ACT I: THE DEVIL'S BAG OF TRICKS

The darkness.

A raspy voice stirs within the cold bowels of starship lost between idle and insane.

With no light inside the room, the raspy voice makes some unintelligible sounds before finally laying back onto it's bed.

A bed built on blood. On tears and sweat. On all the nonsense and irritation the voice had complained in silence about.

Quite the feat since a voice is only heard when it speaks.

The problem the voice had the most was who it was attached to; a living breathing being.

Someone tired of the blood and sweat, but still daring to do it's duty.

Despite all inclination to do otherwise.

The being was a man somewhere in his late forties who had known nothing but violence all his life.

Violence never changed, only it's causes.

The man had been a cause of it for as long as he could remember now.

Maybe that's what he was so tired of.

The violence. The death. The anguish. The fear of knowing his own turn was coming.

Or maybe it was the guilt.

Either way he was tired of it all.

A haggard man is a dangerous thing, because he wants to lay down and be idle.

And when he's idle he thinks.

The best soldier is one who doesn't think. One who follows orders and is obedient without question is the epitome of a perfect soldier.

But even the most loyal find thoughts of their own when the become worn down.

Circe Davian wasn't tired.


He was exhausted.


THIRTY DAYS AGO


Stiff collar, tight fit, and not a wrinkle in sight; Circe's uniform was fresh from the laundry bay and was smelling as such despite his demands of an odor free cleaner. He was constantly reminded of his orders every time he took in a breath whether large or small with the crisp smell of the grasslands of Naboo. It was not noticeable standing apart from someone, but to the Captain it was frustrating and the aroma was giving him a slight headache.

After just ridding himself of a hangover from a night spent in his quarters Circe wasn't too thrilled about more pounding inside his skull.

Circe was sitting up straight and in particularly good form in front of the Naval Review board. They had been laying into him over his actions on Oasis, releasing the fugitive Ex-President Kirvas Tann.

"And you found it unnecessary to hold this criminal that had committed several acts of genocide?" came the refined voice of a fifty something year old, corpulent Admiral from the far left of the semi-circle before him.

"The evidence against him was a forgery." Circe replied.

Lieutenant Brody was sitting next to Davian, sweating from his anxiety so badly it was becoming damp across the front of his uniform. Brody hadn't the stomach for the sort of courage it took to command a starship let alone face the Naval Review board.

Circe was worried the young officer would lead them to believe Circe was lying. Judging by appearance it looked as though he was.

"And the death of President Alius Viktor?" Said another Admiral; this one twice as old and in rather good shape for a human his age.

"An unfortunate result, but yet unavoidable. He was leading an army against my forces, from my ship I ordered a surgical strike on the Palace killing him and his closest military allies. It was my only option after he over ran my ground troops."

The panel of Admirals turned to one another and whispered between themselves before returning to their respective seats.

Either they had more questions or they had a verdict. Circe hoped it was the latter.

"And what evidence is this that proves Tann's innocence? Can you produce it for us?" Asked the older Admiral.

Circe dropped his head. "No I cannot."

"--And why is that?" Said a younger Admiral to the direct right of the heavy-set man.

"It was a verbal admittance from Alius Viktor that cleared President Tann of all charges. Viktor was responsible for the genocide and had ordered the murder of Tann's own family as well as Tann himself. Tann was only spared because of an accident that put him in a coma."

Circe picked his head back up knowing full well his evidence wouldn't stand.

The air seemed to get stale as he took in a breath; not even the scent of his clean uniform bothered him more now.

"Circe Davian." The older Admiral said.

Circe rose to his feet abruptly.

"You have been found guilty for your reckless behaviour during your mission to annex the Corvin Alliance and for the release of a captured fugitive of the Empire."

Circe's stomach dropped lower than his ankles.

"--However, because you did not technically fail your mission as set down by High Command we will not demote you, merely suspend your command for a period of no less than ten weeks. Upon the halfway point you will be given an opportunity to reclaim your command for a probationary release for the remaining five weeks."

"You are dismissed Captain." The large Admiral said.

The panel of Admirals left the room leaving Brody and Circe alone.


Circe felt sick.



Returning to the Skullprey was like being on display. Docked at Yaga Minor, the ship would be staying there for the next ten weeks, or at least five.

Each of the officers aboard the Skullprey were staring at Circe. It was obvious they had received the news and half of them probably agreed with the Naval Committee.

Davian didn't care either way.

It felt like being trapped on Formbi again; a prison of the Chiss. That hellish moon had subjugated him for almost ten years. It seemed odd that his imprisonment came in ten. It had to be Circe's unlucky number.

Once inside his quarters he let on a deep breath.

Loosening his uniform he was able to take deeper breaths.

His imprisonment on Formbi had been different than this. On Formbi he had never given up hope that he would escape and kill his captors in the name of his own freedom and for the Empire. Now his 'captors' if they could be called so were those he took orders from.

Without even removing his boots, Circe laid down into his bed.

The ceiling was as bland as the floor and the walls. Empty beside a closet, the bed he lay in, and a nightstand.

Ten weeks was seventy standard days.

Assuming it started at midnight that day it would be seventy days and six hours before he would be able to leave dock.

One thousand six hundred and eighty-six hours.

The grey on the ceiling was a lighter shade than the wall left of him, but the rest matched.

There was an itch on the back of Circe's left thigh.

What was the Admiral's name? Chevron? Ceron?

The Skullprey was a poor choice of name for his ship. Renaming it the Susan Constant or the Warsong, perhaps Blade Runner.

That smell... Naboo would be a nice vacation spot. Maybe a visit in the near future could be arranged. See if the detergent smells like the real thing.

That's One Hundred and one thousand, one hundred and sixty minutes.

Seconds is too hard to calculate.

My uniform seems to be getting tighter.

Cherton was his name.

....

Thoughts progress as the mind wanders.

..

How did it come to this?

I wonder if I'll ever find happiness.

A wife would be nice.

The Navy's all I've ever known. All I've ever loved..

Circe just laid there, thinking and trying to get rid of the empty feeling that kept swelling inside him.


One thousand and sixty-five hours..

"The Empire's not what it used to be.."

Brody perked up from his slumped over state to look at Circe with an odd look. Brody was Circe's most trusted confidant, more accurate would be to say his only trusted confidant. Circe ambled across the conference room to a plate with a liquor dispensary and a few overturn empty glasses. Indulging himself with a glass he gulped it down hastily and the Captain returned to his seat at the head of the table.

"Sir?"

"When I first enlisted, under Palpatine's rule things were different. Sure the military and navy are stronger and the Empire's grip is tighter than ever, but so much has changed. I suppose my imprisonment on Formbi left me with nothing to image except my escape. These politico, military savvy types have taken over something I used to place so much stock in." Circe answered humbling himself.

"What are you suggesting Circe?" Brody asked, although it was not the snide reply the Captain was expecting.

"Suggesting? Nothing Brody. It's just my suspension is helping me to realise what my life is when you have so much time on your hands you think, it makes you think good and hard about where your life is going. And part of where you're going is knowing where you came from."

"I'm just reminiscing Brody." Circe was being suggestive and both of them knew it. But Captain Davian wasn't going to say it aloud.

The Admiral was waiting. Cherton had informed Circe at his hearing he would have a probation period if the panel had so decided to allow.

Circe was caught so out of it, he hadn't shaved, nor showered in a few days. He'd been lying in his quarters staring -- like a mad man -- into nothingness for five weeks. He was down ten pounds from eating so little, had a full albeit patchy beard and was wearing a freshly cleaned uniform. It was a stark contrast to the rest of his appearance.

Brody clicked the blinking red holoprojector and the Admiral phased in; a silvery-blue replica of his upper half was produced before them in real time.

"Captain Davian." The Admiral greeted him formally.

"Admiral." Circe returned eager to dispense with the pleasantries.

Graem Cherton was the classic military type; abrasive, hoarse, and had little time for anything, but his career which had propelled him far in his near eighty-years as a Naval Officer. Circe idolized him somewhat he was also fearful of the man's cut and dry attitude.

Fearful that it meant a continued suspension or worse the end of his own career.


"We have reviewed your service record. Though not much can be seen; your heroic escape of Chiss imprisonment and subsequent domination of the planet is remarkable. More so I, myself, am impressed that you have kept such loyalty despite torture, facing life incarceration, and being absent from command of Imperial space for decades."

Circe took a breath of relief, even if it was premature.

"So it is by order of this panel that you be placed on a probationary period for the remainder of your suspension."

Circe nodded. Brody let a smirk line his youthful face.

"Now that we've cleared that, we have an active mission for you." Admiral Cherton said.


Circe's console chirped as an intelligence report was sent to his computer.

"It seems Executive Major Xion Renzon of Metropolis Prime did not die as you reported."

Circe flicked through the images displaying a badly burned Falleen that Circe easily recognized as Renzon. He then cycled through a group of photos that showed the landing of the fallen Interloper watching as it produced a crash landing albeit not as bad as Circe would have expected from the split ship.

"Initial reports seem to be false regarding the wreckage of the Interloper so I don't put blame on you, but you should have been sure."

Circe nodded in response.

"It seems the Executive Major is amassing his fleet again, the citizens of Metropolis Prime have turned on his replacement and he is finding himself in the midst of civil war. Normally we would allow this to continue without our interaction, however since we led to this fight and Metropolis Prime lays within our territory and borders the BDE, this conflict must be resolved." The Admiral added sternly.

"Understood." Circe replied.

The image faded slowly as Cherton ended the transmission.


"So shall I tell the bridge to plot a course for the Brak Sector and begin preparing for departure?"

Brody finally asked after watching Circe sit in silence for what felt like an hour.

Circe's latent reaction was a simple nod of the head and as Brody left he imagined himself decades ago as the executive officer aboard his first ship the Solemn. His commander was incompetent, a bumbling fool that relied on Circe and the other officers to make decisions regarding tactics and the success of the mission they were assigned.

Circe wasn't really a tactician, he considered himself a opportunist.

An opportunist with a lot of luck.

Metropolis Prime should have been on his mind, but he couldn't help musing about the past. The nostalgic feeling of excitement that used to come to him when they were assigned patrol or what have you in the old days of the Empire when he was wide-eyed and ready to believe anything.

Now the truth was fluttering to the top of his mind. Like a filter his mind collected the truth as the lies were drilled into his head by his superiors and himself and now the filter had broken and it all ran to him.

He was ruthless.

A bed of lies and blood.

"I don't belong here.." Circe muttered.

The Imperial Captain was hoping his epiphany was just a dream.


But it was instead...


..a sad reality.

SOMETIME INTO THE FUTURE

Debris was common in most battles, but one that takes place aboard a starship is different. Instead of destruction there was tidiness. It made his job much harder.

Amazingly the Captain had little notion on what had occured during the boarding.


Human Replicant model seven-seven, otherwise known as Dayvid Queenan had been assigned the task of finding out exactly what had happened since the bridge officers were playing dumb.

Modelled after a prominent politician and a stage actor Queenan did not give the appearance of a Chief Investigator in the NCIS. Neither did the rather eloquent voice he produced, but that was alas part of his programming. He was to be able to be a contributing factor in any sort of investigation, a sting, or just simple detective work and that required more than a gruff exterior.

"What exactly is it your looking for?" Captain Brody asked.

Since his promotion to Captain in the wake of Davian's disappearance Caeldon Brody had been exceptionally bold. Even though Queenan wasn't a superior he deserved at little some respect, but Brody was brushing him off as someone in his way.

The patterns that Dayvid was observing in Brody's behaviour were indicative with that of someone hiding something.

"Nothing in particular Captain." Dayvid answered firmly.

Admiral Graem Cherton had dispatched Queenan with the promise that he would keep the investigation low-brow. But really, the android wasn't sure how he was supposed to do so with a crew full of officers just itching to poke their heads in.

"I'm just doing the job I was assigned." Dayvid continued.


"Yeah well I'd like to do mine, but I've got a cocky android investigator tieing up my crew with interviews and tearing through their belongings." The Captain replied rather annoyed.

If Queenan had emotions such as anger and irritation programmed into him he'd be annoyed by Brody's constant over-the-shoulder approach and questions and snide remarks. But since he didn't Queenan just entered them into his database to use as ammunition for possible help.

"Look, Captain Davian is dead. I saw Renzon's men capture and execute him."

"Then their would be a body." Dayvid retorted.

Brody was silent for a while. The ex-Lieutenant must have been eager to get into action as commander of a vessel. Circe had left reports, documents, diaries, and numerous other writings behind that detailed Brody for what he really was. An academic with a wealthy family and high naval connections. Yet despite what he wrote about Brody's naval career and family -- or lack there of -- they seemed to be well adjusted friends and Circe wrote numerous times that he confided thoughts in Brody. And Brody alone was trusted with Captain Davian's private thoughts.

Which gave Dayvid good reason to suspect Brody had something to do with his disappearance.


After quite sometime in silence, with Brody following Queenan all the way back to Circe's private quarters to study his journals again; Brody spoke once more.

"You just don't get it. Davian is dead, I watched him die right in front of me. What can't your logical android mind understand about that? I have nothing to gain by lying, all I would do is loose my command or .. or maybe even worse!" Brody still had a young voice despite being thirty-five. So when he tried to sound firm and serious it came out as soft and weak.

"The greatest trick the devil ever did was convince the world he didn't exist..." Dayvid said sifting through Circe's journal pages. If he were human he would have mused at the fact.

"What are you talking about...?"

Dayvid looked up and handed over the journal, held on the page he was just reading. Underlined twice in a fairly recent entry was that very axiom the replicant had just spoken aloud.

"Did you know your Captain was reilgious? A member of the Sacred Way cult for many years he converted--"

Brody frustrated by Dayvid's rantings tossed the journal down onto the desk inside the Captain's quarters and pointed at it with a bewildered look plastered on his face.

"What the hell does that mean?" Brody spouted.

"It means the Empire doesn't take desertion lightly Captain Brody. And by Imperial law if you helped him or are aiding him in any way by obstructing my investigation in anyway you are abbeding a known fugitive of the Empire. So I'd think twice about my loyalties to a dead man."

"Do not question my loyalty replicant! I serve the Empire to the best of my ability." Brody reacted rather harshly to Dayvid's accusations.

The rather boyish face of Brody was wearing a surreptitious facade and HRD-77 could read it with ease, but it wasn't enough to just know.

Dayvid needed proof.

Opportunity.

A word meaning an appropriate or favourable occasion, a situation with conditions favourable for attainment of a goal, a good position or prospect, a chance, as for advancement or success.

Opportunity has given many individuals chances to make their lives better.

Taking a bad situation and making it better through a an advantageous occurrence.

Opportunity is what makes crime so rewarding and what makes schooling so effective in the modern galaxy.

It gives you an edge.

Everyone is thrown certain prospects, but few really ever exploit opportunity to it's full potential. Most people wouldn't notice a good opportunity if it passed them by on a daily basis. And usually in one's routine life there are few of these precious opportunities to waste by ignoring them.


And sometimes they are reluctant to gamble on opportunity.

Instead they rely on something else entirely.

Luck.

They would rather rely on a force that operates for good and sometimes bad in shaping circumstances, events, or even opportunities.

This is opportunity for the lazy.

But luck, like opportunity has advantages.

If you believe in good luck you might just succeed on sheer hope.

The problem with Luck and Opportunity is alone they have a smaller chance of success in whatever situation they are called upon.

But together the rate of accomplishment improves exponentially.

For a lucky man with opportunity is one who siezes every prospect of better his life, with the hope and will to make triumph a possibility.

But the Lucky rarely look for the Opportunity.


Above Metropolis Prime


"Sir we've taken too much damage to continue, I suggest we call for reinforcements." Brody announced.

Circe was looking determinedly down the bow of his ship, the Skullprey, at it's ruptured hull. Bodies and pieces of his ship were being flung into space.

Inside the bridge, lights were dimming. Circe had ordered most of the ship's power to shields. Their engines were all, but dead thanks to the mine field they waltzed into when they arrived and even if he could make the jump to hyperspace, he didn't want to. He wanted to ram his ship into Renzon's bridge.

"Make the call." Circe finally answered.

Brody obliged ordering the communications officer to send word for help, which wasn't far. There was a staging area above Falleen so help would be there in time.

"We're being hailed." The comms officer called to Circe after sending his message.

"Put that slimy piece of filth through."

And image of a scarred Falleen came on the holoviewer. The eye on the burnt side of his face had been forced shut from the wound. Circe smiled inside at the pain it must have caused to earn a scar like his.

"Zurrender and I won't kill your crew wiz you." Renzon said.

"Go fuck yourself Xion." Circe spat.

"Zhat iz Admiral Renzon to you Captain."

"Reinforcements are on the way, so I suggest you retreat." Brody declared.

"Defiant till they end, eh Captain?" Renzon quipped.

Circe gave him a dirty look, he didn't want Renzon aware of their distress call. He didn't want the Falleen to escape.

"It matterz not, you will all be dead before zey get here. My men will have started boarding you ship by now."

"Sir, he's right we've got shuttles landing in the hangar bay." An ensign informed.

Circe terminated the link and the Falleen's smirking face disappeared. "How did they get through our defences?"

"What defences? We're sitting ducks out here."

"Shit!"

"Arm a contingent of men, I don't want them getting out of that hangar."