Esfandia


A meeting of shadows.


Caleb Logan pulled his winter parka around his body more tightly to block out the biting chill of the Esfandian wind. The moon above shown bright through a cloudless night, yet it barely illuminated a small clearning deep in the jungle.

Esfandia was almost completely a jungle planet. Except for a few scattered native settlements, and of course a large Onyxian base, which had an active fighter wing.

But that wasn't the best part.

The best part about it, was no one ever came here. Except for the flyboys and their support staff, the world was pretty much abandoned and worthless. The deep jungle was filled with many predators, in response to, Caleb fingered the blaster he was holding loosely at his side.

An earsplitting growl echoed somewhere in the night, causeing the young Logan to look around, apprehensively.

"Hello, Logan." Came a voice out of the darkness.

Caleb scanned the nearby foilage from where the voice came from. Out of the darkness stepped a tall figure. Caleb had to adjust his eyes, but the moon soon illuminated the Ansionian.

"Gree. So good to see you again." Caleb said.

Ansionians usually went by only one name. They were tall, with pale green skin and only one nostril above their mouth, which had very long and sharp teeth. This particular Ansionian had dark green hair, which could be dyed in many different colors.

"What is the word?" Gree asked.

"We are prepared to help you. But what assurances do we have that you will keep your word?" Calb asked, glancing around again as another earsplitting howl was heard, this time much closer.

"You have no such assurances. We have been waging this little war for far too long. You and your superiors know that we want to end it."

Caleb frowned, "Yes. But what will you do to the Human Supremacy League once you are in power?"

Gree smiled, showing all of his long sharpened teeth, "We will prosecute their leaders for war crimes."

Caleb scoffed, but was interuppted loudly by Gree, "You know as well as I do that they released those toxins into the water supply at that village! Do not doubt that, Logan."

Now Caleb smiled, "We want assurances, our there is no deal."

"Fine." Gree handed him a datapad. It had a list of signatures, alien in script, "What is this?" Caleb asked.

"The signatures of the future Ansionian Parliment. Once the war is won for us, we will join you."

Ansion had been going through a quiet civil war for almost a decade now. Some of the humans who had immigrated to the planet had formed a radical and racist supremacy group, and had begun terrorist bombings of several Ansionian villages.

Originally, the Ansionians had been the ruling species on the world. But the humans within the Human Supremacy League had taken to assassinating senior Ansionian leaders, coupled with the bombings and other terrorist acts, left the Ansionian government with a shaky hold on the cities, The situation had threatened to evolve into an all out world war.

Caleb meant to prevent that.

The government of Ansion had requested the Commonwealth's help. In return for aid against the Supremacists, they would join the Onyxian Commonwealth and would allow military bases and possibly shipyards to be built on their world.

But only if they received aid. Caleb knew they needed a military presence on a world so close to the Imperial border. Strong Ansionian allies would only help their situation.

So they had decided to help.

And Caleb knew just the organization to do it.

The blinking red light wouldn't go away. Neither would the insistent beep beep beep of the alarm. What made the situation unbearable was the distance separating the bed from the desk; a whole fifteen feet, at least.

Rolling over onto his right side, Oso glared at the device, as if daring it to begin it's annoying rant again. Undaunted, the data terminal pressed on, it's light throwing streaks across the dark room and its alarm seemingly got louder and louder. Groaning loudly, Xen threw the covers off with disgust and sat up, stretching his joints out and attempting to wring the tenseness from his shoulders.

As he threw his legs over the side of the bed, he grabbed at a comfortable pair of pants and threw them on over his boxers. On his trip over to his desk, he snagged a plain, black shirt and pulled it over his head and onto his muscular frame. By the time he poked his well developed arms through the sleeves, the Colonel was hovering over the data terminal and boring through the machine with sleep encrusted eyes. Hiding a yawn, he abandoned the desk for a quick second while he fixed himself a pot of caf and visited the refresher to wash his face and brush his teeth. Throwing in a nice, hot shower for good measure, he came out feeling much better.

Walking back into the main room, he glanced down to see that the caf was only halfway done. Grumbling in annoyance, the Director of Section 8 worked some more feeling into his shoulders and did a few morning stretches before dropping to the floor and pounding out a hundred push ups in five sets of twenty each. Twice as many situps followed and when he finally felt like he could communicate with the outside world, he sat himself down in his comfortable nerf hide chair and accessed the message that had triggered the annoying laser light show accompanied with a shrieking beep. Xen made a mental note to talk to one of the technicians in order to have that changed. Perhaps a subtle light blue lighting with a sultry female voice announcing he had a message...yes, that would be nice.

As the message flashed to life on his holographic display, Oso's mood darkened considerably. It was a summons to speak with his immediate superiors, a chilling prospect to say the least. Xen didn't fear them, but he certainly didn't like them nor did he enjoy speaking with them. Continuing his grumbling, he slipped out of the chair and ducked into his closest. Getting dressed in his usual attire, black undershirt, black shirt, black armor vest, black pants, etc. Director Oso didn't waste any time in heading to the communications section of the complex. Entering the secure room built for the express purpose of communicating with his superiors, he locked himself in and queried the system, asking for an audience with the Council.

He didn't have to wait for long.

The reply was almost immediate. Undoubtedly, they'd been waiting for him. As usual, their facial features were hidden in the shadows and they seemed to radiate an importance even across the transmission.

"Director Oso." A baritone like voice rang out.

Bowing his head slightly, Xen nodded. "I apologize for the late reply to your summons. I was...busy."

"Of course you were." This one's voice was weak and wispy, as if the man was close to death.

Ignoring the attempt to derail him, Oso forged ahead. "What can Section 8 do for you today?"

The deep, booming voice answered immediately. "Stop spending our money for one. We gave you a budget and you've exceeded it by many, many times. We've had to drain from other resources in an attempt to cover for your organization. This is unacceptable and will not be tolerated!" Before the tirade could escalate, Oso cut the man off with a wave of his hand, as if dismissing a subordinate.

"Yes, I exceeded the budget. But, as I'm sure you recall, you stated explicitly to use my own judgement when dealing with Section 8. I may have spent more than you wished, but rest assured, you will get your money's worth."

A female cut in smoothly. Her voice was elegant and carried a hint of royalty. "I'm sure my colleagues don't need to remind you that to cross us would not bode well for you or Section 8."

"Of course ma'am, I understand."

"Good, because it's time for your unit to prove its worth." She launched into the briefing without preamble. "The planet Ansion is locked in a war with terrorism. Ansion has been going through a quiet civil war for almost a decade now. Humans that have immigrated in over the decades have formed a supremacist group. They've resorted to terrosim acts against several Ansionian villages.

Originally, the Ansionians had been the ruling species on the world. But the humans within the Human Supremacy League have taken to assassinating senior Ansionian leaders and coupled with the bombings and other terrorist acts, they've left the Ansionian government with a shaky hold on the cities and villages. The situation had threatened to evolve into an all out world war.

Your mission is to infiltrate the planet and destroy the human supremacist groups. The Ansionians have promised their allegiance to us if you can pull this off. The only question that remains is...can Section 8 do this?"

"Of course." Xen replied without hesitation. The pride and confidence in his newly formed unit was bubbling near the surface and was clearly evident. "This is what we were formed to do."

"Good. Then godspeed and may the Force be with you. Oh and one more thing..."

Evil premonitions creeped into the bottom of Oso's stomach.

"Your funding for the time being has been cut off. Have a good day Colonel." The holo meeting cut off and Director Oso was left in the darkness with a major headache.

"Son of a bitch...just what I need. No funding...goddamn it." Muttering obscenities drenched up from the scum of several planets, Xen stalked his way out of the communications center and began to formulate plans for the upcoming operation...

34 Hours Later...

Four stealth intruders silently invaded the space surrounding Ansion. Moving as one, they fanned out and searched the area of space with their powerful sensors, pinpointing several freighters and other assorted vessels. Seeing no immediate threat, they activated their stealth systems and began to drift slowly closer to the planet...

Aboard the lead intruder, Xen stood, arms akimbo, staring out the viewport at the planet below. A feral grin was etched into his icy features. A bright orb caught his eye. Twisting his head to look at the distant sun, he recalled the ancient maritime proverb. The grin remained on his face as he recited it quietly.

"Red sun at night, sailor's delight. Red sun in the morning, sailor take warning."

The sun rising in the skies of Ansion this morning was a blood red...

Coruscant

"Sir, message incoming from Colonel Sellers." Wesley Vos glanced up at the staff officer in the doorway. This one was a new addition, added because of the continuously increasing workload. Lieutenant Something-or-other. Wes slowly rolled his neck and put down his datapad.

"Colonel Sellers?" he asked. It wasn't often that his superior's superior talked to him. Something important must be coming through. "Alright. Patch the signal into my office."

The aide nodded and disappeared. Moments later, Sellers' harsh features graced Wes's holopad. "Sir," Wes said, snapping to attention and saluting.

"Colonel Vos. It's been a long time. At ease," replied the senior colonel.

Wes relaxed, "Yes, Sir."

"Colonel, I have a mission for you. More in your line of work than commanding a fleet, I think." Wes winced at the memory of his last engagement. "I'm sending complete details across now, but I'll give you the short version.

"As you know, Ansion has been engaged in a small civil war for almost a decade now. The human population has recently begun committing terrorist acts. This is common knowledge. What is not common knowledge is that several of the humans, including those in leadership, are - or were - Imperial officers.

"Their actions are in no way condoned by the military. Their assignment was to infiltrate Ansion's government and prepare it for invasion. Invasion plans were put on the back burner, so to speak, for some time, as other interests have taken the resources needed to control the planet. Now, however, we must fix the problem that has developed.

"I want you to personally take a team to Ansion and bring these former - or soon to be former - Imperials back under control. We prefer to have them returned to us alive, but dead will do if it is the only option. Have your men take its place. We want the planet, but if we can't have it, we don't want anyone else to, either. Am I clear?"

Wes, who had stood silently and listened, responded with a clear, "Yes, Sir."

"Good. I want you on the way to the planet within forty-eight hours." The image disappeared as Wes's datapad beeped. The full-length orders had arrived. Time to do some reading. Wes strode to the desk and opened his message.

To: Colonel Wesley Vos
Orders from Colonel Jacen Sellers
Mission Location: Ansion

Ten years ago, an Imperial operative, Lieutenant Tophar Illig, was inserted with his team on the planet Ansion with orders to infiltrate the local government and prepare the planet for invasion. At the time, an actual invasion was deemed impossible because of the current allocation of resources; however, in the time since, it has become not only possible but necessary. Lieutenant Illig, however, is now engaged in activities not authorized by the current Imperial government...

There were some who slept soundly, some who slept through tossing fits, some who barely slept, and some who never really called it 'sleeping' to begin with. Lance was among the last of these groups, for sleep invoked the realm of dreams. And as I've always said, I look on my images as nightmares. It was this that made him choose to try and meditate as much as he could; it was often just as relaxing as sleep, and didn't carry the prooensity for nightmares or other ghoulish specters of the imagination's darker side... ...or, at least, not to as strong a degree.

It was still vexing when an alarm roused one from one's rest, be that meditation or real, honest sleep. Not surprisingly, Lance almost threw something at the device that had dared to wake him up, but refrained from doing so once he saw the classification codes attached. A mission briefing of some sort... Very important, from the looks of it. Of course, the datapad from earlier had indicated--just as easily and clearly as some of the soldiers in his new platoon--that Section 8 didn't even exist. For its members to be called in, the situation was either FUBAR to a whole new level, or just something that the Coalition didn't want to get seen doing. Well, work like that was fine as far as the major was concerned; after having been turned into a part-cyborg, he was quite fine with being noticed by less and less of the galactic community. A faux-death was right up his alley, in a sense.

He stopped, though, about halfway through the background information on their target. Aliens... Freaky-looking ones, at that. Oh, this is gonna be a trip... It wasn't that hard to guess the reason for his personal distaste for the 'different' members of the galaxy's rather diverse society. It was largely the Imperial way, which had been drilled into him since the Coronet garrison. He could deal with them without wanting to kill every last one he saw, sure, but there was again, as always, that strong hint of Imperial training in him that told him there was something fundamentally...wrong about them.

Later. It could all be dealt with later. Right now, however, he had to gather his platoon--or at least part of it--and get them on the move; time was of the essence.

--34 Hours Later--

Among the four Stealth Intruders that made their way into Ansion space, one carried the DeathKnights. Lance was at least lucky that he had these people on the shuttle, since most of them were the people he had met on the day he'd been 'welcomed' into Section 8 in the first place. Well, it's good company, at any rate... They'd spent most of the flight busying themselves with what equipment they had brought along, and were still making sure that everything they had was in working order. The squad had, of course, recognized the need for the Coaliton to not appear involved in the issue, and their selections in gear reflected that: lightweight armor with no identifying marks, weapons that had no identoifications traceable to the NGC, and so forth.

With a sigh, the major looked around at his team, taking careful note of what each member of the squadron was doing. Hotwire had already left the main passenger area, and was back in the cockpit with Hack as they brought the ship in. Venom was, like he'd been doing for the past hour, checking his carbine and going over whatever urban warfare tactics he could think of that might or might not be reasonable for this operation. Eagle had two sniper rifles ready--one regular, and the other a slugthrower of such aged appearance as to seem nonfunctional. Of course, Lance had only approved it because it had been shown to work...exceptionally well, for an outmoded design. Tank, who looked much more like a brick wall on steroids than any sort of soldier, was checking his repeater, and his buddy Sparks was busy fiddling with the flamer-rifle he had insisted on bringing. I just hope the pyro knows what he's getting into, came the semi-snide thought from the major, his mind already considering doomsday scenarios regarding the nutcase. After this mission, if they all survived, he was going to have a serious chat with the colonel about the pyrotechnics expert's mentality.

That sort of thought was all halted as light from outside began to stream into the stealthed vessel's interior. Blood-red light...for a blood-red morning. It was likely to stay that way all through the night.

Stryker - Class Carrier Teebo's Legacy


Caleb yawned and sat back in his chair as he observed the Stealth Intruder's do their business. They were scary little craft, invisible to the naked eye due to their sophisticated holo-panel hull, which projected a clear view of space instead of the actual hull. Other sensor-fooling devices made sure the sensor signature was masked and the vapors emitted by the engines were bleed off gradually. The ship was all but cloaked.


The planet Ansion slowly did it's spin hundreds of thousands of kilometers away. Caleb tried not to worry too much about the mission of the current operatives he had in place.

"Sir." Ensign Halsig stepped up close to the command section, "Sir, it's him."

"Where?"

"On channel nine, sir."

Caleb growled quietly,"I told him never to communicate..."

The young Captain stood from his station and walked toward the rear of the bridge, where his private office was located. He entered quietly and did not turn on the lights, he went directly to the computer terminal and sat at his desk.

Pressing the button to power the switch, he glared at the face that appeared, "What is it, Gree? I told you never to call on this channel..."

"It is secure. All encryption protocols are in place. We need to talk."

"Not over this. I don't give a damn about your encryption protocols." Caleb growled again.

"Fine. Here, in the capital city. Meet me in Anton's Bazaar, right across from this old shitbag hotel..."




Anton's Bazaar - Ansion - Three Hours Later


Caleb leaned back as casually as he could, trying his best to look like any other common traveler, just enjoying the bright sun of Ansion.

A small cup of synthale was sitting in front of him, untouched. A blaster was holstered casually at his hip, along with numerous other weapons and items hidden throughout his person. He glanced about, appearing to be not too interested in his surroundings.

There were many human travelers and people about, but they were treated with a mild distaste by the Ansionians. Humans here were not very well liked and were generally shunned in every way. Most Ansionians ignored them, but there were some who had resorted to outright racism.

Nevertheless, he knew he was being watched very carefully by a number of people.

His com link beeped, and he tugged it out of his pocket, "Remus." He said just loud enough for a few Ansionians close by to hear.

"Have you seen me?" Came Gree's voice.

"Yes. I know exactly where you are."

"Good, I'm going off the line now."

Caleb nodded, as if to agree with something someone on the other line of the comlink was saying, "Alright, put me through." He said.

The Ansionian at the table directly behind him leaned back and just barely grazed the back of Caleb's chair, a clear sign. Caleb kept the comlink close to his face. He spoke, but not to anyone on the other line, "What is so important that made me come all the way down here?"

The Ansionian behind him spoke as well, but barely audibly, "We have new developments that were... unforeseen..."

"What developments?" Caleb asked, pretending to speak into the comlink.

"We have captured several members of the Supremacist group this morning. One was carrying an identification chip, a very small one with powerful encryption keys. I thought you might want it, it could tell us who he is and possibly, what he knows."

"Why do you think he is so important?" Caleb asked.

"We don't know. He doesn't seem to espouse the same ideals as the others. He is more quiet. He's definitely hiding something."

"Where is he?"

"Come now, Remus. I can't tell you that. But what I can tell you is we have a small base of operations in this hotel over here. Come here if there are any developments."

"Fine. Give me the chip."

"Will do."

Gree stood up abruptly behind him and turned to Caleb, "You, human scum! You touched me!"

Caleb adopted a furious look on his face and put his hand on the blaster at his side, "You think so? How about this?" With that he delivered a nice, satisfying punch across Gree's face, who took a few steps back.

"How dare you!" Gree shouted, before hitting Caleb with an even more powerful punch square in the jaw.

The two tussled for a moment, until an Ansionan in a police uniform broke them up and carted Caleb away. Once they were out of sight, the officer released Caleb, "Get out of here." He said.

Caleb smiled and turned to leave, pulling a small object from his face that was embedded in his skin where Gree had hit him...

Ansion itself was a mid rim planet located close to Bilbringi and Vortex. It was dotted with small groves of trees but the majority of the land was covered with thick, rolling plains. Constantly swept by high winds, the plains were not as welcoming as they might first seem. Dangerous creatures, such as the Kyren and Chawix made short work of unprepared travelers while the vast distances and flowing landscape could confuse even the most prepared of men.

The four stealthed shuttles made it onto the planet without any trouble. Easily slipping through the thin air defenses, the pilots expertly avoided the major settlements and homed in on a predetermined location far away from any prying eyes. Flitting over the golden colored plains like flies skimming the carcass of a dead animal, the Sentinel led the way and before long, its pilot throttled back the engines. Hovering for a second in the sky, it turned its nose back and forth as if sniffing the ground for any danger. When it was deemed the location was secure, the four shuttles dropped like chunks of durasteel and with a gut wrenching manuever, stopped just above the ground.

The location that their resident planetary geologist had selected was a small depression in the vast expanse of nothingness. Nestled in between two medium sized humps of land, the area was miles away from even the smallest of cities and from satellite observations taken over the past few days, nobody ever ventured close enough. Besides, it wasn't their final destination, just a mere stop over for a final briefing and what not.

The silence after the four shuttles shut off their engines was deafening. Armed commandos piled out of all four shuttles and secured the area using only hand signals and unspoken signs. The rest of the occupants, intelligence operatives, language experts and others piled out after the all clear signal was given. The pilots and co-pilots jumped out as well and began to pull camouflaged netting over their craft. The entire process was done without speech and it gave Xen a small measure of pride at seeing how well everyone was performing. This was the unit's first operation and a lot of issues were hinging on its outcome.

"Let's see those bantha brains cut my funding after we take this planet..." The Director mumbled as his boots sank slowly into the soft earth. Taking a glance at the rising blood red sun, he set his jaw, quickly went over the final briefing in his mind and set off to round the unit up.

A few minutes later, four dozen men and women, minus the pilots and a dozen or so guards were clustered around Xen.

"You've all read the briefing. We're here to take out the Human Supremacist Group...in a discreet manner. Let's me stress the word, discreet. Remember, we don't exist, we never will and we were never here." Looking around the group, Xen saw no hesitation, no fear, no doubts in any of their eyes. These men and women were truly professionals in their own fields; now the trick was to mold them into a cohesive team that functioned as one body. For all their experience and training, Section 8 was vulnerable now and Oso had to keep reminding himself of this fact.

"Now, let's get down to business. Teams are Omega 1 to 4. A dozen men and women each. Pilot, co-pilot and three guards stay with each shuttle. The shuttles will transport each team to their assigned city, where they will begin to infiltrate the infrastructure of the Supremacists. Remember, gain their trust then break them down once you're inside. For this op, I'm leaving individuals to their own devices, but LISTEN to your team leader. I want to see what everyone's made of." His ash colored eyes bore into each member, making it quite clear that failure was not an option, nor would it ever be. "Once the shuttles have done their job, they'll head to their stand by locations. I want this Op wrapped up within the week. Any questions?"

Supremacist Group Headquarters

Tophar Illig was not a man one wanted to fraternize with in the best of times; in his worse moments, the man was unbearable. His temper was widely known throughout the Supremacist Group, and most of the upper echelons had experienced it's full expression at one time or another. That wrath was about to fall in its purest, most unadulterated form on the diminutive Bernando Julio del Hernandez.

A message had just come through on the Group's secure line, and Bernando had been the unlucky recipient. Now it was his duty to report the contents to his commander, a task none of the others envied. To be sure, Bernando had attempted to pass the job off to anyone he came in contact with, but they would have none of it. So now the small man stood outside Illig's door, hand raised, hesitating to make that first fatal rap.

Smoothing his mustauche, he closed his eyes and sighed. With a prayer to his god that his superior would not kill him on the spot, he finally knocked. A deep, "Come in," drifted through the hardwood door, and Bernando, message in hand, softly tapped the panel and instinctively stepped back as the door opened.

The first sight to greet the messanger was the commander's harsh brown eyes. Tophar Illig was not even a pleasant man to look at. His skin was pulled tight over high cheekbones, his nose was pointed, and his chin, harsh when unshaven, was covered by a three-inch gotee which elongated his face further. He had long since forsaken the Imperial uniform in favor of jet black clothing that made everything about him sinister. Bernando, ever conscious of his task, was tempted to turn and run.

But he was a man of conscience and could not have shirked even this duty, so, stepping forward, he said, "Sir, I have a message from Govinski." Illig stared expectantly, and Bernando continued. "Sergeant Roark has been captured."

Lieutenant Illig stared for just a moment, his features unchanging. Then, slowly, his eyes narrowed. Just as slowly and methodically, he cocked his head and said, "What?"

Bernando nodded. "Yes, Sir. Sergeant Roark has been captured. Worse, he had his identichip on him at the time."

Illig's face grew cold, and Bernando knew he was in trouble. The Lieutenant rose without a word, walked to a small cabinet, and withdrew an old-fashioned fencing sword. The blade, though thin, was kept razor sharp. Bernando closed his eyes to the inevitable.

The teams of soldiers that had come with Colonel Oso for this run were among the best that the Galactic Coalition had to offer; it was therefore no surprise when his request for questions was met with silence. With that very same silence, the 'fun' began...

-----------Next Morning-----------

Lance was not at all thrilled when he woke up. Already, he and his squadmates had made enough kills to enter for a shot at the 12-man galactic record. Of course, every last one of those kills had been some form of insect or rodent creature, nothing even bordering on the ability of a sentient organism. A week of this!? Almost makes me wish I'd stayed home! "Sparks, you got any bright ideas for getting rid of these pests?"

The pyromaniac could only grin. "You bet, sir."

Having already been able to predict the nature of the corporal's response from what had been gleaned from his records, the major shuddered inside. "Let me rephrase that, Corporal Tomlinson. Do you have any ideas for removing these pests, without torching the building?"

"Well, you're no fun, sir," came the dejected reply, as if a kid had just been denied a favorite toy. "Besides, who needs this slime-infested dump, anyway?"

"We do," came the voice of the third man in the room. Dalston was always harsh in his speech, as if his voice were designed to break down anyone's walls of confidence with its sheer animosity. "None of us like it. If you have a better idea, feel free to start talking; otherwise, SHUT THE **** UP AND DEAL WITH IT!"

The major's reaction to the entire shouting affair was to shake his head in frustration. Just what the doctor ordered me not to get involved with... "Enough," he said calmly. "Both of you." What was disturbing was how he'd managed to not lose his temper, what with the anger that was already floatihng around...easily enough that any Sith nearby--were there any at all--would have a snack to last from
now until a few hours past lunch-time. "Sort things out with the rest of the group; I'm heading out for a walk. I'll be back in around two hours."

-----------One Hour Later-----------

Whatever relief Lance had hoped to find outside, he sure didn't find it. Firstly, it seemed as if some of the native scum-suckers knew he wasn't a regular visitor, and those who did looked at him with scorn and disdain. It took a while for the soldier to find a quiet, calm spot amidst all the glares and apparent hatred, especially when it seemed like half the city block wanted to line up to attack him. Eh...if that's how they want to think, it makes getting into this supremacy group all the easier.

What he felt next was strange, like the hackles of a dog going up in the form of hairs on the back of his neck, dancing to the tune of some song of warning. Not even a second passed, and the sharp weapon was already streaking downward, intent on cutting him through the back. Instead, it felt the cold bite of fellow metal, impacting with the commando's right forearm. The Ansionian holding it looked surprised for a bit at how fast his quarry had turned to block the strike, more than enough time for Lance to kick him hard in the sternum region before throwing him across the small plaza with the same mechanical limb. So much for keeping cover...

Caleb Logan smiled thinly as he stared at the man, who was bound and shackled. He had been sitting in the room onboard the Teebo's Legacy for six hours.

After having his people examine the identichip, Caleb had requested to interrogate the prisoner, which the Ansionians had gladly agreed to do, now that they had confirmation Section 8 was onplanet to deal with the Supremacists.


"I know you are Sergeant Roark, of the Imperial Army." Caleb said again.

The prisoner said nothing.

"We have checked your file with our people within the Empire, and our friends, the Ansionian government, has given us all of their records as well. I know you were assigned to this region of space several years ago. You were born on a nearby planet, served honorably in the Imperial Army. Then you just... vanished."

Caleb watched for a reaction. He got none. The guy was like a stone statue.

But every man had their weakness.

"Here's what I think." Caleb said, watching the other's face carefully, "I think you were sent here, undercover, possibly part of an advance scouting force for an Imperial invasion that never happened. They abandoned you, and you resented them for it..."

Nothing.

Caleb continued, "So you helped start this Supremacist group and are now staging attacks on the native population. I want to know who is leading this group."

Roark looked at him for the first time, "I don't have to answer to you. Or anyone else. I do not consider myself a part of the Empire anymore, and neither does my superior."

Caleb took a shot in the dark, "We of course know who is leading this group. I only wanted to see how much you'd reveal. So let me reveal something to you, as a goodwil guesture."

Roark scoffed, but said nothing more.

"We are helping to fund your ex-lieutenant."

He was lying through his teeth of course. He had no idea who Roark's superior's were, but he had to make a guess.

He was rewarded with exceptional good luck. Roark's faced momentarily twisted into a mask of shock, "How do you...!"

Caleb grinned, and Roark instantly knew he had been fooled.

"Games up. Spill and we'll give you a ride out of here. Your friends will never know it was you."


So Roark spilled.



***


Two hours later, Caleb sat silently in front of his desk's computer terminal. Staring back at him was the always-angry face of Xen Oso.

"Colonel, we have developments. The Human Supremacist League is being run by ex-Imperials. Someone by the name of Illig is running the show. Find him, and elminate him. Do it without being seen. Here are the coordinates for their compound. And be wary, things may get a little hairy up here, so just in case, I've called for reinforcements."


***

Roark stared at him with a face full of contempt as the guards shuffled him out of his cell and to a waiting shuttle, "You said you would get me out of here!"

Caleb grinned, "You calling me a liar. I certainly am getting you a ride out of here, directly to a detention facility. Where you belong you worthless piece of bantha dung."

Caleb turned his back at him and departed the detention deck.

Soon after, the shuttle vanished into hyperspace.

Imperial Special Forces Headquarters
Ansion Deluxe Hotel
2130 hours local time

"Did we get a lead on any of those supremacists?" Wes asked.

Captain Racen Selere of Gray Squadron answered. "We observed a demonstration of supremacists, but I'm not sure our Imperial friends were involved. The only weapons used were Molotov cocktails, and those are in wide use across the galaxy. However, the demonstration did seem to be organized, and I believe that the instigator of the fighting had been paid off. Perhaps these demonstrators had a legitimate reason for attacking this prison. Perhaps an Imperial reason."

A reasonable assumption, Wes thought. "Alright, then," he said. "I've established a contact with Illig using old Imperial codes. His communications officer - apparently a new guy - told us how to reach him directly. His base has been moved because of recent developments, so we're supposed to meet him at these coordinates tomorrow at 0630 hours. It'll still be dark, but apparently the place is a caf shop, and it wouldn't be unusual for friends to meet there.

"One other thing," he continued. "Apparently there is another presence on the planet, a Coalition presence. We may have to move more quickly than we want."

Thrahrn started. "A Coalition presence?" he asked.

"Affirmative," Wes replied. "We have seen several members of the unit captured on Glee Anselm. Section Eight, I believe they call themselves. Apparently Simon Kaine decided to release them - probably some deal with Regrad or Logan. In any event, members of Gray Squadron matched their facial profiles with Imperial records and received positive matches. So we now have them to contend with as well."

Thrahrn frowned. "That could be dangerous. Have we acquired weapons yet?"

Wes smiled. "I'll be handing out what I have tomorrow. I'm sending a unit tonight to raid a small shop. We've already scouted it, and security is minimal. It should have everything we need."