Things are not always what they seem.. [ Open RP - Ord Mantell ]

The air of the cantina seemed to be a constant smoky haze, making everyone and everything seem a little more mysterious, a little more beautiful. The swirling gray drifts were transected by colorful beams of light, bringing a sense of dulcet personality to the establishment, a sense that was heightened yet further by the alluring music and the gentle sway of human and alien bodies across the dance floor. Other creatures, their figures obscured by the environment, lingered at the bar or sat hunched over their drinks in shadowy booths.

This was an escape. Hawk knew that; so did most of the other patrons.

Outside this place, a war was being waged on Ord Mantell. This was not the war of the Sith and the Jedi, both of whom Hawk had had little interaction, even since her escape from the Hutts; no, this was a war within the war, the separatists against those loyal to the Republic. The very thought brought a rather cynical smile to Hawk's lips.

'Oh, no,' she thought to herself, leaning further back into her own booth, 'Why disrupt business with a change of government? We wouldn't want the Empire coming in and trying to tell us how to run things...'

The casinos, cantinas and other such seedy hangouts were favored places for Smugglers, Bounty Hunters, and others of the less appreciated crowd of the galaxy. And yet, without these characters, the 'Republic-loyal' head-honchos would not receive their illegal shipments of arms, technology, and perishables; those pesky key figures of the Empire would still be thorns in the Republic's side; and missions such as the one Riley “Two Dawns” Hawk was about to undertake would not be completed.

So why not maintain Republic loyalty? It was a well-known fact that the government of Ord Mantell was less than righteous, and if a few rebels wanted to fly the Empire's banner, well, that was just fine. They could be dealt with.

In recent years, Hawk had almost lost her near-childish curiosity of the galaxy, that excited spark in her golden-hued eyes; it had been replaced with a street-wise gleam of dangerous charm, a sort of seductive unpredictability. It had only taken her lifelong experience of dealing with the 'scum' of the underworld, a few mercenary missions, and one or two smuggling contracts to transform her. She was young, but she was not naïve, and this common miscalculation usually weighed in her favor.

Sliding her lithe form from the booth, Hawk weaved her way through the swaying bodies, and made her way to the exit. With her hat brim pulled low over her features and her duster cloak wrapped tightly against her body, she was a discreet figure in an indiscreet place; no one would favor her with a glance or wish that they had had the nerve to ask her to dance; she would never be recalled to memory. Not this time.

No, this time, it was all business.

"Roger that. Five-Hundred yards, fire on your own mark"

Garen remained in a squatting position, overlooking the blockade on the road below. The seperatists had become much more bold as of late, directly interrupting the progress of Republic forces, even braving open hostility much more often than had been seen previously. As per usual, whenever the Republic receives a pain in its side that it doesn't particularly need, they call in the Galactic Trade Commission to do their chores for them. Corporal Garen Odias had been ordered to take Raven squad to Ord Mantell and try to lure out the separitist cells that were operating in the area. Things were going quite slowly for the soldiers.

Garen looked up as a glint of light appeared in the bright blue sky above them, before plummeting down on the blockade below. The impact resulted in a blinding light that caused Garen to squint heavily and turn his head, raising his hand in front of his face. The explosion echoed for miles around. This method of removing the blockades was arguable overkill, but that didn't worry Garen in the slightest. After all, it was the Republics funds he was operating on, not the Commissions, so he felt he would make the most of some care-free military expenditure. Besides, if this kind of action didn't pull the attention of the Serperatists, nothing would.

Garen indiated to the Troopers beside him to follow him down to where the blockade had been. Making his way down the hill, he caught the stench of burning fueselage. The explosives had definitely done their job. Ordering his men to split in two, they encircled the wreckage, looking for any sign of a corpse or other items that might be of interest. Finding nothing of the sort, Garen lifted his visor and sighed.

"Well, looks like there's nothing here. The boys are probably too scared to come out to play after that. Come on then, there's a settlement nearby, I'm sure we can pursuade some of the locals to give us some heads-up. If we're lucky, our presence might draw out some more Seperatist morons. Move out!"

As she stepped away from the cantina, the smuggler canted her head back, letting the light of the Bright Jewel warm her flesh. Her eyes narrowed as she glanced up at the afternoon sky, her dark lashes nearly blotting out the golden hue of her irises. Over the urban sprawl, the sky was a flawless blue, broken by no cloud; only the occasional space craft coming into port marred the sky.

As she meandered casually down the street towards an inn, she reflected on her afternoon at the cantina: her sources had informed her the the barkeep favored the Separatist movement, and although he hadn't shown the gumption to join them himself, he was ready to introduce anyone discontent with the Republic to the appropriate people. So Hawk had lingered at the bar for a few hours, slowly sipping her drink, making the occasional joke or disgruntled comment about “the way things were going” and “wouldn't things be much better if there were a change in the regime” and “give me another drink so I can forget I live under the Republic” and so on.

Within the first hour, the barkeep had leaned in towards her, hunched his shoulders, and attempting his most charming smile, said, “So what brings you to Ord Mantell, if you don't like the Republic, huh?” Of course, he kept his opening comment strictly neutral, more of a curious nature, so as not to arouse the suspicion of others.

To which Hawk had kind of shrugged her shoulders in a forlorn way and replied, “Well, everyone's gotta' make a living, right? Mine just happens to be established on Ord Mantell. It's too much trouble to up and move everything at this point.”

The conversation went on for another hour before the barkeep finally felt comfortable enough in propositioning Hawk: “Why don't you head over to that empty booth over there,” and he paused to motion to a table in one corner of the cantina, “and I'll come over with a drink. I may know some people who agree with you.”

And so it went: Hawk sat herself in the booth, he came over with his drink, and gave her a list of three names and a rendezvous point. Although Hawk was still slathering on the charm and feigning the exasperation of a common citizen of the Republican government, her real focus was on business now; now that she had three confirmed names of Separatist forces, she was on the edge of the blade, and it would certainly be dangerous.

Starting with tonight.

Raven squad jogged in single file along the road, one column of men at each side. The black-clad unit was not particularly used to this type of operation. Ever since its formation, the squad had been used for recon and small-scale assault contracts. However, they were now carrying out ther duties of the common Republic foot soldier. Garen in particular was not a massive fan of this type of work, especially when dealing with guerilla fighters who could strike at any time, but a contract was a contract.

Garen's eyes fixed on a low moving speck in the distance. He made it out to be a vehicle, headed in their direction. At once he signalled for the squad to stop in their tracks, then duck down before the vehicle arrived. As it drew near, Garen stood up and signalled the man opposite him to do likewise. They both signalled for the vehicle to slow down and moved either side of it, their weapons firmly in their grip. The moment the vehicle stopped, a man and woman got out of the vehicle with their hands behind their heads.

"Sorry to inconvenience you, but could we have a look at what you have in the back there?"

The man looked nervously across to the woman, who Garen assumed was his wife.

"I...er... sure. We have nothing to hide"

Garen moved to the back of the vehicle, indicating to the man that he was not to come in with him. Stepping up into the back, Garen squinted as he picked out two large crates. He opened the first crate, which revealed a small stock of blaster rifles.

"Illegally smuggled weapons? This isn't looking good for you"

"We were made to, by armed men. Please, we were heading to the Republic base to turn them in"

Garen shook his head as he proceeded to open the second crate. Inside he found a large collection of tubes, containing some form of compound that Garen was unfamiliar with. He felt the mans arm grasp his neck, and in one swift move reversed his grip and fired a blaster bolt point blank into the mans chest. Antoehr member of the squad rushed in and, seeing the body, pulled it out of the back and laid it out on the side of the road. Garen received a questioning glance, to which he indicated that his men let the crying woman go. He knew it would probably come back to bite him, but the Republics image was already heavily tarnished by collateral damage.

Giving another curious look at the compound, Garen tried to gain Hol-contact with Dr Nuscian Mandrayk. Failing to connect, Garen decided to send a message.

"Doctor, this is Garen Odias here. I'm undergoing a contract on Ord Mantell, and have stumbled across a compound I'm not familiar with. It may be of interest to you. I'll send the chemical formulae to you, and if you could drop by as soon as possible to take a look for yourself, that would be great. I'll have my men safe-guard it until you can take a look"

No rest for the wicked it seems. A small smile spread across his face. The small red light flashes upon his small communicator beside the bed. Though the bed was not his own, he was on Ord Mantell. Some business in the sector had brought him into the region and furthermore had left thoroughly in the mood for vice. Mandrayk had always been a firm believer in the more basics tenets of the so called civilised species. People were primitive beings by nature. Each answering to the more primal calls of their existence; lust, greed, gluttony and all the other so called carnal desires. Though such things we’re frowned upon by the ever judgmental civilised worlds. Yet it persisted in this world. He found it quite amusing that countless worlds housed and carted to these desires. If one scratched the surface one could find this in the most pristine and so called homely worlds. The inner self had always been a great point of interest to him, many considered themselves above animals but we’re they truly? Beneath the surface lay the true self the beast one might say the primal side the cried for liberation and excess. He believed himself one of the few that truly understood this, he had embraced this, and the so called inner self was his. A predator lay at their very core. With its own thoughts and desires, and he had to admit he found them quite delightful to indulge.

A light moan sounds to his side as his latest plaything rolled to her side draping a slender arm across his chest as he reaches and clasps the small com. He had received the first call but in his current state decided against opening a holo-link to Garen, the display on offer would have been most undignified. Miss Borgia had been so kind as to obtain this evening entrainment, a delightful specimen of a human female. With dark skin; lush long brown hair, curvaceous and well formed an air of the exotic and almost feline about her. Miss Borgia did have an eye for her profession and so selected her fellow courtesans with great care.

Mandrayk placed the device to his ear and received Garen’s message in full. No rest for the wicked indeed. He lets out a slight sigh, it appears he was needed and he could not deny this talk of an unknown compound did fascinate him. Already ideas and possibilities began to bubble and stir in his mind. He leisurely turns is head to the side finds his gazed returned by a pair of bright alert eyes. Kathlyn had sensed his sudden change in mood. Just wonderful eyes a lovely exotic creature.

“I know that look” She said softly with a slight sigh “Leaving a ladies bed at such an hour, my my Nuscian I expected so much better of you…what drags you from my side then?” before Nuscian could respond “Wait! No don’t say…the mystery makes you far more attractive”. She added with a wicked grin, a finger to his lips to silence him. He simply smiles and chuckled lightly and rises from the bed, Kathlyn slipping to the side and sprawls her self across the now fully empty expanse of the bed and nestles in and a sound almost like a purr escaping her lips.

“No rest for the wicked I suppose” Mandrayk offers with soft laughter. Kathlyn keeping one, appreciative, eye open as Mandrayk in his fully exposed state as he walk across the room to the small en suite bathroom. Nuscian she had to admit was one of the more attractive of her clients, Miss Borgia’s had even offered him a position with the small consortium but alas he had polity declined, though he still worked certain aspects of the business. His features sharp and almost resembling the artistic. Tall, lean and slender, the muscle beneath strangely well developed for an Arkanain, resembling tightly strung steel cords beneath his smooth pale skin. His body in perfect order and proportion. Little did she know of course the lengths Mandrayk had gone to design and maintain this form, some components no longer even organic others changed beyond there original limits.. Disappearing in the en suite Kathlyn brooded for a moment. Working for Miss Borgia, she was more than a simple courtesan. The small group catered to some of the high and mighty of the age and still maintained a state of neutrality, and then there was the other side of their works. Information was a great commodity, worth a fortune to right clients, there was much more to Miss Borgia than many truly understood, oh! Such intrigue, seduction and deception. She couldn’t help but smile her own wicked grin at the thought and then nuzzling the pillow and nestles further down into the soft silken sheet of the bed.

It takes a few moments for Mandrayk to freshen up and fully cloth himself once more in his usually finery. He eyed the formula Garen had sent, he did not have the correct equipment with him at the moment, this would warrant a return to his ship. However his extensive medical knowledge brought to bare a few early conclusions, this indeed warranted further investigation. Striding into the finely appointed bedroom he retried his gloves, cane and broad brimmed hat. Kathlyn stirred and spoke in a leisurely soft tone spoke. “Miss Borgia has already deducted the fee from your next shipment” Mandrayk accepted this Miss Borgia knew Mandrayk not be one to be tardy with his payments; in truth this was more convenient, they had a confortable business arrangement. “Oh!” feigning offense with a sarcastic undertone, his right hand fluttering on his chest to emphasis the dramatic fluttering of his heart. . “Whoever said romance was dead, such sweet pillow talk” He soft laughter follows and he quickly notifies Barnaby, his personal valet droid, of his return via his data pad. In a playful tone Kathlyn quickly waves Mandrayk away a slight laugh upon her lips “Off with you! I expect names when I next see you however, I want to now who is stealing you from my bedside at such an hour, I’m a jealous lover” she purred. Biding his polite farewells, and laughing softly Mandrayk departed from the highly furbished apartment. Miss Borgia spared no expense; her employees lived better than their clients he warranted. Smoothly he places his black circular spectacles about his face and ventures out into Ord Mantell. Kathlyn was his latest lover of sorts, his broad tastes and desires leading him down ever changing outlets, Miss Borgia and her staff always obliged. They had mutual beneficial relationship and an enjoyable one at that.

Soon he came across the hanger where his ship was housed and quickly boarded setting Barnaby off to collect the necessary equipment. If his early assessment had been correct this would prove be immensely interesting and beneficial venture, he had already known the Corporal was in the area, but this was unexpected. To his great delight. This station with the GTC was ever a delightful situation from the tedious boredom he once endured. This night, being the exception naturally. Quickly packing the necessary equipment upon a modified speeder bike, an early FC model a semi-circle in design the driver mounted in the middle, on board the ship then he quickly tries to hail Garen via the small holo-panel upon the bike. Dressed know in fresh attire, his usual formal black trousers, silk white high collared shirt and black fitted waist coat and black polished formal shoes. His neck adorned with a blood red cravat, the same red tone as the knee length jacket that hung off his shoulder and red broad rim hat with a black strap about its stack. He awaited Garen’s response with a welcoming smile and a pair of black lensed covered eyes.

( OOC: Oh my.. I wrote up and posted [ I thought.. ] a nice reply two days ago.. but now here I am and it is no where to be seen.. perhaps I only thought I posted it, but didn't actually hit the submit button? Or is this a case of a lost post? Either way, I'll try to track it down [ I'm not sure if I saved it.. ] or I'll retype it and try to have it up again tonight.. Sorry for the delay. )

Night had fallen.

Spread before her upon the floor was an impressive array of defensive and offensive weaponry, from smoke grenades to miniature version blasters to stun darts. She sat on her knees before this display, barely clothed, her strange golden eyes darting this way and that as she took her third and final inventory of what she would be equipping on this midnight rendezvous.

Satisfied with the equipment she had selected, she slowly rose and sauntered over to the window of her rented room. This space port was not a thriving city, so the skyline was not a very impressive view: there were a number of twinkling lights, the flashy allure of the casinos and cantinas, and the mystery of those lurking about the streets at this late hour. However, the life of the port gave away to the waters of the south and the emptiness of the north soon enough, with only the promise of coal mines -- both active and abandoned -- and the less welcoming escapes that only the truly hardened of Ord Mantell cared to visit.

In this way, she was on the top level of the small hotel, which put her at the third floor. Any passersby below who happened to glance up to her window would swear to have seen an apparition: her nearly nude figure baring her ivory skin, contrasted deeply by the length of her raven-hued hair drifting like a lazy shadow around her features, and most startling of all, her fiery eyes very nearly glowing in the light of the two moons rising into the night sky. However, there were no passersby in the brief moment that she lingered there, and it was just as well in her opinion.

Turning away, she surveyed her clothing for the night. It was not the typical garb of a smuggler this time, no, but rather the clothing of a common citizen on a dirty errand in the middle of the night: looser-fitting black cargo trousers, a fitted gray quarter-sleeved shirt, and black boots and a jacket to complete the simple ensemble. She did maintain the precaution of donning her tight-fitting light under-armor, which was more like a second skin, and it concealed nicely under her disguise.

Deftly, she began dressing and arming herself, moving with a sort of practiced familiarity; nothing was out of place and nothing of her "insurance policy" armament was apparent upon her figure as she finished and slipped her arms into the jacket, shrugging it onto her back. Then, her long black hair was put back into a French braid. She paused to glance into a mirror, and found herself satisfied with her appearance.

She glanced at the bedside table, where a clock and a single slip of paper lay. She went over and picked up the napkin, glancing at the three names and the single line of text below them scrawled in an untidy hand:

yarath coal mine far north port sector quarry 3 midnight

Tucking the napkin into one pocket of her cargo jacket, she exited her room and took the lift down to the main floor. As she departed, she glanced about, but noticed no one in the lobby aside from the protocol droid assigned to the desk: they had either already retired to their rooms, or were still lingering in the casinos and cantinas of the port. Again, it was just as well; Hawk preferred to see as little people as possible on this errand.

A speeder bike had been rented earlier in the day, which she had parked two businesses down and across the street. Tugging the collar of her jacket up against the cool night air, she moved casually down the street towards the speeder bike. Her eyes discreetly took in the number of people on the street with her: one a few yards behind her and a couple walking together ahead on the other side. There was not much traffic.

A few minutes later, she reached her speeder bike. As she stepped lightly into the pilot's circle and grasped the handles, she noticed another speeder bike zip by on the street: it was headed south, and she would be heading north, so she gave it little attention. Revving the engine to life, she directed her bike down the street, picking up speed as she neared the outskirts of the city.

Soon she would be making new friends.

Before Garen had known it, night had fallen on this side of Ord Mantell. Normally, at this point, Garen would instruct his unit to head back to their base of operations and rest up. However, he could not leave the compound where it was, it was potentially dangerous and he didn't want the Separatists getting it back. But by the same token, he could not take it back to the Republic base, for as far as he was concerned it could be a weapon to use against them. Besides, the moment any Republic figured got their hands on the compound was the moment that it would be surrounded by all types of bureaucracy. Garen was a fan of getting things done quickly, so he wouldn't let that happen.

His men were still on watch, stopping anyone who passed along the road and questioning them. Some were getting tired, but Garen was not going to let them fall lax when they had a potentially dangerous situation on their hands. They had to wait for Doctor Mandrayks' arrival before they could make any decisive move. He had sent two of his men out on a patrol, they were to go out and question locals and see if they could find any evidence of Seperatist activity. As night was falling, Garen knew that they would be on their way back and so kept an eye out for them. It would be pointless trying to question locals in the night, not in military gear, and uncovering any hide-aways would be nigh on impossible. Soon enough, Garen could make out two armed silhouettes approaching. He knew that they would be his men, but military procedure was vital, even among the fighting men of the Galactic Trade Commission.

Garen called out the challenge. "Womp-rats move by day"

There was a short pause before the reply. "But by night, they have an exquisite taste"

The men approached Garen to give him their situation report. They had been gone for a few hours, and Garen had hoped that they might have found something.

"Corporal Odias, Sir, we have had limited success"

Garen frowned slightly, but indicated for them to continue.

"The locals are far too anxious to say anything outright. Whether it is out of loyalty or fear, it does not matter, they will give us very little. We did find a curious sight not far north, however. There are a set of mines not far North of our current position. A first glance we'd assumed they would be derelit, but we saw an unmarked convoy of vehicles enter one of them. None of them were industrial vehicles, only transports"

Garen nodded. He gave the report some reflection, sitting on the back of the truck, his hand scratching the back of his head. His black hair was short, though considered long in the eyes of a soldier. He didn't like his hair too short, the appearance of a soldier to many people was the appearance of a man who couldn't think for himself. It was slightly unkempt, as it has been a while since they had last been at HQ, and as such it had been made a mess by the sweat and dirt. The other soldiers he could not account for the condition of, as they tended to keep their helmets on at all times other than eating and sleeping. Garen chose not to wear a helmet most of the time, he felt it detracted from vision. It was also a way of allowing the soldiers to easily identify him as the unit leader. 'Look for the one with skin'.

"Well, it is better than nothing, I guess. Either way, we can't make an advance until the Doctor arrives to tell us what we have found, and whether or not we need to look into removing its source"

"...hello?..." Her voice, laced with an edge of uncertainty, drifted across the open yard. Only a gentle breeze rustling through the invasive fauna and the scittering of small night time creatures into their dens of safety drifted back to her, leaving her with an eerie sense of standing in a graveyard: she seemed alone, and yet knew she was not. The almost skeletal appearance of the abandonned mining equipment, the visceral tunnels twisting this way and that into the mountainside, and the shell of the main compound lurking empty and forgotten did not ease this sensation.

She had spent all of her childhood exploring the dank, dismal tunnels of the Hutt Palace, never having any idea what manner of creature she might meet around the next bend, knowing that persons she had met and become acquainted with one day might very well be dead the next day -- all of these things things, and so many more, accounted for a level head and a measure of physical control in even the most trying, stressful, and even painful situations -- so awaiting the appearance of three low-ranking Separatist supporters in this abandonned coal mine compound did not rank very high in her list of unnerving experiences.

"Is anyone there...?" she called out again, her voice almost trembling with feigned emotion. Her act was flawless: her garb suggested nothing other than a simple citizen of Ord Mantell; her stance was nervous, almost clumsy; her expression was a perfect mixture of fear and apprehension and hope; her voice reflected this.

She detected movement to the left behind her, but she did not reveal her knowledge. Instead, she would flatter him by making him think he had surprised her.

"You must be Cheyna," spoke the one behind her; 'Cheyna' was the name she had given the barkeep at the cantina.

Hawk jumped a little and clapped one hand against her chest and another over her mouth, as if to stifle a scream of surprise. As she turned towards the man behind her, she noticed the other two Separatists approaching, now from the area behind her. They were going to encircle her in a rather classic attempt to intimidate, to see if she "had what it takes" to be involved in such a bold movement as the Separatists had devised. Acting as though she were relieved to see him, she heaved a sigh and replied, "Yes, I am Cheyna Voss," she hesitated, as if she was unsure how to proceed. "...I was told I might be a good candidate to help your... cause, and perhaps benefit in return. I'm struggling under the current... ah, faulty government."

The man moved a little closer while his two associates lingered a little further away; so he was the leader of this little group, likely the most seasoned with bringing in "new recruits". His face was aged and scarred across the right jawline, but he appeared to have the strength and agility of a man half his age. "That's what I was told," he said, his voice gruff and without emotion. "And what is it that you do exactly, Cheyna Voss...?"

"I run an export business --" Here, the man cut her off with a scornful laugh, because it would be no real surprise that an export business would be suffering on Ord Mantell, "-- but given the proper motivation, I could bring things in that your people could find useful."

"What sorts of things?"

"Weapons, survival supplies for your camps, surveillience equipment... you know... technologies that are otherwise difficult for you to come by. I've been giving quite a bit of thought to this since I spoke with the barkeep," she added in a somewhat innocent tone, as if she knew she were just a very small peice of the pie, but wanted to prove her worth. She could tell from the way the man looked up at his two comrades that she had peaked his interest.

"Well, Cheyna," he said, crossing his arms over his chest, "We're going to look into you and your business, and if everything clears, we'll bring you in." He paused, taking another step towards her and dropping his arms to his sides. She instinctively stepped back, her hands almost twitching with the desire to arm herself; she found herself backing into one of the other Separatists who had closed the distance between them without her realizing it; she cursed herself for the oversight. The man behind her was almost a head taller than her and his hands came to rest heavily on her shoulders. She resisted the urge to retalliate as the first man took another step forward, mere inches between them now. She could smell the cigar smoke as he breathed, "...if everything doesn't clear? Well, we'll be seeing you again real soon anyway then." He flashed her a sharkish smile before putting an acceptable distance between them; the man behind her dropped his hands and stepped away.

Intimidation, indeed.

Hawk felt herself bristle as she was apparently dismissed, but reassured herself that things had gone according to plan and she had played the part perfectly.

She nodded timidly and turned back towards her speeder bike, secretly loathing the leering gazes of the men, but knowing she must keep to her role.

Soon enough, she would be within the inner circle of the Separatists, and then it would be her turn to have some fun.

Quite an exquisite night. Mandrayk darted through the streets of Ord Mantel, to his inferred sensitive eyes the streets are a vivid display of colours, lush reds, deep blues and vivid violet. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder, no? A slight smile spreads across his face revealing his sharp pointed teeth. The air is cool and fresh, moving away from the main city he soon reaches the route taken my Garen’s contracted unit had taken. His still mulled over the data he had received, if his initial prognosis was correct, well, he suspected they would much more to do this night. He soon passes through some of the small settlements on the trail; he was nearing Garen’s position.

Patrols? Such menial work? He had little to do with the more militarised aspects of the consortium but he supposed work was work. Garen was something of a rising star one might say, a corporal under the branch controlled by Mr Raame. He wondered if under the circumstances then that this could be considered an order? An interesting notion, the way business transpired usually was upon an efficient and adaptive level, with a wonderfully wicked side. A smile spread across his face. He inhales deeply, savouring the wonderful sensation of the cool night air. A small screen upon his vehicle suddenly releases a succession of bleeps, he was nearing his destination. Quickly passing through the small settlement he sped towards Garen’s position. The route is clear for a short time, the night rolling in the lumbering leviathan of the city have claimed its sinner for the evening, and the common worker had retired to their homes. He passed no vehicles bare a few military transports headed in the opposite direction, he was given a few odd glances but he didn’t worry. Having left the city he had to produce his pass to enter the more work oriented regions due to security, after all due to the war they were quite protective.

Ah Garen’s unit. He spotted them only due to his natural state of vision, there body heat only masked slight by the armour. The traces of heat lined the road, only two a small scout unit he supposed. He doubted any on else would be any one else this far out, or rather near the region without being of republic origin, after all they did not have the upper hand and so such a manoeuvre would be a waste of resources, the had done well choosing guerrilla tactics, maximum damage and focus on minimal loses. Continuing down the road he soon find his assessment to be correct, a vehicle had been placed to the side of the road and troopers baring the proper marks of the GTC units. Compared to these large armour bulking figures Mandrayk seemed a graceful creature. Pulling up and dismounting his speeder he retrieves his medical bag, dressed in his usual red finery, which had led to some people duding him ‘the man in red’. A few of them turn there helmeted heads in his direction, he had that effect on people. A tall and slim figure, dressed in formal attire a stark contrast to the soldiers. Medical bag in hand he quickly scans the gathering for the man in charge. It was relatively easy Garen had gotten something of a reputation of not wearing his helmet, which had in turn had resulted in a saying ‘look for the one with skin’. Quickly spotting him, he strolls over a smile across his face, the silvery light of the moons Ord Mantel causing his lenses to shine. “Wonderful night, is it not?”

A chill went down Garens spine as he sat playing with his weapon attachments, sliding each type of scope and stock on and off the core blaster rifle, giving it different feels and capabilities. Garen was never dead-set on his blaster, on each operation he would customize it in a different way to the last, constantly evaluating which combinations he liked and which he didn't. He was frequently warned to be careful when doing that, as there would be many an occasion where Garen would find that he did not have a combination that he would like in a certain scenario, wishing he had gone a different way with his choice of weapon.

The chill down his spine was not due to the chill that had descended on the men following the setting of the sun, nor did he have any particular nerves regarding what he was doing, he was a little too laid-back to suffer from that sort of condition. No, this was a chill that could only be caused by one man, or rather, the voice of one man, that Garen was still growing accustomed to.

"Wonderful night, is it not?"

Garen looked up at the figure before him. This one was not in armour, nor did he seem to have a mind for his own protection, at least on the outside. No, this was the figure of the infamous Dr. Mandrayk standing before him, looking down on him with that sharp grin that could unease even the most stone-hearted of men. Garen had not worked with the Doctor very often, seeing as he had not been among the ranks of the Galactic Trade Commission for a very long time. With the Doctors "Common" reputation, he would have avoided the pleasure, but Volar insisted that the man was the best at 'what he did', and the Doctor had certainly displayed his skills on a couple of occasions already.

Garen rose to his feet and shook Dr. Mandrayks' hand, nodding to his comrades that the Doctor was 'safe'. "Indeed. Perhaps a little chilly, but you take what you can get with these contracts". Letting go of the Doctors hand, Garen turned and began to walk back towards the truck, gesturing for the Doctor to follow him. "I still have objectives to fulfill in this region, and I'm sure you are a very busy man, Doctor, so I will get straight to the point"

Garen opened the container and stuck both hands inside, slowly pulling out the compound container. He was slow with his movement so as to not knock the contents of the container, whatever they may be, for the protection of himself and those around him. Handing the container over to Doctor Mandrayk, Garen continued. "We intercepted this on the road here. We have no idea what it is, where the seperatists are getting it, or where it is going. If you would, Doctor, I would ask if you could study the substance and let us know of it properties and capabilities, so that we know how best to act against it. Meanwhile, my men and I are going to further invesitgate the settlements and mines north of here... after a well earned nights rest"

Garen closed the container lid and sealed up the back door of the truck, before turning to Nuscian once again. "And don't worry Doctor, when the contract is done and the credits come through, I will pay you appropriately for your time"

The Bright Jewel dawned true to its name that morning, as bright as ever, it seemed. Hawk had neglected to program her window shutters to remain closed when she arrived at the room early that morning, and so with regrettable accuracy they slid open at 7AM, allowing a wide slice of brilliant light to pour into her room and across her bed.

She sat up sharply, snapped from her deep sleep, and glanced about herself in a momentary morning fog: her clothes were tossed carelessly around the floor; her equipment was piled onto a table in one corner; she reached up to rub her head and realized half of her braided hair was sticking out in a classic bed-head manner. After this short assessment of her surroundings, she groaned loudly and flopped herself bodily back onto her bed, pulling the covers over her head.

Hawk had peace of mind that, regardless if she awoke at a decent hour or not, the plan was still on schedule. She had ensured long before her arrival on Ord Mantell that the name Cheyna Voss and her business would research legitimately, and anyone doing any “checking up” on her would find themselves satisfied. She had procured a small warehouse full of bogus shipment containers for the mission, graciously supplied by the Republic officials who had hired her, and she would make herself available there later that day; if the Separatists indeed did their research, they would know where to find her.

She trusted they would do their research.

A few moments later, Hawk was drifting back to sleep, her tense muscles slowly relaxing.




***** ***** ***** ***** *****




She was running through a dark stone corridor, her footsteps echoing in the empty expanse. She had the sensation that she was searching for something, searching desperately, but that she was running out of time. As she ran, she noticed reinforced doors to either side of her, heavy, impenetrable-looking things; one would first be on her left, and then her right, and then on her left again.

She slipped, her booted foot sliding on a wet spot on the uneven floor. She sprawled to the ground, landing hard, but without hesitation, leapt to her feet again. Pain was inconsequential, because she was running out of time. Urgency consumed her. She steadied herself against the moist stone wall, and called out, “Father! Father, where are you? Mother is hurt, we need you!”

She kept running, seemingly knowing her destination: yes, it was the room at the end of the corridor, and she was nearly there. Only, it was not a room. No, it was a cell. This was a prison, and the howls and cries and angry slurs of other prisoners, both innocent and guilty, suddenly became apparent to her as she passed the cells on her left and her right. Then, another sound reached her ears: it was the voice of her father, calling out to her, urging her to hurry.

“Father! It’s me, Riley! I’ve come to get you, mother needs you!”

Suddenly, the last cell was before her, and unlike the other doors, this door had a large grate set into the middle, so the free could see in and the imprisoned could see out. She could see him standing at the grate window, but he was so tall – or was the window set low? – that she could not see his face. She rushed up to the door and, hardly able to breathe, said again, “It’s Riley, father. I’m here, I’m going to get you out. Mother is hu –”

But suddenly, her father cut her off, saying, “Wait. You are not my daughter.”

“What are you talking about? Of course I’m your daughter. Look at me, father. It’s me, Riley.”

“No, Riley is not my daughter. My daughter is dead. And so is her mother.” The man’s tone took on a frantic, desperate tone, becoming shriller with each word. “Dead, dead, they’re both dead! Dead! Dea – ”

Hawk awoke suddenly, sitting up with a gasp. Her room was bright in the afternoon light, and her body was covered in a light sweat; her long dark locks of hair clung to her glistening face and shoulders. Her chest heaved, her two hearts beating furiously in the wave of her nightmare. Her legs were tangled up in her bed sheets, and she kicked them away furiously. “Just another nightmare,” she breathed, trying to calm herself, to bring herself to the present reality.

Glancing at her bedside table, she saw that it was nearly 2 o’clock in the afternoon. She had slept longer than she had planned. Rising from her bed, she tried to shake away the haunting remnants of her nightmare, and put her mind to business.

First things first, a shower was in order. Slipping from her undergarments, she stepped into the shower stall and turned the water on, letting the hot water wash away the lingering unease brought on by her nightmare. The water streamed down her body in small rivulets, transforming her silken locks into a molten cascade of obsidian, tracing along her supple curves, refreshing her from the top of her head to the very tips of her toes.

As she relaxed in the shower, she began to consider the afternoon’s activities before her: she would again play the role of Cheyna Voss, dressed and equipped accordingly, and place herself within easy reach of the Separatists, at her warehouse location in the center of the business district. There they would no doubt inform her that her name and business had cleared, and that they found her proposition of a mutually beneficial arrangement appealing. She would insist on speaking to someone higher up in the Separatist ranks to sort out the details, and although they might require that she “prove herself” with a task before trusting her with further involvement, she did not worry herself with this; it was just another step on the ladder of infiltration. She would do whatever she needed to get access and retrieve the information she was hired for.

Satisfied with this projected series of events, she stepped from the shower and began toweling dry her hair. It was going to be an interesting afternoon, she was sure of that.

((Very sorry for slow reply, hopefully shan't be an issue again))

"Why, thank you"

Mandrayk smiles his sharp grin once more. He clasps the container in his slender gloved fingers. Curious. If his initial thoughts were correct, this was a very imaginative fashion to transport the substance. Garen seem to have followed the necessary precautions, sending over the initial scans and furthermore not opening the containers. Already his mind bubbled and churned with ideas, he could not deny the element of adventure or the investigation of the unknown. Of course also ready to take advantage of whatever knowledge was revealed.

He examines the container. Quickly places his bag upon the hood of the truck and removes a larger cylinder container, the cylinder is secured and marked for bio-hazard materials, in which he slips the smaller container from the crate.
“Ah very fascinating, I have the necessary equipment on world, I shall contact you when the analysis is complete.”

One could not be too cautious, though some elements of the compound he could had identify with the entail scan. Much had been left unknown. Caution was advised as even these base elements in unison with others could be quite volatile. Already certain possibilities and early assessments arouse to mind. However there were a few points that where indeed f further study also. A slight glance into the ‘cabin’ of the vehicle had revealed much, though only briefly Mandrayk’s mind soon set to work aided by his highly enhanced cybernetic eyes. One point, obviously was this was a standard transport vehicle used within the outer regions of the city. Namely farm lands and the numerous mines that torn great holes into the landscape. Furthermore, running a slender finger upon the hood of the vehicle Mandrayk discovers it to be covered within a thick layer of grim and dust. A simple conclusion being this was a frequent visitor to a mining facility.

Another observation Mandrayk considers worthy of note is the actual compartment in which the driver was seated. In which he casts a quick glance as he passes, a brief glance but enough for certain key details to be noted. Upon the driver side various litter had gathered and the grim similar of that upon the vehicle lined the floor also. A bottle of water was tucked away upon, with specific note, the right side within the shelf built into the door upon the driver’s side. Another point being the lack of litter upon the seat beside the drivers, and indeed around it. It appears worn too and so a second passenger had evidently present or at least frequent within the vehicle. Yet another factor arose however it was the smell that brought his perception to bare. The smell of perfume, a mild blend but the potency of the odour one might think it had been spilled about the place. Or perhaps? Someone unaccustomed to wearing it had been far too generous with the amount?

Turning to leave, his new secured sample safely tucked away, he pauses a moment at the body of what he assumes to be the driver. Clearly he resisted. Changing his stride he glides towards the body and placing the bag to one side, daring a few odd stares from the surrounding troopers, he then produces to be a thin metal rod from his bag. He crouches by the body for a moment. Using the metal rod as examining tool he lifts the right hand of the corpse and examines it. He notes with interest the lack of any scaring and indeed the fine quality of the skin about the person hand. Not a workers hand, curious. Tugging at the man’s sleeve, he reveals a indictor upon the man’s wrist, the hour still passing upon its screen. Even more curious, if this man followed the usual consensus this would lead him to believe the man to be left handed. However the various items in the vehicle seemed to correspond to those of one right handed. Standing again to his full high, he pockets the metal rod and glides to his speeder, bag in hand. He securely attaches it to the back of his speeder.

He mulled over the information he had gathered in this short time. These observation combined with the curios contents of the containers lead to come mildly interesting conclusions. He mounts his bike and he turns his head the light of the moons reflecting off his lenses.

“Good evening to you Mr Odias, however I shall make one observation before I take my leave. One I think shall reassure any you might have on the issue, clearly this is no ordinary situation. I am under the impression the two in the vehicle were not what they appeared. An obvious observation no doubt, considering the contents of the truck, however considering our line of work one must take precautions, this may be of far greater import than it first appears. The’ women’” Stating it a matter of fact, rather than a question. “I assume escaped or was released, alas my friend I warrant that may come back to ‘bite you’ as they say. Quite the discovery Mr Odias, congratulations. Good hunting gentlemen ”
He gives a wicked smile and with that he activates his speeder and sets off towards the city and his ships laboratory.

Garen waved off Nuscian as he left, and it was not long before his speeder was merely a hum in the atmosphere. Garen sighed as he slumped down on the back of the truck. He and his men had been on patrol since the previous afternoon. Darkness had since fallen on them and had lifted once again. Garen found himself surprised when he squinted towards the sky and found that the sun was directly above them already.

Deciding to draw a line, Garen ordered his men to make camp a mile off the road they had been patrolling. With the compound now gone, there was nothing holding them to the spot anymore, so they could vacate the area at will. The local security forces would deal with the truck and the body. Garen was also sure to have his men call in some extra bodies to keep watch while the rest of his unit slept.

It did not take the men long to set up a small camp for themselves. Garen, being the commander of the unit, had his own private tent. He laid out his bedroll and slumped down onto it, slowly removing his armor bit by bit. He would be grateful for a shower at some point, but he lived a soldiers life, and it was rarely one of comfort, even working for the Galactic Trade Commission. He got himself down to his vest and shorts and slipped into the bedroll. He had left instruction for his men to wake him the moment they received word from Doctor Nuscian Mandrayk.

As he drifted off, he found himself reflecting on how tedious this contract was going to be...

Mandrayk darts to and through about his apparatus. ‘Simply’ dressed in his fire silk shirt, the sleeved rolled up to his elbow, his formal back trousers and waist coat. Having returned to his ship; discarding his coat and hat with his protocol droid Barnaby, Mandrayk had set about his task. Already the substance was being analysed using the proper equipment aboard. Mandrayk boast a very fine collection of the finest medical equipment available. Not that he would, he preferred to keep his private endeavours, private. Around him stood, a grand spectacle of genetic enhancing equipment, analytical equipment and the product of decades of research. All garbed in a sterile white.

Mandrayk could not help but smile, revealing the tips of his sharp pointed teeth. The whir of the centrifuge soon caught his eye. Having removed a few samples, in a enclosed secured environment to avoid contamination, the contents revealed to be a fine white powder, he had begun numerous tests.
It would take a little while longer for a full analysis to be complete. Mandrayk now stood over the initial findings, his earlier deductions proving to be correct, thus far. What had peaked Mandrayk interest, above all, was not just the manner in which it was discovered. Rather the curious correlation of the structure. Thus far he had failed to prepare with anything within his vast archives of knowledge and samples. However, it had born a most curious resemblance to another substance. So far the readouts had been neutral; the compound by all means was harmless, indeed it bore more resemblance to a medical compound than anything else. However it was also useless, it was as if I element of the compound was missing thus rendering the whole inert.

Stretching to his full height he lets out a contented sigh. This was a delightful little riddle. He adjusts his blood red cravat, the cascade of red a stark vibrant splash of colour in the white expanse Motioning with his hand, a control panel flared to life. The night was warring on, not that it mattered. He had consumed the necessary serums to counter act any lack in efficiency. The night was but young.

The night wares on, morning beginning to break, the day beginning to pass.. But still Mandrayk worked. This was far too intriguing. He poured over the data. New train of thought firmly had him in its grip. It was a curious theory thus far; it was an utterly delightful one at that. With developing results, came more developed assessments. A hungry smile spread across lips, he prowls over to his console, the final read outs of the test had displayed upon it. Oh this was more wonderful than he imagined. His hands dance across the panel, the broken down formula now fully displayed, he continues to smile. Oh this was wonderful, ingenious even!

Some troopers turn upon the sound of the com flares to life. A ordered word is sent to the sleeping Garen. A small blue holo-projection of Doctor Mandrayk awaits an audience.

Inside Garens tent, there was a restlessness. Due to the length of his patrol, Garen was out like a light, but it was not a calm sleep. He found himself being re-visited by images of his life in the Republic Military, against the escalating aggression of the Sith Empire.

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Sergeant Garen Odias of the 21st Corulag Air Squadron glanced over the side of the landing pad, looking down at the surface of Alderaan below them.

"We need to get further away. Ordens' Hope is not safe for these civilians. Alderaan is not safe for any man of Democracy anymore. Where is that Transport?"

One of his troopers looked away from his binoculars. "The vessel is incoming now Sir, ready for the new batch of civvies"

It did not take long for the transport to make its landing on the platform, and at once a horde of civilians rushed across the platform to board the shuttle. Garen tried his best to ignore all of the "please" and "thank you" 's that he could, he did not like to get personal with risk objectives incase something happened to them. One woman caught him off-guard, however, holding the hand of a young child and pointing at a full transport, tears streaming down her face. Garen did not know what came over him this time, but he forced the issue of getting the child onboard, something he never would have done before. It was a decision he was quick to regret, as the advancing Imperial forces had been setting up defences to restrict airspace, and the transport had barely reached the horizon when it was brought crashing down to the surface.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

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Garen woke up in a harsh, cold sweat. He grabbed for his side-arm as the tent opened, but calmed himself down when he saw that it was one of the junior soldiers getting his attention.

"Sir, Dr Mandrayk has requested an audience. He is on active holo-com outside"

Garen wiped his forehead.

"Which is the nightmare then? Nevermind, I will be out shortly"

Garen did not take long to kit himself up again, and opening the front of his tent, he saw that the afternoon was turning into evening. He had managed to sleep for a few hours, so that was something. Stretching, he made his way to the table where the holo-recorder had been placed and sat himself down in front of the flickering blue image of Dr Mandrayk.

"So then, Doctor, what have you managed to uncover?"

The small blue hued hologram of Mandrayk bows gracefully towards Garen as seats himself. “Evening, to the point as always” He smiles warmly, a gestures somewhat ruined by his sharp predatory teeth. The hologram begins to walk on the spot as Mandrayk paced about the space. The small hovering projector following him as he walks about his lab. He had filtered it however; none of his environment around him was shown around him. He preferred to keep his private quarters private.

“I studied the compound, a delightful puzzle; it appeared to share none of the qualities of compounds that one might expect to be transported, in its powdered form that is. Thus rendering any attempts of a comparison with the various substances within achieves futile.” He chuckles lightly; he seems to be quite enjoying himself, maybe even to much so. “I naturally realised this and soon set about breaking down the compound into his baser elements…the results were conclusive.” He turns a wicked smile spread across his face. “Mr Odias what you have discovered is a vaccine…a cure for a disease that doesn’t exist.” He lets this oddly phrased piece of information sink in. “Well one that doesn't exist upon current records” His wicked smile persists, a devilish knowing grin “At least...not yet”

Garen watched the figure of the Doctor pace back and forward on his holo-projector. He keep feel the eyes of his squad-members watching in anticipation as well. They were not stupid, they realised what was going on. Garen, in response to each line from Doctor Mandrayk, simply nodded his head and listened intently. However, the hubris of the Doctors message chilled the soldier to the bone. If the seperatists were shipping an unidentifiable cure around, that means they likely hold the key to an unidentified poison or virus of some variety. The obvious line of thought regarding this would be to frame the Republic for a deadly outbreak, then the seperatists would claim to be heroes for bringing in the cure... after the damage had been dealth to a sufficient degree.

Killing your own people, then claiming to be their saviour. These animals do not deserve the protection of the Republic.

Garen shook his head.

"If you would, I would like you to re-calibrate your calculations. Run them again, just to be sure. After, I'd like you to start research into the type of ailment the compound cures. This may require some field work on your part Doctor"