of the tools are scrounged up or makeshift gear, made to work but at a cost. There are still a lot of manufactured tools around, but many seems to be broken or discarded, others scavenged for what was worth to make us of in other makeshift tools. *
Even with all that these people work hard and endure a harsh living so those above them can live better lives. Some may consider it their debt to society for letting them rejoin, but others will point out the inhumanity of their lives.
Finally you come upon a section which opens up to reveal a small part of the massive power core and the engines, where the plasma coils are located. The section is made up entirely of four-story-tall gantries and walkways which allow easy access to all parts of this particular section of the core and engines. Access to the plasma coils is clearly visible at the top of the gantries and walkways.
You arrive at the top after a while of navigating ladders and walkways and find the three individuals you are looking for: Gluak Ar, Fadwal Tral-Tohon, Jern Tral. The trio are summoned and greet you warily.
“Thanks for taking time out of your work for this,” Blackwood said, looking between the trio. He made a note of looking at each of them, using the opportunity to estimate possible escape routes should they try to flee. He made a point of stepping forward and to one side, giving Len a clear line of fire if it was needed. “My name is Detective Blackwood, these are my associates. We’re investigating a missing person’s case, and we’d like for you to follow us upstairs to answer a few questions.”
“Name’s Fadwal,” the Duros with the nasty scar spoke up first, clearly accustomed to taking responsibility. His demeanor seeed cooperative, but hostile. The word ‘detective’ seemed to have an especially obvious reaction. He grimaced in a microexpression only the keen eyed could see.
“This here’s Jern,” he nodded at the Quarren who’s eyes seemed to dart between he detective and the three heavily armed and armored Mandalorians behind him. If squids could sweat he certainly would be. A calming hand on his shoulder from Fadwal seemed to calm him down.
“At the bag of muscle here is Gluak.” The Gamorrean grinned a toothy grin, one tusk broken a long time ago. He seemed docile enough, but his gaze was calculating and restless. Hard to say, but there seemed to be more intellect there than the skin could show.
“What can we do for you, detective?” The word seemed to drip down his chin like a curse.
“As I said, we were hoping you could follow us up out of here to answer a few questions,” Blackwood said, quickly falling back into the same firm but friendly routine he’d used when speaking to a potential suspect. He nodded and greeted each of them in turn, his gaze lingering briefly on Gluak. He’d had to deal with Gamorreans a few times before, and they had a nasty habit of refusing to go down.
“It shouldn’t take you away from your work for long, I just prefer to speak in an office environment. We’ve had someone disappear, the owner of Apartment 206B, Education section, Public sector 2… Sorry, her name slips my mind…”
Blackwood snapped his fingers as if the name was on the tip of his tongue but kept careful watch on their reactions, Jern especially, half hoping recognition or surprise might break through any sabacc face and set them on edge.
“Ain’t that a shame,” Fadwal replied, as if for all three. His expression betrayed little, the customary hard-faced Duros being hard to read, and the breathmasks tehy were all weraing didn’t help things, either.
Gluak seemed to sneer, or it could have been a smirk. One could never be sure with his species. His body language revealed much more. His arms were crossed and he leaned against one of the railings of the grated metal walkway. He seemed relaxed, or tried to look it, but his muscles tensed up.
Jern’s tentacles wobbled slightly, his already nervous demeanor showing not a lot more than his usual sheepishness. His profile seemed to fit the cowardly rogue more than a hardened criminal. Still his eyes passed from John to someone behind him. It was Len who noticed the Quarren looked at Roan Dask.
The Chiss officer opened his mind to the current situation. Hindered by not truly familiarizing himself with the detailed plans of this area, Len had to do it on his feet. Meanwhile he had to look like he was not about to attack or defend a particular way.
That look that Jern had, was that a silent plea to step in, or had he just noticed his boss was here, the officer thought. Iode’s finger twitched toward the trigger of his blaster. Or is there no difference?
Len decided to wait a few heart beats and let this play out. However, he was ready and he had picked his first target.
I haven’t been able to do this without flinching since Arx. But for something like this, I’m ready. Besides stunning is different than killing.
“Very,” Blackwood said in response to Fadwal, playing at being oblivious. “But we only just started this morning and we’ve made good headway so far. A few locals were very willing to talk, especially when it came to narrowing down when she’d disappeared, recent deliveries, visitors - Utri Dza'Lya!” Blackwood paused mid sentence and snapped his fingers, announcing it loudly as if only just remembering her name. “Sorry about that, knew I’d remember it if I thought about it long enough.
Anyway, we wanted to check with a few people down here about her recent activities, especially given her responsibilities and what she was working on.”
Fadwal’s face betrayed little reaction apart from a raised brow, but his companions… Gluak’s mood seemed to sour as the slight smirk left his lips, his hands moved not an inch as he rolled his shoulders and looked away. Jern’s eyes fell on the Guild Master for a mere moment before turning to Fadwal and back to the detective, her rubbed his hands together.
Roan Dask leaned against the railing, his breaths deep and long, his eyes never leaving Fadwal. His body language was calm, though standing next to three Mandalorians armed to the teeth certainly didn’t help matters.
Blackwood gave them a few moments for the information to sink in, just enough time for it to start playing on nerves before he followed up with the next morsel of information. “We’ll be speaking with most people down here, but since you three seemed to know her personally, you three seemed like the obvious place to start.”
Whilst Ruana had moved to keep watch on their surroundings, in case of a potential ambush, Jade leaned against her taller brother-in-law. Beneath her helmet, as she flitted her gaze from side to side, the Legion’s Eye connected to the HUD was awash with information. Combined with the detailed map the Mandalorian had synced with the on-board systems within her armor, each item and sentient within her visual spectrum was briefly highlighted and labeled. Potential escape routes and cover spots flashed across the HUD, detailing a scrolling tactical readout.
One thing she silently took note of before swapping to the thermal spectrum was that all of their trajectories and vectors were clear. Each member of their group were standing in positions that gave clear aim to the three suspects, as well as the Guild Master.
Whilst the Pantoran kept watch on the other workers and technicians nearby, Ruana’s placement allowed her to keep Roan Dask within her peripheral vision.
The Shaevalian-Umbaran, meanwhile, had chosen to ignore how his twin sister’s wife positioned herself. Instead, Celevon’s focus was on the three suspects, utilizing both his normal and Force-enhanced senses as Blackwood took the lead.
The Quarren couldn’t have acted more suspicious if he tried, though it could have just as easily been nerves at the confrontation with numerous, blatantly armed individuals. The Gamorrean, on the other hand, was much harder to read, though the cunning in his gaze made the Force Disciple wary. The seemingly relaxed posture only made Celevon narrow his lone organic eye as the suspect continued to size up his opponents.
This, combined with the Ringleader’s general behavior, cinched the decision to begin touching on each of their passive thoughts.
It doesn’t take Celevon too long to to delve deeper into the mind of the ex-con and pry additional information, violently if necessary.
Celevon plunges into an ocean of emotion as he opens his senses to Fadwal’s thoughts. Regret greets him first, but for what he cannot be sure, until he plunges deeper.
Suspicion and mistrust follow — he sees Roan Dask giving out orders as if to slave laborers. He sees no pity in the Guildmaster’s eyes as he speaks to Fadwal through memory, and no compassion for the former criminals.
Anger next, flowing from a well of mistreatment and bigotry, despite his — * their *efforts to incorporate into society again. Society seems to be pushing them out, person by person. He feels anger every time he has to put on the breath mask because of coolat fumes, and every time a security enforcer gives him a bad look. The anger brews against the City’s entitlement and opens avenues for worse things.
Hope rekindles with a memory of a figure behind a breath mask, a Human by all looks, and Celevon understands that this person is a ring leader, the hope-giver, one who abolishes the status quo. He brings them good, black market good they need to survive here. New filters, better tool, entertainment, alcohol — anything to take the edge off. He gives them what the City doesn’t. But there is a price. This man gives him, his husband, and every criminal willing to listen an ultimatum — ‘work for us, sabotage the Hab, and we’ll help you. Don’t, and you’ll have it worse…’ Anger restores at this slight. They can get nothing from the City, nothing for the ringleader. They are alone, viced between oppression and exploatation.
He begins to lose hope again when a human woman approaches him. ‘Help me with my mission’ she tells him ‘and I’ll put in a good word for you with the ringleader’. Promises given and kept. He and his are afforded goods and luxuries while they help this woman, this Utri. Help her fake her reports, stage breakdowns, and fix whatever she needed to to keep up appearances. He even sees her change once, when he was hiding in the equipment room. He sees her face change into a pallid green with bulbous eyes and leathery skin. He sees her changed a bag of liquid and reattach it to her left side, just under the ribs. He hides. She is dangerous, cunning, deadly.
Deeper still the memories go. Roan Dask becomes suspicious of them, catching Jern with ripe fruit not from the Hab kitchens. They pass it off, but he keeps an eye on them. He catches them again, talking to Utri. The two of them leave together, leaving Fadwal and his crew alone. After that Utri goes missing. No one sees her for several days and when they go to look for her in her apartment, she is gone.
They withdraw but not before they notice a change in Dask. He becomes indifferent towards them. Less caring but also more menacing. Fadwal has his doubts as to what happened and wonders where she stashed to Guildmaster’s corpse before turning into him. He keeps his mouth shut. His life and the life of his crew are all that matters now.
–
Green bloods seeps through Fadwal’s eyes and mouth as Celevon rummages through his mind. Jern and Gluak turn to him, confused at the sudden reaction. “Fad?! What’s wrong?!” Jern asks as he holds the Duros on his feet. “What is going on?!”
Noticing the reaction, Dask’s eyes darken as he turns to look at Celevon, still under his helmet but entirely focused on Fadwal. That Hutt-sucking Mandalorian tried to mind-lock her as well, earlier in the office. Thankfully she knew a thing or two about Force users and their interrogation techniques. Using the confusion Dask, or rather Utri, lunged for the target she was eyeing for a while, the one with the code cylinder — Ruana.
Watching the eyes darken, Len immediately took aim. The trained soldier put her in his sights and pulled the trigger. The etherial whizzing sound of his DL-44’s stun shot disappated directly into the wall next to his target.
In a heartbeat, Utri — still maintaining the appearance of Roan Dask — dodged the stun bolt, if barely, turning the move into a lunge as she drew a knuckle-plate vibroblade. As the Infiltrator’s arm encircled Ruana’s neck, the blade moving toward the other side, the Pantoran turned with the Clawdite.
The Mercenary’s right gauntleted hand clasped around the false Dask’s forearm as she simultaneously drove her elbow into the side of her opponent’s head. Whilst the Infiltrator was dazed, Ruana capitalized on the momentum and rolled forward, taking Utri down with her.
It had been a move of pure instinct and muscle memory on the part of the Weapons Specialist, yet the brutal follow-up elbow strike as they both wound up on their backs barely grazed the Clawdite.
The Infiltrator pushed Ruana away from her with both legs, then tucked and rolled back to her feet.
Meanwhile, the Shaevalian-Umbaran had been returned abruptly to his body the moment the Mandalorian pushed herself away from him. Internally wincing and making a mental note to heal some of the damage he had done from the deep-scan to the Duros, Celevon returned to awareness in time to hear the stun bolt and the rapid footfalls of the Infiltrator.
He turned in time to see Utri wrap an arm around his daughter-in-law’s throat, then get brought to the ground. When the Clawdite returned to her feet and the Force Disciple took note of the Knuckle-plate vibroblade, Celevon noticed Jade drawing one of her blasters in the corner of his peripheral vision.
His sister-in-law was many things, but merciful was not one of them. Ruthless would be a far better term, especially when someone threatened another that she considered family. Knowing how quick the Mandalorian was on the draw — and the fact that it was unlikely to be a stun bolt that was fired — the Seeker set himself between Jade and Utri.
“I would like to think I’m more your size right now than she is,” the Shaevalian-Umbaran drawled in a challenging manner, continuing to step toward the Clawdite.
The Chiss face she was wearing snarled, the facial features visibly rippling as Utri struggled to maintain her form, then rushed the man. The Infiltrator punched and slashed with the triangular vibroblade that extended past her knuckles, clearly focused on the places the beskar didn’t cover.
Celevon outright dodged the first punch and follow-up attempt to slice his throat, a small smile playing on his features beneath the helmet. The third, aimed at the point of his ribs where she could reach his heart was where, rather than deflect or evade, the Seeker caught her wrist with the cybernetic. Before the Clawdite could pull back, the Force Disciple straightened her arm and drove his open palm into her elbow, hyperextending it.
Whilst a brutal, painful blow, it wasn’t hard enough to break the bone.
Before Utri could truly respond or react to the pain, the Force Disciple twisted the damaged arm, placed his hand on the damaged elbow, then tossed the Clawdite head over heels to the ground.
Celevon moved in to pin her down, which was difficult as most of his combat training was focused around eliminating a threat rather than disabling.
The Infiltrator was slowly attempting to rise to her feet when the Seeker tucked and rolled into her personal space. It took a little maneuvering, but he grabbed the injured arm and pulled it taut, bracing his right knee against her throat as Celevon lay on his back, locking the hold in place with his other leg.
As Utri continued to slam her free arm toward his throat, he grunted, then glared at the others. “A little help would be nice.”
Len took aim directly at the infiltrator and fired. As he felt the energetic plasma push back on his hand, wrist and arm his mind stopped. He had been trained to the point of exhaustion to fight and win. He had trained others, he had fought against enemies trained as he was. He even fought against those who were less trained but still as fanatic at their cause.
Iode never relished in the killing to him the strategy and tactics were the fun. The fact that he was a crack shot was a just so happened to be skill. It had kept him in the field, even as he now approached flag officer rank. It was a stun shot sure. Better yet through Celevon’s smart execution of a takedown, it an easy shot, hell he could have made it in his sleep. Something in Len Iode’s mind broke. Not an outside influence, but a break of training and protocol
Clank. Clack. Clank.
The DL-44 hit the deck as did Len, falling to his knees. His mind buzzing, unable to focus anymore on anything. His surroundings a messy blur as the voices all melded into one.
“Kark, I did it.”
The stun bolt sent an electric feeling of numbness from the Clawdites head to her toes. She spasmed in Celevon’s grip as the energy overloaded her nervous system. The facial features of the Guildmaster slowly morphed more and more as the pallid, scaly skin and bulbous eyes came through as she lost control. Finally with an audible gasp she collapsed, limp and unconscious.
Blackwood looked back, having only seconds to process the commotion before seeing Dask - now Utri - go down.
“Nicely done,” he managed, more to cover for himself in the moments of stunned silence as he came to terms with just what in he hell had played out behind him. Flexing both hands and re-sheathing the claws which had extended instinctively as the fight had begun, he looked back at the three.
“We know you were working with her,” Blackwood said, dropping all pretences of an unbiased investigation and bluntly speaking to the three. “We’ve been gathering proof on what she was doing and have quite the case against her, we just needed to find out where she was hiding. Come quietly, give a full statement, and I can promise you I’ll speak in your favour to make sure you get another chance at a life which isn’t behind bars.” Blackwood then pointed at Fad. “And make sure he gets to see a doctor the second we’re back up top.”
Jern paid no attention to the detective, instead trying and failing to help the Duros who was slowly passing out. Instead, Gluak stepped in between Fadwal, Jern and the investigation team. Despite his prospects against a fully armed party, he made himself a Gamorrean shield to protect the duo behind him.
“You’s the ones who dun'it to ‘im,” he came in so close to John’s face the Barabel could almost taste the Gamorrean Moonshine. He smirked. “Time’s past I’d a’ broken your spine just f'r that, Scaly. But Fadwal dun made me think. We’s got rights, so why don'tcha read ‘em to us an’ get the propa’ atho-…aueth- …aethorit-…the propa’ fuzz down ‘ere. An’ if ‘e wakes up, maybe we talk.”
“Fair play,” Blackwood said. He was tensed, ready to throw the first punch if given an excuse. It galled him that he was being reminded on how to do his job by a semi-coherent thug, but even a broken chronometer was right twice a day.
“Gluak Ar, Fadwal Tral-Tohon, and Jern Tral - Under the authority of the Corellian Security Force, you are under arrest on suspicion of sabotage to public utilities, aiding and abetting a criminal, and threatening an officer of the law. Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a court of law.” He made a point of dropping the CorSec’s full name. Officially their jurisdiction was limited to the Corellian system, but there had been enough operations far beyond its borders to give people pause when it was mentioned. “Proper fuzz enough for you?
Now, believe it or not but I don’t want to see your friend dead. I’d rather have someone make sure he wakes up than risk him never waking up at all over the two of us having a pissing match.”
Len still a little off regained as much of his composure as possible and holstered his weapon. The Chiss looked at Celevon and then Ruana.
“Sorry about the delay ” the Chiss stood and offered a hand up. “It was windy or something, you both alright?”
after they respond/he helps them back up
Len turned to back up the Detective. “Let me help you with Fadwal. It will be easier with three of us and a gesture of good faith since I won’t be able to defend myself if I help.”