Emperor's Lance Military Research Facility,
Deep Galactic Core

The figure sat hunched over the keyboard, his eyes bloodshot from fatigue. Ton Karlos had been with the Shadow Hand - now the Imperial Security Service - for a decade, and he had seen his share of computer systems, but these Jutraalian defences were something to marvel at.

"Fairily complex, for the Jutraalians," the other man said, reading over Ton's shoulder at the data on the screen.
"But outdated," the Executor replied instantly. "Most of it's from before the Wrath. A year or two old." A smile crept onto the man's face.
"Still a tough nut to crack, but not terribly complex."

The bright morning sun beat down on the hard, warm tarmac of the Jutraalian Royal Spaceport. Ton Karlos stepped carefully down the ramp of the transport, the Starlight Enterprise and looked around.

The place was a bustle of activity, civilians and important-looking types mingling, rather unhappily, in the long customs lines. Behind the small shape of the Lambda Shuttle rested a much longer ship, nearly half a kilometre long, discourging people from a dozen exits along her hull.

The man smiled thinly and stepped past a pair of elderly woman, the two men who comprised of the rest of his party following at a measured pace.

Jutraalian Customs had been on edge since the reports coming from Coalition space that there was war brewing, and the assaults on Mon Calamari, and the Tholatin bloackade of LFX Industrial's space had only heightened their paranioa.

Thus we have these damned long lines. Ton thought, looking up carefully towards the midmorning sun. The massive length of a Jutraalian Star Destroyer was nearly visible up there. Entire portions of the spaceport were cloaked in shadow from the massive shape above, an eeri, barely recognisable dagger on the ground.

The former Shadow Hand Executor, now serving as the frontman for the Imperial Security Service, what essentially made up the Holy Demosthesian Empire's 'secret police', shook his head. Emperor Fearsons, it seemed, would never learn his own folly. He had invited the wrath of the Holy Demosthesian Empire with his idiotic, egocentric remarks concerning the true governments of the galaxy, those true governments being the New Order, and by definition their subordinants, and the Unholy Alliance. Nowhere in those respects was the Jutraalian Empire found, and no where would their existance continue.

A man who preaches for peace should be willing to give his life to mantain that peace. A man who preaches for peace but holds his own life above that peace is nought more by a lier, and should be slaughtered when the peace he did not die for shatters.

As it would be with the Jutraalian's self-proclaimed Emperor.
"What do you make of their security set up?" Darth Xion, The Grand Inquisitor of the Empire, asked.
"Overassuming, overcaluclated." Ton replied after a moment's notice. "They're taking no chances, obviously. But unless someone attacks the spaceport, those extra units," he indicated three sqaudrons of Jutraalian soldiers on duty, "are useless. They're resources that could better serve elsewhere."
"Preventing crime, perhaps." Lupercus Darksword, the party's second, and most experianced, Sith said, only half joking. Ton nodded.
"Crime has been on the rise all over Jutraalian space since the outbreak out the Tholatin crisis..."
"People getting nervous, want to finish their lives wealthy?" Xion muttered, casting a glance to the additional soldiers.
"It would seem that way."
"Ah, well. The paranoia will work to our advantadge, I think."

Ton nodded again. "Indeed it would, Xion. The Jutraalians' lack of compitence, too."

The Sith Lord nodded.