Ion marched up the frozen, snowy peak of the cliff, a flag-pole firmly gripped in his hands. The whipping, cold winds flapped the banner of the New Coalition that hung from the pole, but he didn't mind - his species having long adapted to extreme colds. Finally cresting the cliff, he planted the flag firmly and looked down at the bay which the cliff overlooked.
The town of Jamaria, now pock-marked with holes and debries. Not the slightest movement came from the town which had so recently felt the first touch of the Empire's presence in the form of a fierce bombardment. Black smoke rose from the craters.
In the water, however, he could see ripples forming, and he smiled. The ripples were small, as if a tiny creature were poking out from the water. It was in fact the tip of a nose, the nose of a Tynnian, a race of seal-like humanoids with thick layers of blubber and a fine coat of fur.
What the Empire hadn't known in coming to Tynna was that it's people had their own way of escaping disaster. One by one, the citizens of Jamaria arose from the water, not a single Tynnian wounded from the barrage - safe, as they were, in the waters that their ancestors had once risen from.
A tear rolled down the Captain's cheek, proud of the sight. It had cost them, there had indeed been casualties amongst his defenders, but the important part of it all was right here, before his eyes. They had won, the planet was safe.
At first, there was sadness and fear as the people arose to see their homes destroyed. This was replaced, though, with a feeling of relief and joy as the news spread that the Empire had been driven off - had actually been defeated, something practically unheard of. Already, Ion could see that the Prime Minister had spoken truthfully, and emergency supply ships directed by the cadets of the White Knight-run academy flooded into the area. Buildings could be repaired, towns could be mended, prosperity restored.
"Quite a sight" said Dolora, wrapped in a thick coat to protect her from the stinging cold "I must say, an all-around impressive performance, Captain. That is why I am honoured to present you with this."
Ion turned away, looking surprised. The tiny Bimm Knight gestured for him to lean down, and affixed upon his chest a gleaming medal with a ribbon of light blue.
"As a recognized representative of the New Galactic Coalition, and in accordance with the unanimous vote of the Coalition House of Representatives, I hereby present to you the Medal of Honour, in recognition of your courageous conduct and near-reckless heroism in the defence of the planet of Tynna."
All along the cliff, Ion's soldiers saluted. The Captain straigtened himself, smiling weakly before the crew of the Unmitigated, and bowed to them. "I thank you all for your service here today, and recognize the accomplishment we have achieved - the Empire defeated, the planet saved. However! There is still more to do! Prepare immeadietly for take off, to greet our 'reinforcements'." there was a chuckle from those assembled, and Ion allowed himself yet another smile. "So hop to it! Time to go."
Everyone turned to pile back up aboard the Unmitigated's boarding ramp, Ion pausing at the edge to look back at the Coalition banner that still flapped in the wind.
"I'm sure, wherever he and his men are, Major Maxly is doing what he does best." said Captain Eisle, passing Ion and patting him on his back consolingly. Ion nodded without saying a word, and boarded his ship. There was still much to do.
The town of Jamaria, now pock-marked with holes and debries. Not the slightest movement came from the town which had so recently felt the first touch of the Empire's presence in the form of a fierce bombardment. Black smoke rose from the craters.
In the water, however, he could see ripples forming, and he smiled. The ripples were small, as if a tiny creature were poking out from the water. It was in fact the tip of a nose, the nose of a Tynnian, a race of seal-like humanoids with thick layers of blubber and a fine coat of fur.
What the Empire hadn't known in coming to Tynna was that it's people had their own way of escaping disaster. One by one, the citizens of Jamaria arose from the water, not a single Tynnian wounded from the barrage - safe, as they were, in the waters that their ancestors had once risen from.
A tear rolled down the Captain's cheek, proud of the sight. It had cost them, there had indeed been casualties amongst his defenders, but the important part of it all was right here, before his eyes. They had won, the planet was safe.
At first, there was sadness and fear as the people arose to see their homes destroyed. This was replaced, though, with a feeling of relief and joy as the news spread that the Empire had been driven off - had actually been defeated, something practically unheard of. Already, Ion could see that the Prime Minister had spoken truthfully, and emergency supply ships directed by the cadets of the White Knight-run academy flooded into the area. Buildings could be repaired, towns could be mended, prosperity restored.
"Quite a sight" said Dolora, wrapped in a thick coat to protect her from the stinging cold "I must say, an all-around impressive performance, Captain. That is why I am honoured to present you with this."
Ion turned away, looking surprised. The tiny Bimm Knight gestured for him to lean down, and affixed upon his chest a gleaming medal with a ribbon of light blue.
"As a recognized representative of the New Galactic Coalition, and in accordance with the unanimous vote of the Coalition House of Representatives, I hereby present to you the Medal of Honour, in recognition of your courageous conduct and near-reckless heroism in the defence of the planet of Tynna."
All along the cliff, Ion's soldiers saluted. The Captain straigtened himself, smiling weakly before the crew of the Unmitigated, and bowed to them. "I thank you all for your service here today, and recognize the accomplishment we have achieved - the Empire defeated, the planet saved. However! There is still more to do! Prepare immeadietly for take off, to greet our 'reinforcements'." there was a chuckle from those assembled, and Ion allowed himself yet another smile. "So hop to it! Time to go."
Everyone turned to pile back up aboard the Unmitigated's boarding ramp, Ion pausing at the edge to look back at the Coalition banner that still flapped in the wind.
"I'm sure, wherever he and his men are, Major Maxly is doing what he does best." said Captain Eisle, passing Ion and patting him on his back consolingly. Ion nodded without saying a word, and boarded his ship. There was still much to do.
***
It had barely been one minute and forty seven seconds since the departure of Imperial forces from the space around Tynna before Ferguson - the head of the CIB - was meeting with Regrad - the Prime Minister (as if you didn't know by now).
"So you are fully briefed on the situation?" said Regrad.
"More or less..." His intelligence chief said "A military maneauver during the Tynna action resulted in a couple hundred Coalition troopers becoming stranded on Imperial vessels. According to our last evidence, the vast majority of them were still being pinned down on the three Destroyers. Now, damage inflicted to the Imperial vessels means you think that they might take longer then expected to get back to Corellia, so you're hoping to insert a team and get them out of that mess before the Empire captures or kills them?"
"Yes. In a nutshell. I'm guessing now that they're on their way back, the Imperial forces aboard the three ships will be content to contain the Coalition forces in the hopes that once they arrive at Corellia they'll be provided a better solution - not to mention to avoid the possibility that engaging Coalition forces might cause them to do something that'll destabalize them in hyperspace, not a pleasent way to go. Have you got anyone nearby who could possibly lend assistance?"
Ferguson slowly split a grin. "I think I have just the guys, sir. I'll get right on it."
"Good. You have everything we could pull about the situation in the files I sent you. Good luck, and Gods's speed to you."
"So you are fully briefed on the situation?" said Regrad.
"More or less..." His intelligence chief said "A military maneauver during the Tynna action resulted in a couple hundred Coalition troopers becoming stranded on Imperial vessels. According to our last evidence, the vast majority of them were still being pinned down on the three Destroyers. Now, damage inflicted to the Imperial vessels means you think that they might take longer then expected to get back to Corellia, so you're hoping to insert a team and get them out of that mess before the Empire captures or kills them?"
"Yes. In a nutshell. I'm guessing now that they're on their way back, the Imperial forces aboard the three ships will be content to contain the Coalition forces in the hopes that once they arrive at Corellia they'll be provided a better solution - not to mention to avoid the possibility that engaging Coalition forces might cause them to do something that'll destabalize them in hyperspace, not a pleasent way to go. Have you got anyone nearby who could possibly lend assistance?"
Ferguson slowly split a grin. "I think I have just the guys, sir. I'll get right on it."
"Good. You have everything we could pull about the situation in the files I sent you. Good luck, and Gods's speed to you."
***
“Fifteen-thousand.” said the scraggly man, a hard tone in his voice.
“Twenty - once we reach Corellia” said the man opposite, completely covered by a black suit. It was unmarked, but the smuggler had taken stranger passengers. It was a lucrative business, smuggling in the Empire - for the few who were good at it. One such man was Jerhico Myln, although that wasn’t his name. He worked for Anderson Myln, although a lot of people doubted that was his name. Anderson himself didn’t seem disposed to say either way.
Despite this, it had been thanks to him that J-1 had managed to meet with one of the few smugglers skilled enough to move people within the Empire. Jerhico knew short-cuts, unknown hyperroutes, and dangerous but possible maneuvers to squeeze every second. He could get them to Corellia.
The question, though, wasn’t if he could, but if he would. As it stood, he seemed pleased with the offer, and rose from his table in the shabby cantina. “You got yourself a ship.” he growled, and guided J-1 and his associates through the winding halls of the space station to the hangar bay.
“So this is your ship?” said J-1, a tone of mild surprise in his voice. Jerhico paused.
“Yeah, it’s my ship - what, not pretty enough for you?”
The ship in question was no longer recognizable. There was parts of at least a dozen freighters, shuttles, and even some fighter parts in there. Nevertheless, J-1 knew better than to question, and he and his team stepped briskly aboard as it rose for takeoff.
“So you believe you can get us there within the target time?” said J-1, evenly.
“You can believe all you want, I know that I can, and I don’t need any snotty Coalition spies to tell me otherwise.”
A sudden chill filled the cockpit of the misshapen vessel.
“So I take it we were easy to identify?”
“Nah, took a little work. Your alien buddies were a tip-off, though - that’s some strange company to be keeping for anyone not working for the old GC. Plus, you gotta work on your act a little - you come off way too much as some kinda government suit, with your ‘identify’ and your ‘I take it’ and all that. Gotta work on your lingo.”
J-1 sighed “So now what? As you are no doubt aware, there would be a hefty award for turning in Coalition spies. Of course, as we are on-board, turning us over might be rather difficult.”
Jerhico laughed. “Turn you in? You gotta be kidding. Boss’d never forgive me. Besides, a man of my profession has to be pretty damn good to survive in the Empire of all places, so what are the odds the Empire would honor any deal they made? Might as well just blow up me and my smuggling ship and be done with it, after all, who would I complain to. You just make sure you get me the credits, I’ll get you to Corellia. Oh, and strap yourself in - the trip gets a little bumpy about... now.”
It had been a gut-wrenching trip, but they were there. Jerhico hadn’t been kidding, and J-1 lifted his head slowly and painfully up from the dashboard of the cockpit.
“Hurts like hell, donnit?”
J-1 just groaned. Never again, he promised himself.
“Anyways” said his guide, unperturbed by the journey they had just taken “Looks like this ain’t your lucky day. A high-security one, I mean. The planet’s got extra patrols out but they always leave a five-minute delay over the poles while changing shifts so if we-”
“No” said J-1, regaining composure. “That’s not where I want to land.”
Jerhico seemed uneasy, and said “So just where do you want to land, son?”
J-1 told him, and Jerhico immediately got double his fee.
Corellia sports a high-security zone, where Imperial warships can gather, deploy, refuel, and resupply as necessary. It has the usual series of stations and defenses, and like any self-respecting Imperial stronghold it has a perimeter to keep the rabble out.
Even so, no man is an Island, even Imperial men. Occasionally, there is garbage to dump, and tell me - where better to dump it than space? It meant that no convoys of garbage ships would need to go in or out, and were they needed a flotilla as great as the Imperial fleet that guarded the area would be required to collect all the garbage. Therefore, when trash begins to build up, the chief resupplying and rearming station in the high security zone dumps into space, allowing dangerous refuse to simply drift away. There was something... Imperial about it. J-1 did not know what.
On the particular dump, however, there appeared to be just a little more trash floating in space than there had been in the compactor before dumping. Luckily, very few people watch garbage (except perhaps the holonet), and so this fact went unnoticed, and it continued to go unnoticed right until the ball of wreckage that was Jerhico’s Pride drifted right into the open garbage shoot.
Immediately, six figures leapt out in vac-suits (really just an outer-layer of protective gear on their regular suits), clambering up the garbage piping. As they left, the clunky ship drifted out again, to roll away with the last of the trash.
The shoot closed, allowing the six agents to surreptitiously crouch just inside a garbage pipe. One of them - J-5, the smallest - rammed a tiny wireless receiver through the grating of the pipe, and deployed his computer.
“So what’s the score?” said J-1, whispering.
“I’ll give you camera invisibility long enough for us to get out into a corridor - you better get into disguise, by the way - but not for long. You better have an idea.”
J-1, having a flash of inspiration, said “Hold on that camera loop for a second, wait until someone with a trolley is coming our way.”
“He was right, you know.” said J-5, tapping away “I mean, ‘trolley’? Who says that any more?”
“Just keep quiet and tell me when one’s coming.”
J-1 was indistinguishable in a crowd from any other human male - it was perhaps his most marketable trait. When people tried to describe him, they generally couldn't get any better then "Man, somewhere between the age of twenty and fifty. Some sort of brownish-blackish-blonde coloured hair." That came in handy, considering he was impersonating just one of countless faceless Imperial workers, people who do repairs and clean things and move things and manage the machines - the people who go unnoticed, more or less, by the powers that be. It had been somewhat unfortunate that he had to cram the actual trolley-pusher down a service hatch sedated, tied up, and stunned, but they just didn’t have time to ask nicely.
Under the trolley he pushed - and a tarpaulin stretched over that - were a few fuel barrels and five cramped secret agents. Moving with speed, J-1 began looking for any hangars that looked promising as the take-off point for reinforcement fighters or supply ships. He didn’t have much time.
“Twenty - once we reach Corellia” said the man opposite, completely covered by a black suit. It was unmarked, but the smuggler had taken stranger passengers. It was a lucrative business, smuggling in the Empire - for the few who were good at it. One such man was Jerhico Myln, although that wasn’t his name. He worked for Anderson Myln, although a lot of people doubted that was his name. Anderson himself didn’t seem disposed to say either way.
Despite this, it had been thanks to him that J-1 had managed to meet with one of the few smugglers skilled enough to move people within the Empire. Jerhico knew short-cuts, unknown hyperroutes, and dangerous but possible maneuvers to squeeze every second. He could get them to Corellia.
The question, though, wasn’t if he could, but if he would. As it stood, he seemed pleased with the offer, and rose from his table in the shabby cantina. “You got yourself a ship.” he growled, and guided J-1 and his associates through the winding halls of the space station to the hangar bay.
“So this is your ship?” said J-1, a tone of mild surprise in his voice. Jerhico paused.
“Yeah, it’s my ship - what, not pretty enough for you?”
The ship in question was no longer recognizable. There was parts of at least a dozen freighters, shuttles, and even some fighter parts in there. Nevertheless, J-1 knew better than to question, and he and his team stepped briskly aboard as it rose for takeoff.
“So you believe you can get us there within the target time?” said J-1, evenly.
“You can believe all you want, I know that I can, and I don’t need any snotty Coalition spies to tell me otherwise.”
A sudden chill filled the cockpit of the misshapen vessel.
“So I take it we were easy to identify?”
“Nah, took a little work. Your alien buddies were a tip-off, though - that’s some strange company to be keeping for anyone not working for the old GC. Plus, you gotta work on your act a little - you come off way too much as some kinda government suit, with your ‘identify’ and your ‘I take it’ and all that. Gotta work on your lingo.”
J-1 sighed “So now what? As you are no doubt aware, there would be a hefty award for turning in Coalition spies. Of course, as we are on-board, turning us over might be rather difficult.”
Jerhico laughed. “Turn you in? You gotta be kidding. Boss’d never forgive me. Besides, a man of my profession has to be pretty damn good to survive in the Empire of all places, so what are the odds the Empire would honor any deal they made? Might as well just blow up me and my smuggling ship and be done with it, after all, who would I complain to. You just make sure you get me the credits, I’ll get you to Corellia. Oh, and strap yourself in - the trip gets a little bumpy about... now.”
***
It had been a gut-wrenching trip, but they were there. Jerhico hadn’t been kidding, and J-1 lifted his head slowly and painfully up from the dashboard of the cockpit.
“Hurts like hell, donnit?”
J-1 just groaned. Never again, he promised himself.
“Anyways” said his guide, unperturbed by the journey they had just taken “Looks like this ain’t your lucky day. A high-security one, I mean. The planet’s got extra patrols out but they always leave a five-minute delay over the poles while changing shifts so if we-”
“No” said J-1, regaining composure. “That’s not where I want to land.”
Jerhico seemed uneasy, and said “So just where do you want to land, son?”
J-1 told him, and Jerhico immediately got double his fee.
***
Corellia sports a high-security zone, where Imperial warships can gather, deploy, refuel, and resupply as necessary. It has the usual series of stations and defenses, and like any self-respecting Imperial stronghold it has a perimeter to keep the rabble out.
Even so, no man is an Island, even Imperial men. Occasionally, there is garbage to dump, and tell me - where better to dump it than space? It meant that no convoys of garbage ships would need to go in or out, and were they needed a flotilla as great as the Imperial fleet that guarded the area would be required to collect all the garbage. Therefore, when trash begins to build up, the chief resupplying and rearming station in the high security zone dumps into space, allowing dangerous refuse to simply drift away. There was something... Imperial about it. J-1 did not know what.
On the particular dump, however, there appeared to be just a little more trash floating in space than there had been in the compactor before dumping. Luckily, very few people watch garbage (except perhaps the holonet), and so this fact went unnoticed, and it continued to go unnoticed right until the ball of wreckage that was Jerhico’s Pride drifted right into the open garbage shoot.
Immediately, six figures leapt out in vac-suits (really just an outer-layer of protective gear on their regular suits), clambering up the garbage piping. As they left, the clunky ship drifted out again, to roll away with the last of the trash.
The shoot closed, allowing the six agents to surreptitiously crouch just inside a garbage pipe. One of them - J-5, the smallest - rammed a tiny wireless receiver through the grating of the pipe, and deployed his computer.
“So what’s the score?” said J-1, whispering.
“I’ll give you camera invisibility long enough for us to get out into a corridor - you better get into disguise, by the way - but not for long. You better have an idea.”
J-1, having a flash of inspiration, said “Hold on that camera loop for a second, wait until someone with a trolley is coming our way.”
“He was right, you know.” said J-5, tapping away “I mean, ‘trolley’? Who says that any more?”
“Just keep quiet and tell me when one’s coming.”
***
J-1 was indistinguishable in a crowd from any other human male - it was perhaps his most marketable trait. When people tried to describe him, they generally couldn't get any better then "Man, somewhere between the age of twenty and fifty. Some sort of brownish-blackish-blonde coloured hair." That came in handy, considering he was impersonating just one of countless faceless Imperial workers, people who do repairs and clean things and move things and manage the machines - the people who go unnoticed, more or less, by the powers that be. It had been somewhat unfortunate that he had to cram the actual trolley-pusher down a service hatch sedated, tied up, and stunned, but they just didn’t have time to ask nicely.
Under the trolley he pushed - and a tarpaulin stretched over that - were a few fuel barrels and five cramped secret agents. Moving with speed, J-1 began looking for any hangars that looked promising as the take-off point for reinforcement fighters or supply ships. He didn’t have much time.
