[font=Palatino Linotype](OOC: For chronological references, this thread is time for after "Counterstrike: Generis".)

Death.

The wretched scent of death was heavy in the air, even though the air in question was the sanitized variety found aboard any common Imperial warship. One could recycle it a thousand times, filter it against all sorts of contaminants, and put in any form of freshener to clean up the odor, and it would still stink of death. Perhaps that was just how it was supposed to feel for the lieutenant-commander... It it was, then he was in no rush to stop it; as painful as it was, it was something they had to live with...or, rather, to stop living with, depending on how one approached it.

The soldier's quarters held one particular object that he doubted would get much approval outside of his current command, and he was damn lucky that it had gotten some even from that. On a large scale, the object was a simple altar of dark marble. The smaller trinkets that composed it were unique only insofar as to what they consecrated the altar. Two dark candles, burning with a foreboding scent, and a silhouette upon a small base of the same black marble as the rest of the altar's dais. The silhouette was porcelain, painted black, depicting a woman in robes. Chained at her side was a book with a demonic rune engraved on the cover. Held in her left hand, point aiming forward, was a kris with a skull on the handle; hefted high in her right, point towards the sky, was a scythe with a small mark of texture indicating the presence of darkened, dried blood. Her eyes were the only color to her, glowing red like ruby gemstones; the rest was encased in shadow.

To the soldier meditating before the alter, this sickening construct of a person had a single name, both obscure and archaic in origins: Mother Darkness, the unseen destroyer. So mysterious was the idea behind this following, he was confident that there was only one person in the entire sector that knew of his worship of her. She should have known...she was one of the few other followers in the galaxy.

It wasn't surprising for Jarred to know that she was closing in on the room, either. The distinct noise of a person walking on crutches was easy enough to catch that he hardly bothered himself to try and find her. He knew where she was, simply from hearing her approach. As such, he was entirely unsurprised when the door finally slid open, a very soft knock just barely heralding his guest's arrival. Slowly, he stood up, extinguishing the low flames from the two candles. "Tiffany, darling," he began as he turned to face her, smiling as he looked into the one pair of eyes that almost nobody in the galaxy could bear seeing.

A pair of onyx gems, calibrated specifically for use in some sort of bizarre optics replacement system, looked back at him. "Jarred, sweetheart," came their bearer's reply, her voice still a little weak from the ordeal she'd undergone earlier. Within a flash, her tone was more serious. "There's been an update."

"Oh?"

"Yes. You're wanted in briefing room immediately. New orders came in from Colonel Vos." A quirky grin settled on her face. "Don't worry. The two new members are already getting adjusted to their positions."

"Excellent." Nodding softly, he followed his beloved out of the room, silently wondering what was going to be taking place this time. He'd find out soon enough.

Five minutes later, the two of them were in the briefing room, and the lieutenant-commander certainly did find out what he was dealing with. An undercover raid, focused on the economic and military infrastructures of Ord Mantell. Not necessarily an easy mission, but that was the kind of thing that Jarred lived for: the thrill. Easy missions had no thrill, and that made them useless to him; the difficult, challenging tasks were the ones that truly held his interest. This one, he surmised, would have his complete and undivided interest...up until it was complete. There was also little to say to the assembled teams, as they already knew their roles in the upcoming mission. Havoc-wreakers, plain and simple. They all knew covert tactics, though clearly some would be better at it than others, and he'd make finalized assignments enroute to keep the situation from becoming a nightmare for himself and the rest of the field command staff. Beyond that, it was all set, clear-cut, and ready for shipping through civilian transport to their destination.
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[font=Palatino Linotype]As the Imperial special ops teams started to make their way from the briefing room, they were interrupted by a noise that could only be described as an important call coming in on the comm system. It took them all nothing more than a brief second to realize who it was: their boss. Nobody else would have called them, especially at this time, when they were close to deploying. It also took them very little time to realize that this call was about their assignment. If it wasn't, then it was a wasteful call, and their boss wasn't known for his being wasteful.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]Hell, people would be hard-pressed to find anyone in the Empire that was 'wasteful'.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]Reading over the message quickly, Jarred pressed a small button that put it up on the room's projector for a few seconds, making sure that everyone in the room got a chance to take a quick look at the change in their assignment. It was simple enough, really; just a new planet to mess with, but a relatively unchanged assignment for the target world. The only problem was that it was far deeper into Coalition space, and likely to be far more defended. The location definitely made insertion and extraction difficult; civilian ships could only be relied upon to do so much...[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]...And the Empire fortunately had plenty of them in the hangar. These ships were all part of the plan, in a way. Certainly, the Coalition's intelligence bureau would be able to notice Imperial 'civilian' vessels, which was why these ships were not heading for their target straight away. Instead, they would drop the teams off at the Astral Astoria, which would then have another group of civilian ships waiting to finish the journey.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]As the last of the ships sealed itself up for the trip from their headquarters to the Astral Astoria, Jarred looked around at all of the soldiers that would be reporting to him for this mission, and let a smile start to grow inside of himself, tempered only by one stinging regret. These men and women would make him proud, he knew that much; but at the same time, he'd never be able to forgive himself if any of them were caught. Thinking briefly to the detonator controls in his pocket, he let out a soft sigh. The device--and the explosives slaved to it--were undetectable. The control wouldn't trip any scanners, and the explosives were implanted in each and every soldier on this excursion. Capture was the equivalent of death, and the death tied to it would be quick and painless. Still, it was a death he didn't want to grant.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]That thought was perhaps the only one still strong in his mind as the small group of civilian ships entered hyperspace, bound for the Astral Astoria...and their new target beyond.[/font]

Captain Cassius stepped onto the bridge of the civilian ship that was under the command of Jarred Smith, his ranking officer. Marcus, wearing a nondescript sweatshirt and trousers, with a pair of soft-soled Corellian shoes for mobility, definitely looked the part. He was armed with a DL-44 blaster pîstol tucked under his sweatshirt. Stepping up behind his commander, Marcus saluted for what could be the last time on this mission, because it was covert sabotage and thus appearances had to be kept. "Sir, all ships report no problems-and my men and I await your orders."

[font=Palatino Linotype]The voice was barely able to snap Lt-Cmdr. Smith out of his troubling thoughts, and there was a small part of him that smiled at the thought. Of course, his eyesight wasn't yet failing, and the very faint outline that he saw on the army captain's sweatshirt removed all hope of that smile surfacing. Concealed object of some sort... Customs at the station will LOVE that idea. Were the thought any more sarcastic, he would have drowned himself in his own harshness. I'm going to kill this kid myself if anything like this happens again.

"Good," he said at last, ignoring the hidden item for now. It wouldn't do to let that thing get off the ship. Either the Astral Astoria Customs Office would find it, or someone at their ultimate destination would. Their assignment was undercover, and the colonel had specifically informed him that no weapons were to be brought on board; now he had a subordinate who had clearly defied such an order, and could potentially have a firearm in their very midst. "Make sure they keep themselves ready."

Keeping his thoughts to himself, Jarred slowly stood up and moved to pass Marcus...

...before putting his hand on the captain's shoulder, much like a friend would. "And if you're hiding anything from me, NOW is the time to stop." The hand lifted up off of Marcus' shoulder, but the man connected to that hand remained very close, cold and spiteful eyes watching, waiting for the captain to reveal what he was hiding. Mother Darkness help this man if it's a weapon! he thought to himself calmly.
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Marcus turned a little, so that he could see Lt.Cmdr Smith a little better. Drawing his DL-44, he handed it over butt-first to his superior. "Sir, if you would just look on the sideplate." There was a small, italic insignia. For twenty-five years of unswavering service "It's for my father, sir. From the Corellian Police Force." He said, imitating the voice that he would use when talking to a customs officer. The plaque, of course, could be taken off and turn the apparently harmless momento into a deadly fighting weapon. "The gun trick has worked before, on more alert customs than the Astral Astoria's. And, sir, with respect, I wasn't trying to hide it from you."

The communicator chimed at that moment, interrupting the conversation. It was a call that had to be answered, at least by Jarred, assuming he valued his position. Of course, had Marcus ignored it it might have meant his life. The commander of the SS was not a man to be trifled with.

When answered, a holo image of Colonel Wesley Vos appeared, his stern eyes intimidating even in the small holo. He stood with his hands behind his back, black uniform impeccable, white lightning-bolt insignia in place. The background indicated that he was on the Vos, his personal modified Articus-class command carrier. His face was set; it was obvious that he was angry, or at least annoyed.

"Commander Smith," he began, "I am wondering why you have not already transferred ships at the Astoria. Has there been some sort of delay? Anything I need to deal with?"

Noticing Marcus, Wes turned his head and said, "Captain Cassius, I presume. I hope for your sake you are not the cause of this delay."

Still not waiting for an answer, he addressed both men. "Despite the delay, I am glad I caught the two of you together. Captain Cassius, I know that the regular army does not have the high standard that we in the SS hold to. However, for this mission I expect you to rise to the occasion. Commander Smith, you are the senior officer on this mission; however, Captain Cassius has more experience in this sort of work. You would do well to listen to him. On the other hand, Cassius, I expect you to follow whatever orders you are given, whether you think it wise or not. It will not be your head that rolls should something go wrong and the Confederation - or worse, the Astoria - discover that you are Imperials."

Wes noticed the blaster in Cassius's hand, and his eyes grew wider. "Commander Smith, have you not made it clear to Captain Cassius that this is an undercover mission? And that that means no carried weapons, concealed or otherwise?"

[font=Palatino Linotype]Jarred didn't smile, and his salute was nothing more than completely unorthodox as he faced the holographic transmission of his commander. His right hand curled into a fist, which he promptly placed against the left side of his chest; at the same time, his left leg dropped back just a bit, and both legs bent slightly at their knees as he leaned forward at the waist, executing a strange yet extremely formal bow. His left hand also balled into a fist, which he held at his side. Standing up, he reverted into an at-ease position, his expression still masked behind a veneer of emotionlessness.[/font]
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[font=Palatino Linotype]"Your timing, sir," he began calmly, "is almost Jedi-like. I was just about to inform Captain Cassius of your orders and confiscate his sidearm when you called." The idea of his work being delayed was almost insulting, but it was with an act of will that he was able to keep his repugnance at the thought at bay. Or is it Spectre coming out again? The expression did, however, change slightly...[/font]
[font=Palatino Linotype][/font]
[font=Palatino Linotype]...to a feral grin, rife with cold intent. "And there are no delays, colonel, sir. Our ships are still in transit, and will arrive at the Astoria shortly. If all goes well with Customs, we should be in hyperspace for Genon by the end of the next 30 standard minutes, and no later."[/font]
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[font=Palatino Linotype]The transport shuddered slightly just then, as if some divine being had cued the shake to coincide with the commander's guarantee. "And I believe, sir, that we have arrived."[/font]

Marcus saluted to the Colonel and handed his weapon to Lt.Cmdr Smith. "I apologize, sir. I simply wished to shorten the time needed to aquire weapons and such when we arrived." Outside, the space station of Astal Astoria appeared, with as always ships of all types coming and going from it. "Sirs, if you would excuse me, I shall go and get my men ready for the transfer."

Marcus walked rapidly along the hallway of the ship, heading for the bay where his men waited. Stepping through the doorway, he waved his senior N.C.O, Sergeant Azerjii, over. ""Sir." The man said, nodding. Marcus smiled at the small, well-built man. "Call the men over, S-" He was cut off as a mighty blast shook the entire hangar. Marcus stumbled and fell, before being caught under the armpits by Azerjii. "Careful, sir." He said, always unpertubed. "Thanks, Sarge." Said Marcus. "What the Hell was that?" His last word was barely out of his mouth before a second explosion rocked the hangar, sending his men scrabbling across the deck. Captain Cassius turned and jogged out the door, after telling his men to "take cover. I don't want to have to scrape you off the floor!"

Astral Astoria Space Perimeter.

The two light freighters had flickered into view a minute ago. A controller's standard request was ignored, and a light patrol vessel had been sent to investigate. As soon as it came within striking distance, the two freighters opened fire, raining energy blasts down upon the the ship until it blew.

The leftmost Imperial ship in the small convoy, the
Hujim, came under fire. "Sir!" The transmission, on a shielded opchannel, was calm but with an undercurrent of worry in it. "We are now taking evasive action." The Hujim turned and engaged thrusters, quickly moving out of range of the adversaries' turbolasers. Suddenly, four more ships flickered into view. Two Corellian gunships, and an old Carrack class patrol ship. The remaining ship was some sort of modified patrol craft, maybe a Mandalore ship? That final ship hung back as the rest moved in on the ships in line. Pirates, perhaps? The Hurjim was in the kill-zone of the new ships. As the enemy closed in, the crew defended with courage and skill, continuing to fire as their craft took hit after hit, until the little transport was ripped apart by a barrage of turbolaser shots. Meanwhile, the remaining freighters were moving towards a ship not far from the vessel where Marcus and Lt.Cmdr Smith were stationed. That craft was painted in the coulours of the Sluis Van Indepenant Banking Corp. and who's ID showed it to be a mobile currency-changing vessel. Such vessels travelled the galaxy, changing diamonds, spice, and other currencies into cold hard credits. These ships were normally protected by highly-trained mercenaries.

The Astral Astoria's fighter's launched, and a short time later, the Imperial ships were in the thick of fierce fighting between the mixed forces of the Astoria's mediocre fighter wing, the mercenaries that guarded the SVIBC ship, who manned three medium-sized freighters, and the unknown enemy, who Captain Cassius assumed to be pirates.

Imperial Intelligence Command Vessel Hachet

Captain Cassius glanced out one of the viewport, where an Astoria Z-95 flashed past before exploding, and one of the Corellian gunships, on fire and out of control, headed out of the battle and towards deep space. Marcus slowed as the bridge door slid open, the Stormtrooper captain hurrying through, scanning the bridge for his superior.

[font=Palatino Linotype]The lieutenant-commander didn't say anything as he watched his army counterpart leave the room. There was nothing to be said, really; the stormtrooper captain had made a tiny screw-up, and it had been corrected. Plain and simple. The only thing that stood in the way of his making a larger one was discipline, which all of the assembled members of the ISS would have to show in order to keep the menaces of foolishness and idiocy at bay.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]Sighing, Jarred turned to his team's XO. "Put this under secure storage; make sure nobody can find it." With that, he handed the junior officer the firearm, satisfied that it would never be seen until such time as it got back to HighCom. Fortunately, everything pertinent to it beyond that had already been rectified; the situation wasn't volatile.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]After a few more tedious minutes, the cargo ships were finally touching down on the Astral Astoria's spacious landing bay. It was, as far as Jarred could remember, his first time visiting the beautiful station, and as he stepped out onto the hangar deck, he could already tell that it was a place he wouldn't mind returning to.[/font]