[font=Courier New]Classified Location[/font]
[font=Courier New]En-route to target zone[/font]
[font=Courier New]Ship time: 0900 hours[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]If any assignment thus far could have had the potential of driving Jarred over the edge, then this one was likely to take the cake, eat every last crumb of it, and then proceed to sit right on top of the competition. Being diplomatic had never been his thing, really. As a young boy, he'd learned to kill to get by, striking down anyone who tried to get between him and what he wanted. It was miserable, at the time, but it was how he survived, and how he'd come to be recognized in the little society in which he'd spiritually sequestered himself. They were all killers...heartless, merciless, and without compassion.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]It was in this nightmarish life that the young boy had grown into manhood, killing for a living...killing, for the sake of the kill. He'd become famous among his friends as a sniper and covert killer, even going so far as to take out a few people of some measure of prominence in his neighborhood...without intervention from the police, thankfully. It was in this life that he'd learned to regard politics as a cover for the line of work he held fast to, and to regard diplomacy as merely empty chatter by empty people to avoid mutually assured destruction.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]Being diplomatic wasn't really his thing, truth be told... But if it was anything like the diplomacy he'd dealt with during his younger years, then he'd be right at home.[/font]

[font=Courier New]Command Center, Vos-class Carrier Ataraxia[/font]
[font=Courier New]Entering space around Wakde[/font]
[font=Courier New]Ship time: 0935 hours[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]The first thing that the lieutenant-commander noticed once his small group of ships pulled out of hyperspace was that there was a significant defense fleet already in the area. This wasn't surprising, however; the planet would have been expected to have a local defense force of some measure. It was merely upsetting for him that he was, for the moment, shorthanded in this affair.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]That, however, was the way of politics: to dissuade the other party from worrying, to relax him within his false beliefs of superiority, and to string him along, isolated in his fanciful; world of safety.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]The target this time was the Prime Minister of Wakde. Parliament, which revolved around him like the New Order did around the Emperor, was but a minor obstacle in the path to securing this system for the Empire. As such, Parliament could be ignored or trampled, in a variety of means that could prove fruitful. For the moment, however, those ideas were of no consequence. "Communications," Jarred said calmly, his voice barely raising above the calm whisper of death. "Establish communications with the defending fleet's flagship; we come in peace, and would appreciate a personal audience with the Prime Minister, post-haste."[/font]

[font=Courier New]Wakde Orbit[/font]
[font=Courier New]Imperial ship time: 0936 hours[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]The biggest challenge Jarred could foresee in this assignment was making the Parliament a non-issue. Officially, it had say over the prime minister, and could remove him if it so chose; such a move was too dangerous for him to permit. Intelligence had indicated that she was highly sympathetic to the Imperial cause, even if not in public, and losing her help in the matter was not a prospect he wanted to face.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]"This is the Resplendant. Imperial commander, identify yourself and state your business in this system."[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]The message was brief, but it didn't have to be long; it merely had to exist in order to get its meaning across: it was time for the mission to truly begin. Clasping his hands behind his back, the lieutenant-commander faced the holoprojector with a relaxed, emotionless expression. "Good morning," he said calmly, offering a subtle nod. "My name is Jarred Smith, and on behalf of the Imperial New Order, I come on a misison of peace, and request a conference with the prime minister."[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]The only oddity in his story was how to explain a pair of military command carriers serving as the counselor ships for such a mission. In truth, one was serving escort duty for the other; before leaving for Wakde, the lieutenant-commander had ordered the transfer of both Schutzstaffel squadrons over to the Ataraxia, leaving the Vos with both squads of Mk-II TIE Phantoms. Whether that transfer existed or not, though, did not change the fact that they were fighter carriers, of distinct Imperial design, serving as diplomatic vessels. It was, at the least, abnormal.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]And Captain Remmington was well aware of that. "You are ordered," he responded, "to hold your positions for the time being; we are calling this in to the prime minister's attention. You may expect an answer shortly." Switching off the channel, the defending commander turned to his XO. "Deborah, send a message about this arrival to the prime minister; while you're at it, I have a question for you."[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]"Yes, sir?"[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]"What kind of man comes face to face with another military fleet, bringing only two carriers?"[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]With the message sent, Commander Delane turned to stare out the viewport for a few seconds, taking a good look at the Imperial vessels. "I don't know, sir... But I'm confident that he's not a sane man. I was expecting a pair of Star Destroyers from the Empire."[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]"So was I," Talcho said with a shrug before the priority comm channel flared to life. In a flash, the captain snapped to attention. "Madame Prime Minister."[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]The politician didn't smile, and she didn't return the salute. "At ease, captain. Inform the Imperial ambassadors that they are allowed to land. The head of state and I will meet with them in an hour. They are to come unarmed."[/font]

[font=Courier New]Office of the Prime Minister[/font]
[font=Courier New]Wakde capital, planetside[/font]
[font=Courier New]Imperial ship time: 0942 hours[/font]
[font=Courier New]City time: 2042 hours[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]The darkness that surrounded the men as they got out of the passenger shuttle was penetrated by very little light, be it the natural ambience of the stars above or the artificiality of the cityscape ahead. The only significant lighting in the area was from beneath the soldiers, embedded beneath a protective layer of transparisteel on the exposed landing pad. The night was clouded, and heavily so, leaving most of the sky in patches of impenetrable darkness; the wind that accompanied the clouds brought the troops a cool, gentle breeze.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]Waiting just at the end of the landing pad stood another group of soldiers, this time members of the local military instead of that of the Empire. The way they looked and moved signaled to the SS troopers that not only were they not undercover, but they also had no idea how to be so.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]After a weapons check that seemed all too routine and far too by-the-book to invoke any positive comments in the lieutenant-commander's mind, the soldiers were brought by speeder to the center of the city. The building they finally stopped at was expansive, yet short; enough to be a political assembly building and office complex...interestingly, exactly what it was. After even so much as candid observation, Jarred was fast coming to a strangely enjoyable conclusion here: appearances weren't entirely deceiving. That, he mused, was a good thing.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]The door to the office opened and closed with a pair of gentle whooshing noises, leaving the small delegation of Imperial soldiers in a rather ornate office, clearly designed with the occupant's comfort in mind to a far greater extent than her work efficiency. Right now, they were walking in on two people, both of whom looked less than pleased with the overall state of affairs. Perhaps it was just the timing; a public notice had been posted involving recent tensions involving the Empire throughout neighboring space.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]Without so much as a noise, the soldiers came to parade rest just before the desk at the far end of the room. Seated on the other side of the desk were the president and prime minister of Wakde, and they both looked like they were ready to tear into absolutely anything the lieutenant-commander had to say. Somehow, he got the feeling it was going to be a long night.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]"Please, sit down." The voice behind the words was angelic, almost to the extent of being beyond the realm of worldly mortals. If anything, it could have been a practiced calm, but that seemed unlikely. Among other things, it would imply that these people knew something about being deceitful; that appeared, as far as earlier impressions went, to be a direct impossibility.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]Jarred thusly tried his best to make sure his smile, small as it was, appeared honest. "As you wish, madam." With a slight air of caution, he took his seat. This was the first real surprise of the day for him: he'd expected that the Prime Minister was a man...and what he had in front of him in that role was a woman. It didn't merit any change in tactics, but it was something unexpected...[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]...and the unexpected could cause problems. "With all due respect to yourself and the head of state, I'd like to get right to the chase: the Empire is interested in absorbing Wakde, politically. We're not here to cause trouble, and we're not here to overthrow the current government; we're just here to offer you a chance to join the Empire and embrace the security and safety that she offers. If need be, we're also here to expedite the process." How they planned to hasten it, of course, was meant to be a well-guarded secret. If anyone found out, it could pose serious problems for further talks.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]They could easily also be seen as an act of war.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]The Prime Minister smiled just a little, the soft grin making her face look even more angelic than before. The dark intent hidden behind it couldn't be seen, which was all the more useful to her, and to the unknowing Imperials. "That's an, err...interesting offer. However, Parliament would never go for such a thing, not right now. The president and I believe that they could be persuaded to see things from your point of view, but some of them are a little more, shall we say, 'stubborn' than you'd be willing to deal with."[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]As her words started to sink in, the lieutenant-commander noticed something in her eyes. There was a strange twinkle...like that in a killer's eyes. He could almost tell what she wanted, judging from that alone, and the desire she had for the situation was dangerous, to say the least...if it was true. "We'd be more than willing to convince them of the soundness of siding with the Empire...pending, of course, that both yourself and the president approve?"[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]The head of state nodded sternly. "As long as you understand just how difficult some of these people will be, I'll be fine with it. However..." Here, he pointed directly at the lieutenant-commander, "you'll need to appear before Parliament tomorrow, to explain your case and all."[/font]

[font=Courier New][font=Courier New]The Next Day...[/font][/font]
[font=Courier New][font=Courier New]Undisclosed location[/font][/font]
[font=Courier New][font=Courier New]Wakde capital, planetside[/font][/font][font=Courier New]
[font=Courier New]Imperial ship time: 0642 <st1>hours</st1>[/font]
[font=Courier New]City time: 1742 hours[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]“The Imperial New Order was the hot topic of the news world today, with a soldier from their army paying a special visit to the proud meeting hall of Wakde’s Parliament for a lengthy Q&A session. Very few details have been revealed, but Majority Representative Nicholas MacMagus—“[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]W[/font][font=Palatino Linotype]ithout even trying to conceal his anger, Jarred threw the switch on the holo-projector, turning off the news feed before anything else could come from it. With that same, unmistakable rage in his voice—a rage that very few people had ever seen on him, and that he rarely let out—he finished up where he’d made the reporter leave off. “…will be the first of many to die.”[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]The holo-projector changed to a display generated from the small, heavily-encrypted device attached to it. There was a small message from the Prime Minister, and a slew of names…all but one member of the Parliamentary roster. One I distinctly remember meeting, the lieutenant-commander thought to himself. “Ladies and gentlemen, what you see before you is a general overview of what you’ll be doing from here on out until we leave this planet. You are now the tools of a covert war, one designed to remove enemy opposition without even the slightest awareness.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]“You’ve all been assigned to murder people. Innocent people…people who don’t even know you exist…all because they disagree with you. It isn’t going to be an easy job…some of you won’t even like it. That said, any of you that feel sickened by it have a choice: you can either swallow your pride to help get this work done, or you can go back to the Ataraxia and stay there until we’re ready to leave.” His stare swept around the room, piercing through each and every one of them. “You were all brought down here for a reason: I need all of you. Any of you, however, who feel like you can’t complete this assignment in good faith…you may leave now. “[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]There was an awkward silence in the room, accentuated by the time in which it continued to mercilessly stretch onward. Still, nobody rose from their seats; everyone was attentive, and everyone was disciplined.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]“Very well,” Jarred continued, taking a short pause to clear his throat. As he cycled the projector through the images on it, the display passed over a picture of the Prime Minister. “This is Kandria Guffey, the Prime Minister of Wakde. Some of you may happen to pass her by during the course of your coming duties on this Force-forsaken rock. Don’t bother with her; it could easily blow the entire mission.”[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]Another picture came up, this one of a man with a horribly stern expression and, judging from the look captured in his eyes, the inability to convey any form of joy. Jarred’s expression did little to hide his disdain for the politician. “President Grayson Thoril, another person you’ll want to avoid at all costs. If local stories are true, then contrary to the old saying, this man’s bite is far worse than his bark.”[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]The third holo-photo that came up was another woman, similar in stature and demeanor to the man who had just left the view, as well as in a few other traits. The most distinct of their similarities was in their eyes: charcoal black, as if infested by nothing but shadows and pain. The young woman’s hair, however, was blue; clearly, something from her mother’s side. Perhaps that explains the president’s grim outlook, in a way…[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]Looking at the picture, Jarred couldn’t help but smile, if only because the woman seemed so young…destined to live a life that seemed better than the one her father had. Maybe it was the part of him that still had hope—no, faith—in humanity. “Finally, this is Rachelle Thoril, the president’s daughter. Despite being related to him, she’s chosen to serve Parliament instead. You’ve been ordered to leave her alone, no matter what. Unless you’re somehow directly saving her life by interfering in her affairs, you will adhere to that request and back off.”[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]Finally, the review brought up a list of names…a list that represented all of the anti-Imperial members of Parliament. Needless to say, it was a staggering majority of the assembly that had been present during the meeting earlier in the morning. The first picture to come up after the list was the man shown next to Jarred on the earlier news feed: Nicholas MacMagus, lead representative of the current majority party. As the image came into focus, Jarred’s face, often devoid of any expression, adopted one of the most frequent moods he’d shown all evening: complete, penetrating, and utter disgust. “This is, simply put, the first guy to die. I want his death to look like an accident; nothing more, and nothing less. It just cannot look like it was caused by someone else…especially by us. Beyond that, do whatever you have to do to make sure this guy gets it.”[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]As the projector cycled through the next members on the roster, Jarred continued to deliver small comments on what he felt was pertinent about everyone in question. Perhaps it was what they liked to listen to, or where they liked to go after the meeting chamber adjourned for the day. Regardless, if it was in any way helpful to tracking and killing them, he shared it. They had the entire night to get ready…surely it wouldn’t take too long.[/font][/font]

[FONT=Courier New]Undisclosed location
Wakde capital, planetside
Imperial ship time: 1047 hours
City time: 2147 hours[/FONT]

[FONT=Palatino Linotype]The expression that finally found itself on Jarred’s face was yet another of the rare signs—or, perhaps, not so rare any more—of his usually well-concealed temper. “Why,” he began, “couldn’t you just raise your hand earlier, when I’d asked a few hours ago?”

There was the slightest flicker of an expression of worry on Ruby’s face, before it was just as quickly concealed by a conscious effort to not show fear in front of her commander. That half a second, however, was already more than enough for him. “I just didn’t… I didn’t want the others to…”

Jarred’s stern tone took over, finishing the obvious thought. “…to think of you as weak or insecure. Don’t worry. I’ll have a shuttle down at the city starpad in a few minutes.” Not letting on with how upset he was, the lieutenant-commander turned his attention over to the rest of the squadron, focusing on one soldier in particular. “Soulscream,” he called out calmly.

The junior lieutenant was quick to answer the call, walking over briskly. Fortunately, she remained silent—or, rather, was unable to speak fast enough to interject. Jarred was, of course, all too happy to keep her from talking, for the moment; she was loud enough to wake the dead. “I’m going to be calling a shuttle down to the nearby starpad, lieutenant; I want you to drive the doctor over there. No delays.” With that, he handed her the ignition activator for one of the two landspeeders outside of the apartment complex they’d been allotted.

Ruby’s eyes went wider than saucers at the idea. “Sir…you really trust her to—“

The look the lieutenant-commander gave was icy cold. “Soulscream will drive, and that’s final.” Without any further delays—or tolerance for any—he turned his attention back to the rest of his squadron. “Harlow!”

The squad XO was quick to respond, walking over faster than even seemed reasonable, given the nature of the summons. It was perhaps just good fortune that he didn’t overturn any of the sparse furniture in the room on his way over. “Yes, sir?” he asked, his voice calm.

Jarred shook his head, very subtly, and kept his voice to a soft whisper. “I’m going to be calling down a shuttle to pick up the doctor. Pick someone else from the squad, get in the second speeder, and follow them. No more than a minute behind, and call in if anything goes wrong; understood?” All he got in response was a silent nod; with that, he reached down for his comm-link, sending a short message to the Ataraxia for the needed shuttle.

Five minutes after the second speeder had left the apartment complex, the comm-link buzzed again. That, by itself, was a problem; Harlow had only been ordered to call if something bad was happening. The fact that he was calling only confirmed that, indeed, something bad had happened. What it was, the lieutenant-commander almost didn’t want to know. “Go ahead,” he said into the comm. as he clicked it on.

“Sir, we’re at the corner of Third Avenue and Main Street; there’s been a two-speeder crash, and a medical evacuation shuttle is inbound. Get here now.”

If nothing else could have explained the situation, it was the urgency in Harlow’s voice that did it. It didn’t really matter to Jarred that both speeders were out; Third and Main were an intersection not too far from the complex…just five minutes by speeder. He could probably run it down in about eight or so, if he hurried. Combined with the effects of years spent on the streets, killing and running from the law, he could probably shave it down a little more…probably. Thinking of nothing else, though, but getting to the crash scene as soon as he could, he ran for all he was worth.

After two minutes of running, none of which was truly productive in the long run, the lieutenant commander happened upon what could best be described as a motorized pedestrian making use of some awkward, antiquated vehicle. Seriously antiquated, at that! he thought to himself, trying hard not to laugh at the thing as he started to make his way over. It looked like nothing more than a simple outdated engine welded onto a flimsy metal frame, and indirectly connected to a pair of wheels and a large chain that somehow touched the back wheel on one side. The device was something he’d read about in old mechanical diagrams…a ‘motorcycle’, if the books were right.

“Emergency business,” he said calmly, not bothering to raise his voice all too much as he ran up beside the stopped vehicle, grabbed one of the handlebars, and shoved the original driver off onto the sidewalk. Without waiting for the man to get up, he sat down on the motorcycle—which, despite being extremely old, was also extremely well maintained—and started to rev the motor. “Third and Main,” he said, this time loud enough for the fallen driver to hear, and started off, heading for that very spot.

The one problem that most ground-contact vehicles had was traction: in the presence of any liquid on the road, they could lose their grip in little more than a heartbeat, leaving the operator imperiled. True, there wasn’t much blood on the road near the crash site, but Jarred chose to be cautious anyway, and brought the motor vehicle to a stop half a block down from the scene of the crash, running the rest of the way after making sure that the vehicle’s ungainly ‘leg’, or whatever it had been called in the old diagram, wasn’t going to give way on it.

Harlow was waiting, standing near a landspeeder that was clearly far too decorated to be in use for any regular civilian. Sitting in the driver’s seat of the extravagant speeder, barely conscious, was the Majority Speaker of the local Parliament…and his breath, what little he could force out, carried the rancid stink of alcohol. It was enough to make both of the Imperial soldiers want to break his face in, but they still demonstrated a modicum of restraint over the situation; killing him now would only make issues worse for them. “Shuttle left just a couple of minutes ago,” he began, trying to keep his voice calm. “This one’s the ‘lucky’ one… Almost no injuries, compared to the others; he’s going to be taken by ambulance to the nearby hospital. Police are handling the rest of the incident.”

Jarred scowled. “Do we have a toxin report yet?”

“Yes, sir; he’s ingested almost four times the legal limit. Don’t know how he got that much and still managed to get this far…nearest pub is at least ten blocks away.” Harlow’s voice became more of a whisper than it had ever been before, as though the next few details were supposed to be some sort of Intel-level secret. “His, err…passenger… Well… I’ve spoken with the President. We were allowed to send her up to the command ship for emergency treatment. It didn’t look good for her or our squad mates, sir. It’s entirely possible that at least one of them will die—if not all three, sir.”

The scowl on the senior officer’s face only worsened. “That’s unacceptable, and you know it. You also know what’s going to happen if any of them do die.” As calmly as he could—which wasn’t really that calmly at all—he let out a low sigh, just barely managing to refrain from lashing out at the weary drunkard in the speeder’s driver seat. “I’m going to speak with the Prime Minister in the morning. Heads are going to roll for this.” At that last comment, he turned his attention squarely on Nicholas, who promptly lost the last bit of his consciousness in a wave of alcohol-induced nausea.
[/FONT]

[OOC: I was listening to some music referred to me by a friend of mine when I wrote this post...so I'd like to dedicate it to her. She knows who she is.]

[FONT=Courier New]Interlude – Emergency Medical Surgery
Vos-class Carrier “Ataraxia”
Emergency Care Unit
Imperial ship time: 1108 hours[/FONT]

[FONT=Palatino Linotype]There was always a danger to performing surgery; the risk of failure…of losing the patient. That risk was, or lack of a better word, far more distinctly felt now than it had been in any of the other cases that the Ataraxia’s crew had dealt with before. They all knew what the price of failure was in this situation, and they knew just how strongly the Imperial SS would react to the loss of any of its soldiers. They also knew that, at least for the moment, they were to look on the civilian as one of those soldiers…at least, insofar as ensuring she received prompt, effective treatment. That left them with three people to heal, and a heaping load of trouble if any of them didn’t make it.

It went without saying that the stress in the emergency room was high as the first patient was wheeled in; a more accurate description, really, was that it was pushed to the boiling point. With very little notice, the medical team had been able to prepare everything it needed…for one patient. The problem with that was the obvious: one patient did not equal three, and the staffers were rushing through preparations for the other two. Likewise, there was the challenge of selecting on which patient to operate first: all three of them were listed in triage as Code Red. The entire situation was a nightmare for the medical crew, and it was fast becoming the sort of situation that nobody wanted to deal with, at all…

…However, handling it was, after all, their job; they couldn’t just walk away from it as though it wasn’t there. All they could do, as they settled into their task and finally selected a patient, was hope that the staffing teams would soon be ready with the materials—and, if possible, additional personnel—for the next two. The senior officer, however, had to make his choice, and make it fast, or it was unlikely any of them would survive long enough to make it to the evening, let alone through it.

Very quietly, the diplomat was moved into the operating room. The technician working at the toxin-scan system had found a small amount of alcohol in her system—enough that it could affect her blood-flow—and that had the others worried; left unchecked, she posed a risk of outright bleeding to death before she got treatment, whereas the others hadn’t been given any blood-thinners of any sort, and were, perhaps, safer for the moment than their politically-minded counterpart.

The damage was significant: two piston rods from the engine had embedded themselves in her body, too deep for manual extraction…not that such extraction would have helped, anyway, with the amount of blood she could lose from the process. Surgery was the only option, and it had to be done with the utmost care, for even one slip-up would certainly be fatal. With that drilling itself into their minds with each passing second, the doctors got to work, starting by introducing a blood-clotting agent into the young woman’s circulatory system. With the dangers that were present otherwise, this step was perhaps the most vital one they had to undertake in working on this woman; without it, she’d die as the laser-scalpel tore through her flesh.

After the agent was introduced, the first incision was made, three inches in length near the left abdominal muscle. The woman was fortunately too injured to feel the pain to begin with, but for her own safety, no anesthetics had been delivered to her system, as they had been deemed unnecessary under the prevalent circumstances. Slowly but surely, with a delicate hand and the grace of someone with years of skill, the chief medical officer made the last inch of the incision, loosening the impact site enough that he was able to quickly pull out the first of the two piston rods with a pair of pliers. His assistant was just as quick to apply a gauze pad to the wounded area, keeping any excess blood-flow to a minimum. The same procedure was conducted on the second impaling wound, and a packet of synthetic blood—of matching blood type—was hooked up to the young woman via an intravenous delivery system. With all this done, she was relocated to the Intensive Care Unit, and the ICU staff took over, making sure nothing else went wrong with her.

By this time, the other members of the medical staff had finally taken care of the supply and personnel issues, and the two commandos were also receiving medical attention. For the first time all day, the senior officer smiled; a crisis had been narrowly averted, and things were starting to look good for the first time all day.[/FONT]

[OOC: Notice: This post is written in FIRST-PERSON prose.]
[font=Courier New][/font]
[font=Courier New]Prime Minister’s Office[/font]
[font=Courier New]Imperial ship time: 1114 hours[/font]
[font=Courier New]City time: 2214 hours[/font]

[font=Courier New][font=Palatino Linotype]Normally, I don’t sleep; instead, I meditate, letting reflections on my thoughts and actions refresh me, as thoughts of my beloved and my goddess restore me and cleanse me of doubt. It takes a rare and serious problem to keep me from my routine meditation…[/font][/font]

[font=Courier New][font=Palatino Linotype]T[/font][/font][font=Courier New][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype]his evening’s recent incident, not even thirty minutes old, is such a rarity. Two of my squad-mates—no, friends—are injured, along with a junior member of the planetary government, all because some free-styling, high roller politician felt like sneaking in a keg before hitting the road.[/font][/font][/font]

[font=Courier New][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype]…Honestly, I’ve killed for less than that. Today, however, isn’t about killing; there’s already been enough blood lost that it could probably save six people. Instead, I have someone to speak with…and I’m quite certain that she’s still in her office. Yes…quite certain, indeed.[/font][/font][/font]

[font=Courier New][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype]As I make the short, silent drive to the Prime Minister’s office, I feel a distinct sensation within…one that’s both oddly distant, and eerily familiar. It’s been ages since I’ve been this angry…angry enough to let my other half out. Without question, I know that I can’t hold it in for much longer; all I can do is try to contain him—that darker half—as long as possible.[/font][/font][/font][/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]I[/font][font=Courier New][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype] can’t tell whether it was an omen, or just a random coincidence, but the weather in the area turned foul almost as soon as I pulled up at the building where Kandria’s office could be found. Indeed, as I started to ascend the steps to her office’s main lobby, a clap of thunder roared in the skies overhead. It is said that when there is thunder tearing through the sky, the gods themselves are yelling in fury; I feel exactly the same, and my anger is such that it is still a fight to contain it. That considered, I don’t even say a word to either the secretary or the two obviously-overweight guards as I draw near the doorway to the Prime Minister’s office; instead, I simply grab the doorknob of the ancient-looking door, twist it, and pull so hard that the door nearly comes off of the hinges that support it. I didn’t need them to hear the growing pain and fury in my spirit, especially since what they saw was a close assessment of the same.[/font][/font][/font][/font]

[font=Courier New][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype]Interestingly, I wasn’t met with a scream of indignation from the Prime Minister, even though I was expecting one; what I was greeted with instead, however, wasn’t surprising, either: a bulky, powerful hand, gripping my throat tightly as the arm attached to it hoisted me a few inches off the ground. The hand belonged to President Thoril, and in his coal-black eyes I could see the aches and pains of an enraged, confused father, wondering where his child could be found. I would have normally struck him and violently forced him to relax his grip on me, but I felt genuinely sorry for him, so instead, I simply went for a more direct approach, and applied a strike of high pressure on the wrist of his grasping hand. “Do calm down,” I said, without even a hint of emotion, even as I dropped the short few inches to the ground.[/font][/font][/font][/font]

[font=Courier New][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype]The look of fear and worry was still there in his eyes, so I tried my best to calm him. It was, of course, a small effort, since there wasn’t that much that I could say to him; I didn’t really know her condition…just where she was, generally. “If you’re worried about your daughter, don’t. She’s aboard the Imperial command ship in orbit, receiving treatment in the medical ward.” With that said, I give him a smile. “She’s getting some of the best medical treatment this galaxy can offer.”[/font][/font][/font][/font][/font]

[font=Courier New][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype]Fortunately, the prime minister didn’t give him much of a chance to continue speaking. “I hope you know how much I hate it when people barge in on me while I’m at a meeting."[/font][/font][/font][/font][/font]

[font=Courier New][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype]Very slowly, I turn my focus towards her, keeping myself as calm and collected as I can…on the outside. Inside, I already know the battle has been lost; the one barrier between me and my emotions is shattering. “And I hope,” I reply, my voice becoming raspy, like the wind over a grave, “that you can understand just how much I hate it when my own teammates are injured by a fucking politician!” By the time I realize what I’ve said, I can already tell that I’ve changed; the other side is out…and these two are already in more peril than they can possibly comprehend.[/font][/font][/font][/font][/font]

[font=Courier New][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype]“Your man,” I continue, the deathly voice still issuing the same calm tone of impending doom, “injured and nearly killed two Imperial soldiers…two soldiers under my direct command. The Empire will demand that he be released to our custody, for crimes against the Imperial military."[/font][/font][/font][/font][/font]

[font=Courier New][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype]Kandria’s response almost drops me to the floor in laughter instead of my current veiled fury, simply at the brevity and nature of it. “What?”[/font][/font][/font][/font][/font]

[font=Courier New][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype]“Crimes against the Empire,” I repeat, my tone not changing. “Representative MacMagus is guilty of two counts of assault against members of the Imperial military; those charges are grounds for a trial under Imperial law. Now, you can either hand him over...”[/font][/font][/font][/font][/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]H[/font][font=Courier New][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype][font=Palatino Linotype]ere, I can’t help but grin, the expression showing the extent of my fury and my desire for wrathful retribution. “…or you can face the risk of being charged with obstruction of justice. The choice, naturally, is yours, but I would appreciate an answer when the morning comes around.” With that, I force myself to leave, before I create a political mess.[/font][/font][/font][/font][/font]

[OOC: And now, back to the regular stuff.]

[FONT=Courier New]The Next Day…
Parliament Meeting Hall
Imperial ship time: 0022 hours
City time: 1122 hours[/FONT]

[FONT=Palatino Linotype]The meeting chamber was, unsurprisingly, in an uproar. Very rarely did the Prime Minister call for an emergency session, and it was even more awkward for her to have invited a guest to the proceedings to join them in said session. To crown the confusion, their guest was none other than the commando they’d met in their earlier Q&A session the day before: Lieutenant-Commander Smith, looking even more frustrated to be there than ever. Perhaps they’d draw a little comfort from that, knowing that their guest was even more upset at being involved in the emergency session than they were.

What little enjoyment they could get out of it, however, was replaced by the fact that there were a few seats in the meeting chamber that were distinctly empty. They already knew about the issue with Nicholas, and they’d all been informed about the medical emergency with Rachelle, but that didn’t explain the few other seats that were also vacant. Four fellow senators, each one of high political esteem, were also missing in action, and this only gave those opposed to the Imperial presence more reason to worry: without them, any effort at stopping a treaty—filibuster, or just direct vote—would fail miserably.

To Jarred, the names were of some measure of importance. Vittaner Autswehr; Pironious Biston; Coleman Burnsyde; and Walter Fordmann. The four names rang with a slight echo of delight in his mind, for it meant that there had been some measure of retribution handed down in return for last night’s grievous incident. In all likelihood, the four in question would be found the next morning, all dead at the hands of some strange, unlikely accident. Such was life…

…And such, naturally, was secret warfare.

Nobody else, he imagined, had bothered to take down all of the names so quickly, but he was certain that by now, everyone knew that it was that specific quartet missing, and that they couldn’t do a damn thing to compensate for the loss they’d just endured. Indeed, the loss would bring itself to finality at this very moment, and they couldn’t stop it without those that were no longer with them. Inside himself, Jarred was chuckling madly. Parliament would vote in favor of the protectorate agreement by a narrow margin, but would still vote in favor all the same as far as the official records were concerned. After that, it would only be a short while before the New Order absorbed them in entirety, and the planet would be part of the glorious Galactic Empire. What’s more, the deal would force them to extradite the guilty party in last night’s crash, putting him on trial in an Imperial military court. He’d be locked away for life for his crime…and that was something the lieutenant commander would personally make sure of.

After a few silent hours, the final vote was cast; by merely five votes, the treaty arrangement had passed the minimum vote required for Parliament to ratify it. The operation had been a costly success…but it was done.

THE END.[/FONT]