"Are you sure you've got everything in hand?" said the greying, balding man in late middle-age, as he was being pushed out the door of his office. "The wing memos? The captain's logs? Everything?"

"Yes, yes, for the thousandth time yes." said a younger woman. She was pretty, pretty enough that either he was very rich or this was a work relationship, employee-employer situation. Since he wasn't very rich, it's pretty clear that this is the case.

Ferguson Mumphs, intelligence chief for the Coalition Intelligence Bureau, was finally forced from his office. With a dejected sigh, he passed through the mess of desks, computers, and other brick-a-brack that marked the common area of the CIB's headquarters. Karen Calypso smiled, and watched him wander his way out of the building. "There'll still be a galaxy when you get back." she called after him.

Ferguson sighed, and muttered "I sure hope so."

Shortly after Regrad's speech, he'd recieved the invitation to the Prime Minister's secret summit of allies, leaders, and others to discuss just what was to be done about Imperial aggression and the future of the galaxy. Naturally, he'd need his intelligence chief - a fact that would have gotten all sorts of cracks if not for the fact this was a secret meeting. At least for once he'd be free of the editorial cartoons that were beginning to pop up about him. Take on Imperial Intelligence once or twice an suddenly everyone things your hair would make a hilarious little cartoon character. Surely he hadn't gotten that fat? It must have been an artistic exageration.

In his absence, Karen was to run the first of many sealed orders Regrad had already delivered in advance of this meeting to various key coalition figures. He wasn't too comfortable about this, but there wasn't much he'd been able to do - he'd been holding Karen in check as long as possible, but it seems now would be the time where he'd find if all his caution would pay off.

The reason he lacked trust was understandable, considering how she'd been hired. Originally a Soveringty spy high up in the Coalition, she'd be outed during a coup so that she could save the Coalition from the plotters. Some had been in favour of harsh punishment, despite how she'd saved them, for commiting what amounted to treason, but some like Regrad instead respected her skill in infiltration and her integrity to drop the disguise and do the right thing. She'd lost her political office on the spot, but Regrad had moved her to the CIB instead. Since her own intelligence service had been melted down and reconstituted into the CIB, she didn't have anywhere to go anyways. Her tan had faded in the colder climes she now lived in, but besides that, she'd fit in just fine. Ferguson just didn't trust double-crossing turncoat spies, that's all.

"Captain." said agent X-1 to Karen, as she watched Ferguson leave. "Your orders?"

She didn't say anything immeadietly. First, she waited until he was definetly gone. Then, she turned, and walked over to his chair behind the big desk. Then she sat down in it. Then she said "J-1's to open his sealed orders now. Then, come back here and read this dossier on my desk - those are your orders." X-1 nodded, and left the room.

Karen gently spun the chair around once. Ilum was on the other side of the galaxy, he could be gone for a week easy. Karen made a note to have her stuff moved in for the duration.

She was quickly roused again as X-1 returned, and looked over his own orders on the desk. Eventually, the Azguard agent looked up. "These are your orders?" to which Karen nodded. "And you honestly believe they can be done?"

Karen smiled. "Trust in the CIB, my good man. Yours are not the only sealed orders being read right now. Don't worry, your mission is quite possible."

"You want to what?" said J-4, the Cerean. The six of them were arranged in a false shipping crate, stowed away on a transport headed for Coruscant.

"You heard me." said J-1 evenly "Our orders are clear. We are to steal New Order clearance and access the Empire's top-secret files. It's a mission for all their diry laundry, gentlemen - all the things we know but no one else believes. It's to tear cracks in theveil of bullshit they keep pulling down over everyone's eyes."

"A veil of bullshit?" said J-2, his brow furrowing "Wouldn't that be unhygenic?"

J-1 rolled his eyes. "It was meant to be dramatic. To represent my own personal anger and loathing at these people. Just forget it, anyways - what we need is to get New Order clearance-level documents, information, anything that's so secret they have to name it after their own country. The Prime Minister wants proof of the Empire's activities, proof so solid that they can try as many Kaine and Zell Crosstalk acts as they want in an effort to change the topic but no one's going to fall for it. So we're going to find that proof."

"An Azguard on Coruscant will not last long." said J-6, dubiously. J-1 nodded.

"True, which is why we have a disguise for you. Not really any specific race, but it should at least make you look un-Azguard enough. You wont't be out and about much anyways."

"So what, we're just going to walk into all the Empire's top-level security departments and take what we need? Their defences are nigh-impregnable, and it's not like the keep everything on one disc - they're masters at keeping even their own people in the dark about what each other are doing."

"Sooner or later, all those little slices of data get to someone. I'm not going to lie to you, this won't be easy. We're going to have to handle contacts, break-ins, and maybe an assassination or two. The actual mission data is mostly either heavily encrypted or up here." and here he tapped the side of his head "But I think we can do it. We can do it. And we have to. Without the truth, the full truth, the galaxy will never be free."

They nodded.

"So we're comitted?"

Once again, they nodded.

"Right. We have some leads. Ferguson and Karen have been working on this one since day one. We have all the information we have on structure and organization. The Empire is primarily concerned with leaks coming from within, it seems they expect only assaults to come from without. At the same time, Imperial Intelligence is bright enough that going under-cover is not an option. They'd find us. So our mission is first to find out where from our list of candidates the Empire keeps it's New Order level information, and then how to break in and take it."

"Actually, I think our first mission objective will be to find a base of operation, no?" said J-4 "We'll need safety to operate."

J-1 nodded. "There are a few options still available to us, although one seems most promising of all. Tell me - who here has ever heard of Xarrin Crae?"

As cargo trundled down the conveyor belt from the bowels of the vessel to the crowded space-dock below, one crate leaned haphazardly to one side. It was a large crate - perhaps large enough to fit six people inside of it? - but was just one of many huge crates of cargo being moved on a regular basis to keep the uber-city alive and well.

What no one noticed amongst this clutter of cargo, then, was when a sudden internal shift in weight caused it to teeter and fall off the edge of the converyor belt. Dock-workers let out a shout, but there was nothing that could be done as they watched it drop far, far down into the undercity below.

Silently, two dock-workers looked at each other, and finally shrugged. These things happen, it was inevitable in a city of towers that a few things slip. They just held the uneasy hope that it wouldn't land on anything (or anyone) valuable.

What they didn't know was that it didn't land at all - at least, not in the crashing, splintering way that they would expect it to. Smuggled this far, the agents made good the last stage of their entrance into Coruscant, plummeting down towards the dank, lawless lower levels. As they did, a compartment on top of the crate opened up, and the steely figure of J-6 emereged, a strange gun in his arms.

Taking careful aim through his sights, the Azguard aimed for a massive metal support-beam nearby. Inside the cramped box, J-1 kept himself from gnawing his nails in anxiety, and settled to instead brace himself for what would be a bone-jarring, teeth clenching ride.

"Hold on." growled the Azguard, who fired his weapon into the beam.

The spike flew through the air and embedded itself into the thick steel, sealing in. The strong chord attatched lead back to the gun, which J-6 had affixed to the middle of their secret infiltration box. The rope began to twang and stretch as they swung through the air, combatting their terrible speed an acceleration.

"It won't hold!" said J-4 through his teeth, his eyes wild as the whole group clung to life in the tiny, hurtling box. J-1 wanted to respond, but couldn't overcome the horrible nausea he was feeling - he felt like he was going to vomit.

J-6 managed to stick his head out of the open compartment - a feat for which J-1 believed he deserved a medal for heroism, or for his iron stomach - and observe their course. He didn't seem to like what he saw as the box changed direction and was now swinging out into the open. Downward speed was replaced with sideways swing, and he shouted "Lean right!"

They did, and J-1 could almost hear the hurtling noise as they swung by some sort of terrible obstacle, one which would have surely shattered them into an infinium of tiny pieces.

Finally, horribly, they stopped swining. Instantly, the top of the box was thrown open from within as the agents wretched vomit from disoriented bodies. Why did his missions always begin with sickening rides through the laws of physics?

"Where... are we?" said J-2 muzzily.

"I... dunno." replied J-1, and as his vision cleared he gathered his wits. Oh, this wasn't good at all.

They'd stopped moving, but they were suspended over an abandoned walkway in the lower levels - and on either side of the walkway, what could only be described as an infinite fall to inky blackness below.

"That's not all!" said J-5, who pointed up. His keen senses had picked something out, and as he turned J-1 saw what. That was just even better...

The spike J-6 had fired had held the whole time, a miracle of modern technology, but their combined weight was finally catching up with it as the spike creaked and groaned.

"Quick!" J-1 said. "We've got to get down. J-6, lower us with the cable."

"About that..." said the Azguard, and J-1 could tell from his awkward expression what the problem was. It was handy having an Azguard around to break doors and leap spiked pits, but they were not masters of finess, nor of covering up their mistakes. The anchor to the middle of the box was crunched and ruined.

J-1 threw his hands in the air and said "Fine! Fine! We can still get out of this. J-2, a way out, if you please."

J-2, the Rodian, calmly assembled his rifle in the eerie silence, only broken by the creaks of their impending, spikeless fall. With all the control of a proffessional at work, he inserted a spiked grapling roung and fired it into a wall opposite them, at one side of the walkway below.

"It won't connect to the central gear, I warn." said J-2.

J-2 shook his head. "It won't have to. Everybody grab on."

The metal spike finally gave way, and the box began to plummet. The six agents leaped from their cover and swung on J-2's grapnel across the gap. At the bottom of the line, J-6 whipped forwards and hit the opposite wall, pushing off with his feet. The whole line wobbled and bumped the wall, until finally they just hung gently over the walkway, much closer now.

Each agent shakily desceneded the rope and landed on the walkway below, rubbing aches and pains from a half-dozen minor collisions and bumps throughout their recent ordeal. Nearby, the cracked remains of the crate left a distinct mark on the floor beneath their feet. J-1 hobbled over to inspect the remains, and sighed.

"So we're off to a good start..." he said, inspecting the damage. "Our stuff's mostly fine. This box won't be much good again, though. A pity - Ferguson's going to give us hell over it, it was expensive to make a 'smuggling box' with full escape capabilities. Better melt it down before we go."

After their stuff was removed, J-3 did something fiddly with the wires that J-1 didn't even pretend to understand, and the whole thing was reduced to a burnt husk shortly.

With their dramatic entry to Coruscant over, J-1 gathered his team about him. "Okay team, time for a little more briefing. But first, we best make sure we're somewhere safe. Falling crates and girlish screams from J-5 are enough to attract anyone in a hundred yards."

They set off, then, through the abandoned urban labyrinth in the dark places of Coruscan't super-city, while J-5 muttered about the exact nature of his previous screaming.

"Xarrin Crae didn't die in the purges, but he wouldn't leave Coruscant either." said J-1 to his team as they weaved through a cracked corridor that had not seen light in years. "An ex-rebel we found on Fwillsving confirmed that he's running a gang of sorts down here near the heart of Coruscant itself - no idea how he's avoided capture so long, considering how strong security is around the planet and especially right now. We can only assume he's still got some powerful friends, and must be so deep as to be near ground-level."

"That's hardly much to go by" said J-4 "What else do we have to corroborate this, or that he's even still trustworthy?"

"Trustworthy? No doubt, my friend. A man like him has principles, and knows he wouldn't be welcome in the Empire. So long as we play our cards carefully, it seems more than likely he can squeeze us into whatever he's been doing to stay out of the Empire's radar."

"Wait... so you haven't even asked him yet?" said J-5 "We're just supposed to walk up to the guy and say 'Hey, we're Coalition spies - got an extra bunk?'"

Even J-3, an Aqualish who couldn't communicate without the help of a translator set-up, had his doubts. He voiced them in his own gargly language to have them translated to "He's right. I can only guess you have a bargaining chip or something of interest or value to him?"

"Like I said." J-1 said "He's a man of principle. If he sees the evidence of our cause, I think curiosity will do the rest. If the Empire is doing bad things in his town, he's going to want to know about it, even if it means letting a few Coalition types sleep in his basement or whatever."

"Do we know where he is?" said J-6 "Have we at least located him?"

"We have... a contact. To be honest, there's something going on in the bowels of Coruscant which we're not privvy to. Whatever it is, it's letting us meet Xarrin. He just called himself 'The Mutual Friend'."

"Humorous." said J-2.

J-1 gestured for them to pause. They were in what appeared to be some sort of abandoned rail system, whatever it was long ago surpassed by the rate of technological growth. J-1 knew from his experience of spying what to listen for when someone was trying to be quiet - that sort of extra-heavy silence around them. He turned quickly around a column.

Before him stood a young woman - dear gods, how young? Twenty? She was wearing what could be called armor because at least some of it seemed to have come off of soldiers at one time. The whole effect was that of the classic rebel or gang grunt, and she even carried it in her light, energetic features. She extended an arm, and said "The Mutual Friend, at your service. I've been told by... another friend to take you to Xarrin."

There was silence, and J-1 turned to look back at his team - they just looked back, wondering what his verdict would be. J-4 did wave awkwardly at the newcomer, so J-1 turned back and nodded. "Okay then... we're with you."

She smiled happily. "Excellent! I've got a car all hooked up and ready to roll. Get your stuff on board, 'kay?"

And with that, she turned back to where the rails were, and what looked like a stripped-down train-cart came along quickly, with a few seats and the like scattered about onboard.

As the agents boarded the train, J-4 leaned in and said "He calls himself 'The mutual friend'?"

J-1 just shrugged. "You know the caliber of CIB pre-op intel, okay? Let's just feel lucky we even made it this far."

The six agents sat with stoic faces in the middle of the train compartment. They were the picture of disgruntled professionals as the ragtag gang of operators kept the scavenged rail vehicle rolling. So far as J-1 could see, there were no whole compartments on the whole length of train, some didn't even have walls and most mounted some sort of concealed weapons mount - all shoddy and crude stuff to a more professional agent. J-1 felt he could take the whole train with a single grenade and a knife, althogh the guns were probably meant to be more form than substance, to scare off rival gangs and would-be scavengers.

They barrled along through the Coruscant undercity, through dank and dark pathways long disused and forgotten. Since no one was talking, J-1 took the time to take a mental tally of just how many were around him - about a dozen of these gang-members seemed to run the train, wearing a motley assortment of personal arms and armour. It took even his practiced eyes a moment to realize, but J-1 soon also noticed that each bore the symbol of the New Republic, although often concealed or otherwise disguised. One swarthy human wrapped in scarves and bandanas had it stitched into his clothing, another with a robotic limb had it in an arrangement of wires and exposed metal. It was a subtle effect, but seemed somewhat beyond the grasp of mere undercity rabble.

J-1 grinned. It seemd Xarrin's hand was at work still.

Xarrin wasn't unfamiliar with the gangs and with crime. J-1 had read his file and the man had at times been on both sides of different nation's laws, had fought for the New Republic, and had vanished mysteriously at the times of the purges and witch-hunts of the New Order. It had taken a while just to confirm that he probably wasn't dead, and indeed it seemed they had only found a lead because someone had wanted them to. For whatever reason, Xarrin was to be their man - if he played his cards right.

"Lost Station, next stop" said the Mutual Friend with a grin. "Please don't lean on the doors and mind the gap."

J-4 snorted sarcastically, and J-6 leaned down to whisper "I don't see any doors..."

"She's being funny, J-6" said J-5 with a sigh. "Don't worry, you'll figure it out one day."

The train screeched to a halt roughly, and J-1 saw they were in an open-air area, the space between two gigantic buildings. Built up around this area was a stunted tower, on top of which was indeed a crude station, all but abandoned except for two more gang members.

As the agents moved out, J-1 looked around again, and said "How do you avoid being seen by the Empire in the open air like this?"

"We don't, it's more exciting that way." said the girl cheekily as she got off the train with them "Actually, we're in an Imperial blind-spot. Took a hell of a lot of work to find, too, but Xarrin made sure it was so. It's a narrow space and pretty low down, so we're just out of reach of all the patrols and sensors."

"Where now?" said J-2, nursing his pack of equipment under one arm "We need to establish base-camp."

"Patience" said J-1 "for now, we follow our guide."

"Call me Jian." she said smiling.

"Is that your real name?" said J-4, doubtfully "Only it's hardly seen this deep in the Core these days, generally reserved for noble houses."

"No, it's not my real name - I just thought it was cool, y'know?"

I'll bet you did, thought J-1. That, and Xarrin's a smart one - code names are rule one of running your own resistance.

"Ah, here we go" she said, unlocking a trapdoor. "This way."

They were lead through a mind-boggling number of elevators, corridors, and twists and turns. Eventually, J-1 was sure they had left the tower and were now somewhere else entirely. Finally, they arrived at what was clearly another tower and built like some ancient war-time headquarters. In it's day, it must have dominated the skyline, but now it was down in the depths between super-towers on either side - such was life in the undercity.

The gang-members here were more flamboyant - some even had old New Republic gear, like helmets, guns, or dogtags. Jian flirtatiously greeted the two guards standing either side of what was once a war-room of some note.

"He's just in here." she said to the agents "Better make friends, though - we'd hate to have to space you just after meeting you!" with another smile, she opened the door and the agents filed in.

In the silence and the dark, amongst blank computer-screens and an empty table and cold, recycled air, stood a lone man. A very lone man. J-1 had been in the presence of some varied and interesting characters, but this man was so alone that looking into his eyes was like falling into a vaccum - forever. J-1 dismissed everything he thought he knew about this man.

Despite this, Xarrin managed a tough smile. How old was he? A stressed-out thirty or a gnarled fifty, either were a possibility. He could have never been married or be a grandfather, with a face like that. It drew J-1 in, and he had to pull out to speak.

"Xarrin Crae, if I'm not mistaken?"

"I love it when guys in suits come into my city and talk like that." he said, with a dry chuckle "Stop reading the fucking Times and come speak to me like a normal person."

J-1 paused, and decided to drop it down a few notches.

"We're the Coalition agents Ferguson sent, and to be blunt, we want to use your place as a base for surgical strikes on Imperial targets."

"Woah, woah there." said Xarrin, moving from the table and grabbing a frail old chair "No need to jump the gun, buddy. I like to know the name of who I'm dealing with before we start talking about surgery, okay?"

"My callsign is J-1, human male. Age classified. Is that enough? Any more and I'd have to shoot you." J-1 knew he wasn't up on witty banter, but the only diplomat in his group besides him was the Cerean, J-4, and he was better equpped to deal with ettiquete and disguises.

"No, I don't think it's enough. I'm afraid you'll have to tell me your whole name, then shoot me."

J-1 moved uncomfortably on his feet, then finally said "Steve Rooni, alright? And that's classified, I'll have you know."

Xarrin let a slow smile crack his features, and with mock severity said "Well then please, have a seat the honourable Mr. Rooni."

Slowly, Steve walked over and sat opposite to Xarrin. The other team members took this as a signal to spread out a little and get comfortable, which they did.

"Why don't you have any of your own men in here?" said Steve "It just seems a little incautious to allow a trained squad of government agents alone with you. For all you know, we could be Imperial."

"Are you?" said Xarrin, straight-faced.

"No. Having an Azguard with you is generally seen as enough proof by the rest of the galaxy as being a Coalition mission."

Xarrin spared a look at J-6 and said "Well then obviously you're not Imperial agents, so why should I care if there's enough of my 'men' to 'cover me' in case you turn out to be 'here to kill me'?"

Steve shrugged "Fair enough."

"Besides, I don't trust those punks. Sure, most of 'em love being part of it all, the secret badges and me shouting at them to stay hidden and all that rebel crap that they believe in, but if push came to shove half would just as soon turn me over for amnesty and a fat Imperial bounty." he chuckled "That is, if the Empire ever really did give anyone amnesties or fat bounties."

"What are you doing down here?" said Steve, his curiosity piqued. "The rail system, and the gangs, and all this? What are you planning to do - revolt?"

"Hey, we've just met! You expect me to tell you everything I know? You could be an Imperial spy - with a guy in a convincing Azguard costume." said Xarrin. He grinned, but the grin didn't really last long "Did you know before the Republic took Coruscant, I ran so many gangs tied together so far and wide that I basically ran the planet? I was a governor, a general, all the while I was always a man of this world. Those days are over, though, and I know it - no revolts for me."

"Then why all the secrecy and henchmen?"

Xarrin frowned "First time I've heard them called 'henchmen'. I've heard them called 'bastards' plenty, mostly by me, but 'henchmen' is a new one. Well, I'm a wanted man now, so the undercity is the only place to go. While I'm here, might as well do some cleaning up - this is still my city, Steve. So long as I'm here and have strength in my hands to slap some stupid kids straight before they grow up to be junkie gangsters with no ambition beyond a quick shot of glitterstim."

"You can never turn down the call, eh?" said Steve, with a small smile. Xarrin almost managed one in return, but his face fell.

"The call to what, though, I ask you? Don't get me wrong, there's some nice kids out there who love the thought of serving some sort of exhiled Republic war hero against the big oppressive Empire - those who aren't going through a rebellious phase or are just in it for the revolutionary-minded women, Jian's done wonders for recruitment - but for the most part that's all they are, just a bunch of dumb kids. Galaxy's been at war so long we're resorting to cradle-robbing to scrounge up enough people for an army these days."

There was a bit of a silence. The other agents were watching in interest at the interplay between the two. Finally, Steve looked to Xarrin again.

"Tell me, Jian said something about 'another friend' - someone who wanted me to speak to you?"

This seemed to startle Xarrin, who muttered something like "That stupid bit-" before recovering and saying "If you've got business with me, then it's with me. Coruscant's a big place, and you're here on my good graces, okay? So let's try and keep our focus. Now what exactly is it you want from me?"

Steve smiled "That's not my question though - what exactly is it you want us to ask of you?"

Xarrin scowled, and said "I told you to drop the upper-city bullshit, okay? Now do you want my help or not?"

"Don't worry, don't worry, we do. We are six agents of the Coalition - the problem is, one of us is a twelve-foot giant with foot-long claws, another has a cone for a head, one has mandibles where his mouth should be, another is barely up to my waist, and the last is green. We are not, in other words, welcome at the Chez Ritz. You've avoided Imperial notice this far, now I'm asking you to take a bit of a risk by letting us use your base to shake pursuits and lay low, planning missions and the like."

"What kind of missions? Just because you're not the Empire doesn't mean I'll want you in my basement."

"Do you want to know where people go when the Empire wants them to disappear? Do you want to know what happened to Dr. Breen? What happened to half the men you worked with? What happened to Skywalker? Do you want to know why it's suddenly the trend for aliens to go sterile and move away? Do you want to know the truth?"

Taken aback, Xarrin muttered "Yes..."

Steve nodded. "So do we. Give us long enough, a place to stay, maybe some food - I take my eggs scrambled, thank you - and everyone will know what you always suspected, everyone will know what happened to your city and my galaxy. Everyone will hear from the forgotten and see those the Empire made vanish. Everyone will have to face that truth that you have always feared in the depths of your gut, the truth that's worse than any syndicate or gang or murder or army or anything you've ever faced, because this isn't what we think they're doing or what they could be doing or what they may one day do if we don't act, we're here to find out all the dark, horrible things that we're too late to stop, that we can't do anything about. Murder, genocide, barbarity, hypocracy, tyranny, words said so often that they've lost meaning will be horribly reawoken under the onslaught of this truth. Everything could change."

Silence rang out in the cold war-room, with it's dark screens and dusty strategy books. Cobwebs still clung in the corners and light came out in weak, flickering streams. A war hadn't been fought here for perhaps millenia, and yet it still remained, preserved in time, waiting for something to wake it up. In the middle of it all sat the gaunt, silent figure of Xarrin, weighing this all up in his mind.

Finally, he turned to J-6 "You're the same kind of guy that went on the Holonet and did that speech that Simon tore up, right?"

J-6 nodded "Yes, sir. Prime Minister Regrad was saddened but not surprised when he found that his speech had been so unfairly treated - he felt that defacing someone's words like that was just spiteful, but expected no less."

Xarrin shook his head, and said "No, it's not that badly mangled. If you record it, you can cut out the bit where Simon's talking and just reconnect the bits where he's talking. It's some good stuff. A little soppy, a bit general but it sounds sincere." Xarrin sighed "Okay... go to Jian, tell her I want you guys in level three - the power's off in that level, so get someone to hook you guys up before nightfall or you'll freeze your asses off. If you bring an Imperial patrol so much as an inch closer to us, I'll space you all myself, you got it? I'm still responsible for these dumb kids' lives."

Steeve stood up, and bowe slightly. "You have our gratitude, Xarrin, I knew you still had it in you."

The gaunt man just waved them away halfheartedly "I told you already, stop talking like you learnt the language at a Corellian noble's grammar school."

The agents filed out again, and Xarrin looked around. Slowly, he got out of his chair and pulled a switch on a far wall. With a mechanical grunt, the lights came on in full, the screens lit up, and the table hummed as a crude holographic displays awoke on it's surface. Xarrin dusted the table off, and nodded to himself.

"I've got a bad feeling about this - but at least I'm in on it again."

Level three turned out to be some sort of apartment complex from a forgotten era. Many rooms had caved in, and whole regions were for various reasons hazardous to your health (electrical discharge, jagged metal, take your pick). However, an area of several rooms was quite liveable. With lights restored, it was more than servicible for their base, a few crude tables, some places to sleep.

"All the comforts of home." said J-5 grimly, looking at the sleeping-bag that was to constitute his bed for the mission. "Not even a holonet connection. Not even dial-up."

"Well obviously." said J-4 "Down here in the bowels of Coruscant? A holonet signal would be spotted instantly. You'll have to make do with minesweeper and Solitare for now."

J-5 muttered something about 'primitive conditions', but fell silent. J-6 lifted an entire sheet of metal and propped it up on four cinder-blocks, producing a table with all the ease that a twelve-foot muscle-man is granted.

J-1 reached into his pack and began unfolding maps, intel-reports, documents, and holo-discs. It was time to talk strategy, and the agents knew this was all business. As they pulled up seats, J-1 turned and saw Jian still in the doorway "Thank you, that's all we'll be needing." he said curtly.

Slightly sourly, the woman turned and left the room. J-1 turned back to the table and remembered Gale. Not NOW. He shunted the thought out and focused on the mission. The mission. It was all about the mission.

"All right." he begun "Get comfortable, gentlemen, because this will be a long op. Compared to this the Pavo Prime job was a trip for ice-cream, get me? We haven't got a confirmed target, we don't know the location of what we're looking for, we hardly know what it is we're looking for to begin with. So our first job is intel.

"Primary mission objective - the acquisition of the Empire's top-level files, including but not limited to everything classified on the Jedi Corp, the Contruum massacare, the Dubrillion invasion, Imperial Spartan project, Imperial Legionnaire project, reports from Endor, the Sith connection, and anything on the missing persons on list G-8. The G-8 list is very comprehensive, including every confirmed 'missing person' we've been able to find out about from surviving rebels, refugees, and others. A good portion of it is from our hosts, another slice from the people of Fwillsving, and even a little from Panacka's friend on Thisspiass - although the less said about that the better, all right?"

The agents nodded. J-1 continued "Thus, our current Secondary Objective is to acquire intel as to the operations of Imperial intelligence. All information in the Empire eventually filters up to the 'Order', as they've been classified - a group of the Empire's upper crust of command including Zell, Simon, Hyfe, and others. We need to find where the information reaches them and intercept, so our first target is to hit the Imperial Intelligence enclave here on Coruscant, and to do that we'll need an Imperial agent."

There was silence. "An agent?" said J-2, a rare word from the Rodian sniper. J-1 nodded.

"Yes, an agent. I know, Imperial Intelligence is known for skill and competence. They're the most hardened, rutheless sons of bitches to call murder 'elimination' and genocide some other PR word. We're obviously going to have to be careful, but this is the threshold that has to be crossed if we're ever going to crack Imperial dominance. If we can identify their base then we'll be able to plan a surgical strike. If we can strike them and escape with information on Imperial channels, then we can plan another mission to hit these channels and find out where they hide their intel.

"To find it, however, we're going to need an agent - and we're going to have to stalk him on a world where people are compressed like sardines and any one of them could turn you in. He might have intermediaries, and if that's the case we'll have to follow them in turn. They might use virtual systems requiring us to break in and steal systems to trace the link. No matter how we do it, though, the agents are the outermost layer of the Empire's system. Each of them knows little alone, but they always lead up to someone who knows more."

By now the agents weren't sure. Taking on Imperial Intelligence was easy to talk about, but hard to do. "Do we at least know an agent? It's not like they hang out at a cafe somewhere." said J-4, doubtfully. J-1 tossed him a paper.

"Funny that you should say that." said J-1 smiling "That just happens to be a lead for us to follow. Read the file in full for tonight - our mission begins then."

Imperial agents don't eat. Imperial agents don't drink. Imperial agents don't breath - they don't use the bathroom or get tired. They haven't got blood coursing through their veins, they haven't even got oil and gears on the inside. Too inefficient. Imperial agents need to be so good at what they're doing that state of the art technology built by the best in the field couldn't recreate their skill. At least, that's the perception.

As J-5 crawled down the sewer-pipe, up to his ankles in... something... he was beginning to think that it'd be better to face these supermen head on, if only for the sake of his nostrils.

Their target was an agent, although no one special. It had been hell finding out about him nonetheless - even the low-level operatives, still cutting their teeth on Coruscant with local operations - were kept on a tight leash. How had they found one, then? Basically, it was luck. Sooner or later, eventually, by sheer chance, a data-packet of some small stature and fairly amature in construction was found, lost or forgotten in a struggle with gangs that had moved too high up in the towers to be ignored. Some agent had overestimated their ability or felt insulted by the degrading nature of domestic assignments, and had lost the packet in the struggle.

Later, as scavengers had swept in, the packet was found by a fence, who in turn sold it to Xarrin Crae - who held an interest in these sorts of Imperial tidbits. The agent himself was not found amongst the dead, which only slightly reduced his chances of being deceased once he returned to base after such an embarassing incident.

The report itself was half finished, but it held the sloppy composure of a new agent. J-1 had looked over it and pulled various thinking faces that J-5 had learned to associate with trouble ahead. One passage in particular had interested the team leader.

"...We'll take 'em by storm on level sixteen, some fat-ass merchants what think they're too far for Hell's Teeth to reach 'em - but they'll see just how wrong they are!" Said their leader, the hulking one with the tattoes and piercings covering his upper body.

Observation: He seemed somewhat out-of-place and conspicuous in Jhum's Diner, but I was later informed that at night the rougher elements do in fact turn out - I was unaware of this myself, having only visited for lunch previously. The Garden Salad is, by the way, delicious.

"What do you think of that?" he'd said, slapping the worn datapad.

"Well, for one, it's badly written." said J-4, with a sniff. "He includes far too many references to himself, the halmark of a new agent trying to impress the reader with his prowess. "Not only that, but the anecdote about lunch was dangerous, because it reveals more than is necessary about his habits. We all did it on our first few packets, true, but even the funniest joke or snide personal remark must be sacrificed for the secrecy of the mission."

"Certainly the case" said J-6 " it brings to mind that mission a few months back where we were following that gentleman, what was his name? Harry Pairo Testes? It must have been quite the challenge to write a report on him without falling over laughing."

"To say the least..." said J-1, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"If he's still alive, maybe he still goes to this Diner place?" J-5 had said, and looking back he cursed it.

J-1 had weighed it in his mind, and said "Well, he's clearly none too bright, it's entirely possible he got the boot. Not only that, but the packet is old. Even if he is still alive, he might be going to a different diner or have even moved up to swankier fare."

"He's right though, there is a possibility here." Said J-6 "We would, however, require maximum discretion and surveillance to ascertain this, and it could very well be a red herring..."

J-1 shook his head "No, no, you're right - it's worth a look. Of course, we'd need someone stealthy. Someone who could sneak in unnoticed into a small restaurent without drawing attention to himself. Someone, oh, say between two and three feet tall?"

J-5 cursed again. Damn big people, making him do all the work.

Finally, he checked his map and saw that he was just under the alleyway behind the restaurent. With a moment's work, he was out of the sewer and up against the back wall. He shed his outer layer of gear - and the stench attatched to it - and creaked open the back door. Now for the hard part.

Ducking and weaving, he narrowly made it through a crowded kitched by crawling under a series of counters as loud chefs prepared the usual course of diners, such as soups and sandwiches. J-5 tried not to gag at them, which was hard - what he wouldn't give for some of his wife's home cooking, properly roasted and seasoned. This was an odd thought, he realized, considering he wasn't married.

As he once again scurried below sight to the door to the diner, he made a mental note to look into marriage if he made it off this madhouse alive.

What he really wanted to do was breath, but he was an agent of the Coalition and just didn't have time. The diner was your classic greasy spoon, available across the galaxy. To avoid sight, he rolled behind the counter where the only server was a sleeping teenage girl with a gross assortment of piercings and tattoes. Kids these days.

Negotiating around her legs without disturbing her, and praying to whatever god was listening that no one had noticed the bipedal rat in the middle of a restaurent, J-5 lifted the registry carefully from under the counter. Inside, the signatures of customers on their bills were stored neatly. In a flurry of motion, J-5 skimmed through them looking for anything that stood out - cursing the damn Cerean for not taking this assignment, he was the one who knew about signatures and ettiquete. What were the odds this agent signed his bills with his callsign?

Pretty low. Not a single signature resembled the callsign used on the recovered data-package. J-5 felt his heart fall. So much for that. Might as well walk out at this point, there was nothing else he could check for.

It was then that an idea struck. Once again, he flicked through the signatures, looking for something. The Mandarin salad was the big hit, and had been for the past few months, but only one customer firmly ordered a garden salad every single time. Glutos Harker.

"What a name..." murmured J-5 "Almost as bad as Harry Pairo Testes..."

Quickly pocketing the recepit and replacing the registry, J-5 slunk out of the hiding place behind the counter. It didn't mean it was him, but it did make it more likely. He had at least something to go by - maybe.

J-5 now walked calmly and fully confidently towards the door, just another visitor, when a voice rang out "Excuse me!"

J-5 froze. He turned, looking curious. The speaker was a young gentleman of very clean, somewhat stern facial features. He was waiting at a table, and with a look of disdain said "If you're the new help around here, maybe you can do something about that serving girl sleeping on the job! I've been waiting on that garden salad for twenty minutes now."

J-5 smiled, and said "Sorry, sir, I can't help you there. Not the hired help, y'see?"

Slightly sullen, the man leaned back. J-5 didn't even breath again until he was out the doors, down the street, and out of sight. Finally, he dodged back into an alley, went back to the sewers and donned his gear. At least down there filth didn't sneak up on you and ask for salad. No, that was unfair. He didn't know anything about this agent yet, their mission had hardly just begun.

On the other hand, J-5 had always hated it when people only ordered a salad for lunch - they generally were the types to lord their healthy lifestyles over other people. At least have some soup, or something!

It would be several hours of navigating before he made it back to the temporary HQ. "Find what you were looking for, cutie?" asked Jian with a cheeky smile as he was let off the underground train.

"What do you think?" he asked, moving upwind of her. She gagged, and fell back "More or less what I expected to find, anyways. You aren't a vegetarian, by any chance?"

"Er... no?"

"Good."

J-5 scurried off to join the others.

Glutos Harker wasn't a fun one to watch. Neat, clean, and a bore.

Of course, not that fun usually entered into it. Indeed, if J-3 was to look like he was having much fun, he'd probably be arrested on suspiscion - Aqualish were just a little too Alien for Coruscant's upper crust.

And what an upper crust it was! This was the first time J-3 had ever seen the term applied so literally. The City ran for miles up and down, so only a tiny fraction could ever be living on top, or even near the top. Once you reached a certain elevation it was hard to find a none-human that wasn't in a custodian's uniform. Oh sure, there were those with - gasp - blue skin, or a funny nose shape, but for a species that could only just grasp the concept of a mouth and teeth, Aqualish generally lumped all of these under 'human', or as they called them, [impronounceable grunting sounds].

The advantage to this, though, was that Glutos never saw that the Aqualish sweeping the street, the one washing the window, or the one emptying trash were in fact the same one. In fact, J-3 started to notice that Glutos didn't see much at all. He apparently shaped up and learned fast after the incident with the gangs, and had developed 'spy eyes' - a term referred to in training, for agents who no longer noticed or needed to notice a sweeper, a vehicle, a stop-sign. They were too busy looking out for the hidden sniper, the improvised bomb, the double-agent, and left things like crossing lights to the subconscious. J-3 was invisible to Glutos even before he factored in the likely racial superiority.

With all this in mind, however, J-3 didn't get to see much. Glutos seemed to wander a very specific, carefully plotted course, and yet he didn't seem to go anywhere or do anything. A trick to throw off pursuers? Part of some unknown Imperial protocol? Obsessive Compulsive? J-3 once again regretted this wasn't a problem he could solve with a knife. He was much better at those types of problems. Still, there were worse assignments.

As he flushed some trash down a refresher, he reflected on a prime example just below him.

J-1 sorted through the trash, nothing but a humble garbage man - today, anyways. As the glimmer of a data-disk caught his eye, he surreptitiously pocketed it and slipped off for a little privacy.

Hm... he thought Nothing so far, at least, nothing I can see. Still, no civilian wanders so aimlessly and yet with purpose. He's up to something, but what? J-1 tapped in his response and slipped it back up the pipe.

"Hey, you there, old man!" exclaimed a sudden voice from behind. Old? When did that happen? With practiced calm, J-1 turned to look a young boy in the eye. Dear gods, how young? Jian looked his senior, and that was saying something. He was dressed in the neat efficiency that could only be afforded by someone who'd never needed to be efficient at something that mattered. Citizen Youth. Why oppress people when you can teach them to oppress themselves?

"Yeah, kid? What'd you want?" J-1 was a spy before this kid was born, and here he was trying to keep a straight face for the self-important streak of nothing. J-1 supressed those thoughts quickly - he needed to focus.

"You're on the clock, aren't you? That's the Empire's time you're wasting, why not get back to work?"

Concerned youth thought J-1 Dear gods, I hope I was never like him.

"Oh, of course. I'll get right back to it. Keep looking out for the Empire's interests, young man." he even through a smile in, and the kid was satisfied and left. Being a spy meant never getting to give anyone a piece of your mind or the ass-kicking they sorely deserved. Call me old, would he? When he was gone, J-1 pushed the message the rest of the way up, where it was collected by J-3. Things were out of the team leader's hands now. Steve knew J-3 was brave, experienced, well trained, and capable - the only thing he worried about was wether he could stay in control.

The Aqualish read the response, and moved on. If he was to keep following Glutos, then, then he'd have to kep him in sight. Luckily, he wasn't too hard to track if you knew who you were looking for.

It would be a little longer before J-3 finally got a hint of what he was looking for, and it would almost be the end of the mission.

Finally, the spy passed by a strangely deserted section of the upper walkway. So deserted was it, that J-3 found it hard to blend in and eventually resorted to plain old infiltration and hiding behind corners. It was a dangerous business, but every step took them closer to a building - a house? - that seemed identical on an entire row built into a spiring tower. J-3's interest perked at what could perhaps be a safe-house, an agent lair where they could watch and wait until more ranking agents came along for them to follow.

Except it wasn't.

As they approached the one home in a wall of houses, J-3 noticed something was wrong. Even for an agent safe-house, it was deserted. Hiding in plain sight was the expression he was looking for, no one lived in this block. J-3 had to rely on every ounce of his luck and stealth, crouching and crawling between stairs and ramps to avoid the eyes of Glutos.

The agent looked around, and entered a normal-looking key into the lock, opened the door, and was gone. Secret eye-scan? DNA confirmation? Fingerprint-sensitive doorknob? A lookout?

J-3 had two options at this point. He could have gone back and told the team what he had seen, they would have come back and staked the place out, eventually either being caught or finding who or what they'd need to follow the breadcrumb trail back to the Empire's fortress of secrets. His other option was far more risky, but the Coalition was built on risks and J-3 wanted to know - just what was going on in there?

Impromptu infiltration. That was a cardinal sin of spies. Nothing was off-the-cuff unless it was either that or discovery (death). But... was it the Force? Instinct? The smell? His gut? Or was it just curiosity? Something was wrong, this was no normal spy hideout, through the thick layers of Imperial discipline and calm he could taste it...

He had to know.

He secured a spy-mask over his head - a simple, cheap, entirely unmarked affair - slipped on his gloves, and removed the only other piece of spy-equipment he carried beyond his pocket toolkit. A rope and grapnel he spun round and round, before hurling it to the side of the house.

With speed born of fear and desperation he clambered up the house, hoping it was unheard. He almost stumbled and fell reaching the top, seeing the rooves trapped with motion-detectors. Damnit.

J-3 took out his toolkit from his pocket, a leather case full of simple metal utensils. With all the care he could manage, trying to keep his sweat from running into the scanners, he detatched piece after piece of the network.

Mistake number one. No way he could hope to put it back just right. They'd surely know someone had been there. No time to think about that. J-1 would shout, but J-1 would shout later. Right now, the question mattered.

With that defence peeled away, J-3 inched over to the roof's door. The house was flat-topped, and the door posed no challenge - a rotary lock! Almost an antique by now!

With that obstacle surmounted as well, J-3 dared to walk the stairs, down, down. It was just as the fearful voices in his mind began to shout that they were drowned out by a sudden repugnant smell.

Blood.

This was no spy-house.

Caution was thrown to the wind. The overwhelming smell brought back racial memories that overpowered his training. Memories he hadn't felt since his intensive training wore them out of him. He took the stairs three at a time. The back of a man's head rose up in his vision. Imperial. Armed. On nothing more than that, J-3 brought him down with an elbow to the head. He was unconscious before hitting the ground.

The smell drove him onwards. He couldn't even see the room anymore except in some inexplicable point in the distance. He followed the smell down a corridor, seeing a single open door with light pouring from it. The commotion brought a second man - this one J-3 looked at long enough to see he was an agent, and was clearly wearing symbols of authority towards that fact. Wether the agent himself had enough time to see who was bearing down on him was unknown - just as he rounded the corner of the door, a fist brought him down again. J-3 could almost taste blood now. He rounded the corner. He stopped.

Glutos was leaning over a... Glutos was... There was blood everywhere. Instinct took over.

He reached for the side-table next to the one Glutos had been... addressing. On it was a scalple. A blade. Glutos didn't even have time to draw his pistol, there was just a short yell before the Aqualish let out a beastial roar, his mandibles parting and reveaing a horrifying hole full of razors snapping and hissing as he brought the arm down and thrust the slender instrument of pain through the neat and clean face of the agent. The yell turned into a shriek of agony, and the Aqualish began to beat upon the body again and again with his fists.

The roar subsided. The haze cleared. The smell was still nauseating, but he stopped beating the bloody pulp. He looked up. He regretted it.

J-3 knew instantly he would never speak of the one he saw in the chair. He had been right, this wasn't a spy-house, it was a slaughterhouse. One for suspected enemies of the state. One to harden young agents and extract confessions. One which needed to be invisible to a glance yet still alone, so the screams wouldn't pierce the walls and wake those who lived nearby.

He had heard, of course. Everyone heard. Agents even saw, in pictures, in holos. But it didn't prepare him for the smell.

J-3 stumbled out of the hall, now seeing it connected to a kitchen. There, the two men he'd knocked out lay on the floor. All over, there was paper, data, writing - probably little of use to their overall mission, each file the minute details of the last minutes of those who vanished inside. As if in a dream, J-3 gathered them up. There was nothing left to do.

No... wait... there was one thing. He took out his knife.

On this train ride, J-3 sat apart from the tight group of agents. Xarrin had turned out personally to see them off this time, and everyone was on edge. The next step in their search for a way in was about to take place, and it wouldn't be easy. Xarrin's gang slouched or lay about, in stark contrast to the five agents sitting neatly on the middle of the rail car. J-3 sat with the gang, equally as quiet and disinterested.

"No one's talking much..." whispered Jian to Xarrin. The old gang leader just nodded, so Jian gave up and went back to the driver's compartment.

"Don't get too attatched to these guys." said Xarrin suddenly, causing Jian to turn back. Xarrin just kept looking off in the general direction of the Coalition agents. "They're professionals. I know their kind. The Empire employs 'em by the truckload. We even did, when we was most effective. I employed a few from time to time. Once a real professional gets stuck on something, they don't change their mind for heaven or hell."

There was an ominous silence, before he said "They're stuck on this mission, and it's a suicide mission. Don't let yourself get drawn in, Jian. We let them stay with us, we help them a little, but we can't get drawn in, or they will drag us down with them."

He was finished, and Jian - somewhat uncomfortably - entered the driver's compartment.

The train screeched to a halt at their alotted stop. In silence, the agents stirred and filed off the train. The gang and Xarrin gathered to see them off, staying on the train. J-1 nodded to the old-timer, who nodded back. "We might not return from this one, so just in case, don't return to this place - we'll make our own way back."

"No, too dangerous - if you survive, they could follow you back. Our train's in the shadows, if you blunder your way home any other way they could find me. We'll be here, if you still are."

"I want to thank you again, Xarrin." said J-1 "Today is the day we bring something back."

"Don't thank me - ever." he said, stiffly "Just you finish your job and get back here."

With that, the train screeched and pulled away from the station. J-1 watched him leave, and shook his head.

"He would get along famously with Minister Quell." remarked J-4 "They both hate themselves just a little, but not quite so much as everyone else."

"Your mind reading's on the blink." said J-5 "Guys like him don't hate anyone more'n themselves, it's the only way they can make sense of the universe."

I don't think it's ever been that simple. though J-1 Men like Xarrin cannot be boiled down to hate or love.

"Come on, the sooner we start, the sooner we'll finish."

"Or die." added J-6 "Which reminds me - how do we intend to hide my inherent Azguard qualities?"

"By that, I think you mean the fact that you're two meters tall and grey. We have you covered today, J-6, because you'll be staying in the back. If things go bad, and it no longer matters wether they know we're Coalition or not, then you step in and do what can be done."

"Ah." said J-6 "So you only need me if you need something to absorb fire. All right, I knew what I was signing up for at least."

“Anyone else feeling itchy?” said J-4, adjusting his clothes. “It’s not just the disguises... I feel itchy.”

“Let’s just move. There’s a lot of ground to cover.”



Coruscant was eternally a work in progress.

Towers to the sky don’t stay that way long if not constantly repaired. Construction crews spent years of their life repairing some of the truly gargantuan installations that housed the population of cities into a single spire. Their next tip was from the Imperial safe-house they’d raided earlier, a file on a superior agent who was a liaison to the house’s crew and reported on their grisly business - and one of the datapackets they managed to decode revealed that his cover was a construction supervisor in the same district.

With that information, the team intended a high-risk operation. An agent entrenched in the heart of friendly territory for a long period of time usually ends up with a “home office”, a private stash or location where they kept their equipment, authorization, and so forth when it wasn’t needed for their next job. Even a paranoid, cautious agent with few responsibilities invariably collected a few things. It wasn’t much of a lead, but it was the best they could manage.

For this mission in particular, J-4 had been chosen as the point-man. Aliens were seen as acceptable workers, and his natural Cerean abilities would enhance his ability to talk his way into their target’s office. The target agent’s name had been classified and replaced with the code name “Red Admiral”, but his contact information had included an office number.

With all this in mind, the daring mission was set to begin. Disguised in simple construction - worker clothing, J-1, J-2, and J-4 entered the site of Tower 755-3's ongoing maintenance.



J-4 nodded to the receptionist at the temporary builder’s office. “Yes, I have an appointment. It’s under... Brooks.”

The receptionist was a bored-looking woman who clacked her gum as she gave a brief glance to a paper schedule sheet. “Brooks? Yeah, you’re on here. Mr. Parks is in-”

“Room twelve-b, yes, I know him.” said J-4 before nodding “Thank you.”

He quickly set off, climbing the stairs without looking as though he were in too much of a hurry. Rough-looking men of various species pushed past him - J-4 was surprised at the number of humans. He’d thought of Coruscant as a cosmopolitan place, even under Imperial rule, but this visit had seen less and less of them. Putting the thought aside, he reached the desired floor and went to the end of the hall where room 12-b could be found. It was as he put his ear to the door, that he began to hear voices.

“...torched the location, and no survivors.” The voice was cold, cutting, efficient.

“I told you they can’t be trusted! Once a traitor, always a traitor. The damage done will take years to properly pacify, and they’re still out there - wait. Did you hear that?” The second voice (which had been a measure more boisterous) fell silent, and steps drew closer. J-4 realized he’d been heard, but it was too late to run - the stairs were too far. He took a step back, trying to look innocent, while resting his hand on the grip of his hidden holdout blaster.

There was the sound of a door opening, but it was not the one he was facing. Suddenly, the sound of shooting! In a split-second decision, he drew his pistol, slammed open the door and rolled into the room.

Shit.

The room was indeed the sparse office of a construction supervisor, the two most notable features being his desk, and the holomovie he was watching on top of it. In the holomovie, a classic about gritty spies and betrayals, two trench-coated men were trading shots with thugs. Oh, and sitting behind the desk was a terrified and rotund businessman of mid-forties. It took only a glance for J-4 to know this was no secret agent. He looked as though he could hardly carry his own weight, let alone state secrets. This was going to take some skill.

“Oh...” said J-4, sheepishly, and replacing the blaster. “I’m so, so sorry. I heard the movie and I thought-” he let out a gradual laugh, as if just appreciating the humour of the misunderstanding. Eventually, the supervisor laughed too. Good, get them laughing, honest mistake, could have happened to anyone.

“Anyways, boss. Sorry to barge in on you, so I’ll just be on my way.”

“Hold on there, boy.” said the supervisor, who seemed somewhat more lucid and comfortable. “Why’d you come up in the first place?”

“Huh? Oh, I’m a new hand here, boss.” An idea struck upon J-4, so he followed it “Couple months ago, heard a guy from a previous job was running this one, and was hoping he’d remember me from the old days and put me up with some work. Haven’t seen him in a while, but heard this was his office. Know who I might be talking about?”

The supervisor’s good humour faded, and he said “Oh, so no one told ya? Boss Grewal got the can - but not just that, turns out he was a downright traitor to the Empire even! Can ya believe it? You work with a guy, think you can trust him, and all of a sudden the boys in white are showing up to drag him out.” He shook his head in disbelief, and said “I tells ya, these’re sad times if you can’t trust a man, eh?”

J-4 nodded, and said “Yeah. Hard to believe, really. Well, I better go - don’t want to take up more of your time. But hey, if you guys ever need a new hand I’ll be in the area.”

He waved, and was gone. So the trail had run dry - damn. J-4 started heading out, scratching idly and wondering just what the itch was.

He met J-1 and J-2 outside, shaking his head “Looks like he was arrested for treachery to the Empire.”

The three of them made sure they weren’t being listened to, and J-1 said “Anything else? Do we know why, or where?”

“He didn’t say. It could explain why his file was in the safe house - interrogation and all.”

“If he was interrogated there, I doubt there’s much of him left.” said J-1, shaking his head.

“He did mention the man was dragged off by Stormtroopers. It doesn’t sound like any normal abduction, then.”

“Could have gone rogue, or had his loyalty doubted.” J-1 rubbed his chin “We could certainly look into it. The Stormtroopers would probably erase most of what they had on him, but if there’s prisoner transfer records or the like, we might be able to trace it-”

Their conversation was broken when they noticed that J-2 was no longer with them. Their Rodian companion was at the very edge of the walkway that had them suspended miles above the ground, looking down. J-1 and J-4 quickly hurried over. “What’s going on?” J-1 asked, curiously.

“Uh oh...” said J-4. Several levels below, police held a tight line of linked arms to hold back a sizeable multiracial crowd. It appeared J-3's antics had stirred up a protest - although only a few were really protestors. Others were drawn out simply by racial solidarity, curiosity, or the novelty of a protest in the heart of the Empire.

The police seemed equally unsure and inexperienced with dealing with the situation, but for three of such a professional slant the signs were easily read - the prelude to disaster. Already, overzealous Citizen Youth were bellowing angrily for the aliens to go home, which only aggravated the situation. Though some police seemed to be thinking that stepping aside would be a wise career and life-enhancing choice, the chief clearly wore the ‘We shall prevail’ look that indicated he intended to see the crowd dispersed at any cost.

“Orders?” asked J-2. “Lethal force inadvised, all targets are civilian and 100% likelihood of discovery.”

“Yes, I knew that J-2.” said J-1. He briefly weighed up the merits of just leaving - they’d jeopardize the mission if they got involved. But... if they didn’t, he didn’t doubt it would end badly. There were none on the Imperial side prepared to intervene that were close enough to do so, and the alien protestors were disorganized, as any good protest was. “...Oh all right. Follow me, I’ve got an idea.”

The slogan was a mess - some were shouting "Hell no, we won't go!", others were shouting "We're here, we're clear..." before disintegrating into a thousand lesser chants. Some were singing something along the lines of 'Give peace a chance'. As such, the dominant sound was of barely-controlled anger and aggravation.

On the other side, youth who technically were allowed to aide in the dispersing of 'anti-imperial activity' or some such thing were screaming back, outnumbered ten-to-one in voices but making up for it in sheer loudness-per-individual. Standing tall was a police commissioner, looking with distaste on the crowd before them. His eyes lit up with malice upon spotting a few humans in the crowd with them, and filed that away as 'deeply suspiscious'.

In the middle - and cursing this fact - was a linked-arm chain of police. Though technically trying to disperse the marchers, just keeping them from overflowing on to the Citizen Youth. More importantly, flowing on to the police station, which they usually staffed.

And moving along the edge were three workmen, heading towards the chief commissioner.

"All right..." muttered J-1 "We're going to pull a Crowd Control Classic. I'll be speaker, J-2 is Lieutenant, J-4, you be Observer."

The Cerean nodded, and broke off to join the chanting crowd. J-1 straightened himself, properly dishevelled his work clothes, and assumed the correct mannerisms. In deception such as this, what was key was that you fitted the role people made for you. People were sure they knew what the leader of a mob sounded and looked like, so to be one, you had to look the part.

Over the shouting of both sides, J-1 heard a sound he had encoded into his brain, hooked up to something at instinct level - Stormtrooper boots. He had to move quickly.

The Police commissioner was surprised to suddenly realize that a man and a rodian were standing politely next to him. He turned, gave them both a dangerous look, and said "What do you want, ruffians?"

"We're here to speak on behalf of these people of Coruscant, sir." said J-1, adopting the steady, relaxed, but confident tone of the old professional. "We've been part of the protest, and we're here to discuss the ces-ation of hostilities."

"This isn't a war, rebel scum! Go home and rot, for all I care." Even the Police commissioner had to admit, though, the fight was quieting down. The protestors were reacting just as J-1 had hoped - an oldish workman had stepped forwards, and was making their case to the police. As no one was really sure what their case was, they listened closely. Even the Police eased off a little to see what was going on.

Taking longer than necessary to stretch his arms, J-1 said "Well, it seems to me that this's a bit of a situation. Now I've lived and worked in these here towers for years, and the last thing I like to see is a situation playing out right here on the street. People gotta right to speak their mind, don't they?" A loaded sentance, he knew.

Immediately, a Citizen Youth took the bait and said "A right to speak treasonous rebel talk? Not likely, you no-good alien lover!"

Now J-4 played his part "What? You come here and say that, you slimey piece of core-scum, I'd tear you a new - " The rest of the sentance was drowned out as both sides became agitated and began shouting again. This was the show of force time.

J-1 gestured subtly for everyone to quiet down - which, to the Police Commissioner's surprise, they did. It was no grand trick. The gentle, slow-moving figure in a sea of anxious panic stood out like a rock in the ocean, and people were curious as to what the man had planned. Or wether he was going to be arrested.

"Well, it seems to me things really got out of hand when your boys started telling them where they could and couldn't go. You're shouting 'disperse, disperse!' but maybe if you wasn't shouting so much, people'd have a reason to disperse? You there." said J-1, pointing towards the planted J-4. "I saw you earlier. What're you doing here?"

"Well..." said J-4, using his natural telepathic ability to almost literally radiate awkward innocence. "I guess it was really just... I didn't want to be told what to do, y'know?"

"Defiance?" said a shocked Citizen Youth "Is it your place to say what to do around here, then?"

Before the arguing and shouting could resume, J-1 gestured for calm, and said "Y'see the problem? S'all just a misunderstanding - better if we all go home now and sort it out in the morning, eh?"

This idea was met with some mutters of acceptance. After all, maybe it really was everyone just getting a bit overexcited? There was always the morning to think it over and maybe try again (which they wouldn't). However there was always one, about here, who really did believe in the march, knew why they were there, and had no intention of calming down and calling it a day. Gods bless 'em, J-1 usually admired their spirit, but as the sound of marching boots got nearer the sudden shril voice was more of an irritant than a help.

"Wait a minute here!" said a young man, whom J-1 guessed was a student. "This isn't just some big misunderstanding! This was about freed-"

Before he could finish the word that would break all of J-1's work he said "I know we've all got our differences, but there's one thing we've got in common. Listen close."

The crowd did, and now, the clunk of armored foot on metal walkway was unmistakeable. The crowd and even the police suddenly seemed very anxious "Best you go home now, lad. Remember, there's always tomorrow." The boots were getting closer.

A sort of uneasy truce settled over the police and the protestors, who quickly scattered back to their own place of residence. In the confusion, the Police Commissioner turned to try and get a good look at the ringleader, but he and his back-up were gone. The stormtroopers found some garbage and awkward police reports, but little more. J-1, J-2, and J-4 headed back to the undercity.

As the got back on the train, again in silence, J-1 thought to how close a thing it'd come - how many waves their presence was making, what it could result in, how it was giving young kids like the one with the protestors ideas. 'It wouldn't be killing, it'd be murder, sir.'. He sighed. If they didn't find another lead soon, everyone would be much better off if they just got off planet.

"A dead end..." said J-1, on the ride home. The rails sparked and sailed over black chasms that went down towards the planet's surface, pulling at him as he looked into the endless abyss.

"Maybe we can go back over the files J-3 recovered?" suggested J-4. "There might be a lead we missed. Not like we have much of a choice, unless you want to go trolling for a new lead."

"The only other agents J-3 found files for were the ones he gutted," said J-1. He rolled back towards the center of the train, and noticed that J-2 was sitting towards a corner of the compartment, next to one of the gang gunners, scanning the sky. "What's up with him?"

"It's hard to tell, really," said J-4, who squatted next to J-1. "I know he doesn't talk much, but he's gone even more spacey. Maybe he didn't like what he'd seen today?"

J-1 looked hard at the Rodian, who was lost in a world of his own. Rodia had been ceded to the Imperials as part of the 'negotiations' that had ended the last war, making those few Rodians who remained a part of the Coalition a weird bunch to work with. Still, J-2 had always been comfortable with all sorts of violence and trickery before, and today had been comparatively uneventful.

J-4 nodded to J-1, and said "True, but maybe the protest reminded him about his own world? I know I wouldn't want to see Cerea under that sort of martial law, so I can't imagine what it has to be like for him, knowing the same sort of Imperials are running his homeworld."

"What have I said about reading my thoughts?" grumbled J-1, who rolled over and went back to looking into the pits of Coruscant. A low hum filled the air.

In fact, it was so low that it took a few moments to register, but as it steadily grew he recognized the sound. So had J-2, who was now standing tall and scanning the sky. J-1 scrabbled to his feet, yanking up J-4 as he did so.

"What's going on?" said J-4, puzzled. "What can you hear?"

"That's a police airspeeder!" hissed J-1, as he unslung his pistol. "Frack, we've been followed!"

It didn't take long to find it - the white speeder was streaked with red and blue, and quickly gained on the rickety train. The gang gunner began powering up the crude swivel turret as J-1 and J-2 levelled pistols to-

"Stop!" shouted J-4, swatting their guns down. "Hold on! He's signalling us!"

J-1 was confused, but squinted at the speeder, where a single police officer was gesturing for them to stop. He was alone, no sirens rung, no weapons threatened, it was clearly no police assault. Still suspiscious, J-1 nodded to the gang man, who uneasily lowered the turret and went to stop the train.

After stuttering temporarily, it came to a halt over the infinite blackness that made up Coruscant's true underbelly. The police airspeeder pulled up over them, and the officer hopped down. J-1 kept his pistol in hand, but approached the policeman.

The officer had neat, parted brown hair and sharp features. Even his uniform was meticulously clean and orderly. He didn't seem at all phased to be surrounded by armed men, so J-1 gave him some credit. "Okay," he said. "You found us. Now what?"

The cop smiled, and said "I happen to study military intelligence on the side. You just did a Crowd Pleaser back there, didn't you?"

"We preffered to call them Crowd Controllers, where I was taught," said J-1. "So you have an eye for intelligence moves. That doesn't answer my question, what are you doing here?"

"You guys are spies, aren't you?" J-1's hand tensed on the pistol. "Who for? Imperial Intelligence? Simon? COMPNOR?" He took a second to appraise the train, before saying "Let me guess, the Coalition?"

"You're a lucky one," said J-1. J-2 could disable the police airspeeder, make it look like an accident. A blaster bolt would be too obvious, but if they snapped his neck it could have been from the crash... "What was the point in chasing us this far to tell us what we already know?"

"What? Now that I know your true identity, don't I get to join?" J-1 honestly couldn't tell from the expression on his face wether he was joking or not.

"...No, admission is a little more selective than that. Can you hurry this up please?"

"Okay, okay... I saw what you did today. Sticking your neck out like that? Especially since you're spies and probably have a mission to complete? The Empire doesn't take kindly to demonstrations, no matter what stirs them up, so you guys were a godsend out there.

"I have no love for the Empire - I keep the peace and enforce the law, but enforcing Imperial law really grinds down on a person after a while. All the arrests for dissenting opinions, for displeasing people more powerful than you, or for being an alien isn't what we were used to, back in the Republic. So maybe I help you out a little, get a little of my own back for all the shit I've been made to do.

"I'm guessing you're looking for a person, or else you wouldn't have to be walking the streets so openly with aliens. We keep our arrests on file but some of it we erase. The commissioner keeps a copy for himself, though, so he can brag about his arrests to other police bigwigs. It's locked under a secret panel in his office, under his chair."

J-1 was floored, his mind reeling. Was it a trick? A trap? Bait? The officer just smiled, and said "What? You want a bow on it too?"

J-4 stepped up and said "Well, if you're helping us, might I ask your name?"

"Sure - constable Bartley Fims, at your service!" the officer laughed, and said "So when do I get my own armpatch, like those guys?"

"It's in the mail," said J-4, who patted him on the back. "Thank you for your assistance in this matter, constable. You've been most helpful - dismissed."

J-1 was still tongue-tied as the policeman left. J-4 shook his head, and said "Hey, guess what? Sometimes people are helpful! I know, this is a big revelation for you, sir."

"You think we should follow up on it right away?" said J-1, feeling a surge of enthusiasm and energy returning to shake off his lethargy. "It could be a trap, or a trick, or a raid, but if they wanted to do that he would have just attacked us now or followed us back to base - it might be for the best we go straight there in case anyone tailed him."

"No," said J-2. "We need equipment, the rest of team, and a plan."

J-1 quickly calmed himslef, and restored his proffesional appearance. "Thank you, J-2, you're right. We'll regroup and see what to do about Bartley's tip."