If there were a Smuggler dictionary, war would be listed right next to profit. Nothing seems to make credits change hands faster than a conflict.

Governments need spies and information, resistance groups need arms, coups need mercenaries, fringe groups need assassins.

And that's where smugglers, who can smell profit halfway across the galaxy, come into the picture. They can provide all these services and more for those who want them.

For a price, of course.

And in the end, the smugglers are the only ones who truly win.

Thus, it isn't a bit surprising that the Smuggler's Alliance does it's best to assist governments across the galaxy, large or small, wage war, reaging a huge profit in the process, of course.

And in the end, the smugglers are the only ones who truly win.

The traditional power in the Garos system was Garos IV, one of the two inhabited planets. A pleasant world of tall mountains, lush forests, and Chrystal-clear oceans, it's inhabitants were fairly wealthy thanks to a number of trade agreements with several wealthy systems across the galaxy, though it was nowhere near the level of Svivren or Chandrilla yet.

The weaker neighbor it dominated was the hot mining planet Sundari, located in the same system but closer to their common sun.

The two planets had been at war for thousands of years, with one winning and now the other, with Garos IV pressing on thanks to the wealth of her inhabitants, and Sundari due to the sheer stubbornness of her's.

But now, now it was time for it to end. Garos IV had managed to manufacture a weapon of unbelievable potential, one that might allow them to stand against the Empire itself if it ever came to the system, one who's few uses in combat had gone down in the annals of history as legendary victories for it's user.

A device that would assure them victory.

A device that was the brainchild of Admiral Francis Drake

That would be Fleet Admiral, he was sure, if this project was a success.

He was already in command of Garos IV's navy and army, in fact, he had been in command when he was just a Commodore (though his title was supreme commander), but the Senate had had a record of promoting him every time he successfully completed one of his little pet projects.

With a smile at the thought, he glanced around the passenger compartment of his Lambda shuttle. He could barely feel it's slow changes in velocity as it cruised towards the observation point for the upcoming test. The people on board represented those highest up in Garos IV's military and political hierarchy: The Prime Minister, the commanders of the army and navy, several Senate Leaders, and several key scientists who had worked on the project who's fruits they were now about to observe.

All were of the highest security clearances, for the information they knew was so sensitive that, if discovered, it would send the Empire in a rush to come and secure it before it could be stolen or leaked.

For that very purpose, today's test was being conducted in the planet's primary moon's shadow, where civilian vessels and Sundari spies wouldn't see it. Now, they quickly skimmed over it, the scenery outside visible through viewscreens located on the walls in such a way that they resembled windows. The sight of the terrain below approaching and then, just as quickly, disappearing behind them, was truly breathtaking. It wasn't quite as awesome as the real thing, of course (no screens- just thin transparasteel in that case separating you from vacuum. No thanks, but he liked the monitors just fine), but it was an adequate substitute, and many people who didn't know that they weren't viewscreens couldn't tell the difference.

The conversation in the cabin was mainly the bureaucratic nonsense that political types talked about only when meeting one another. The scientists, however, were over in the corner observing a sensor readout, looking at the terrain below with it.

Over the intercom, one of the pilot's spoke. "Attention passengers," came the monotonous, bored voice, the universal sound of starfreighter and star liner pilots everywhere, "we will be passing through a weak solar storm momentarily. The shields will be adequate to protect us from radiation, but the ride may get a little bumpy. All passengers and crew are to return to their seats and fasten their seat belts. Thank you for your cooperation, and we’ll inform you when it is safe to get back up.”

Every day at their planetary dawn, sentients of all shapes, forms and names awoke. They ate their breakfast, then went to work for eight to twelve hours, depending on their planet's rotation cycle, then came home, relaxed for a few hours, then went to sleep and started the cycle all over again.

How boring, how monotonous, how predictable.

Who would want to live like that? Slaving away for "the man" without adventure, without excitement, and without a decent paycheck?

Well, those who did just that, apparently, but not him.

No, a smuggler craved adventure and excitement, and the fact that a good smuggler could, in addition to the substantial paycheck he received every other galactic week, make himself a substantial pile of credits if he kept his eyes and ears open.

And this man, a man who went only by Gane, knew an opportunity when he saw it.

They had just came in from the far side of the system, following a new route they had found so that they could make their deliveries of spice without crossing paths with any sort of patrol ship that spent much of their orbit sheltered behind a moon, when proximity alarms began sounding about a vessel in the area. A sensor sweep showed a Katana class Dreadnought straight ahead, right in the path of where they were supposed to be going.

His first reaction was to turn tail, to get away from their as fast as they could, because somewhere somehow they'd been compromised.

But it just didn't feel right to do that. The ship was facing the moon, first of all, and they were several light seconds away, so if necessary, they could turn and flee.

And then it happened.

The ship just disappeared.

For a few minutes, it was gone, and then as suddenly as it had disappeared, it reappeared, and then slowly began making it's way back to the planet.

It wasn't until they were safely planet side that he realized just what he had seen, and just how much his bosses might be willing to pay for this information.

The sensor records began their journey off planet as a data card in a couriers pocket--This information was far too valuable to risk the transmission being intercepted by planetary authorities. Just as badly, the said interception might also make them come after him (oh no, he's seen too much!), and he wasn't willing to risk his neck that way.

During a brief stop off on the next planet on their route, a stop brief enough only to exchange a cargo of blasters for a small mountain of credits and pick up a cargo of counterfeit designer cloths to be taken to the Core Worlds, he snuck off to an Interstellar Communications center and sent the now-encrypted data to the planet Wrea, located near the Smuggler's Alliance headquarters at Smuggler's Run.

On Wrea, the data was picked up once more (once again on a data card) by a smuggler en route to the run.

Upon arrival, the data card was given to the receptionist, who carried it to those tasked to view this kind of data.

Unlike most tidbits of information it analyzed, the analyzing computer realized after a few microseconds of thought that this card was something that needed to be sent along so something could be made of it.

Copies of the data were sent on to the Smuggler's Alliance's board members and a team of master slicers kept around for whatever devious purposes the alliance might need a team of slicer's for.

It didn't take them very long to prove to their satisfaction that the data was genuine, and then the confirmation of this was sent on.

When the verification came through, Head Honcho Jesh Tolli coudl hardly believe that a wealthy but hardly important planet had managed to single handedly develop a cloaking device, but the evidence was right before his eyes. Only a slicer could have pulled off a fake good enough to trick his own team, and he could count the number of men capable of that feat on one hand.

This was an opportunity that they couldn't' pass up. The list of things an organization like his could do with a cloak, an organization that was more about stealth and secrecy than anything else, would have as many entries as there were stars in the heavens.

They had to have one.

He puled out his comlink and called up Bim Thorton, brother of Kach Thorton, smuggler, and Captain of the Victory-class Star Destroyer Smuggler's Luck.

"Hello Bim," he said when he heard the other man pick up. "Get the Luck warmed up, because we're going on a business trip."

Over the years, the Smuggler's Alliance had managed to acquire a small number of battleships. They weren't the latest or deadliest models, but each had been upgraded with a couple surprises that would make them a handful in combat for any foe. Their navy wasn't very extensive--unlike those of some criminal groups who used them to maintain their black market monopoly's--but it didn't need to be. Secrecy and subterfuge could destroy a Star Destroyer just as easily, and often far more cheaply, than another Star Destroyer.

But there were some special circumstances where a large ship with big guns was just impossible to replace. This was one of them.

For defense, a minimum of two Victory-class Star Destroyers were always stationed in Smuggler's Run. When more than two were present, which was nearly always, then one was available for immediate use when a situation called for it, such as right now.

The Headquarters was built in an old Golan III battle station, disguised as an asteroid by huge slabs of sensor-blocking granite, which had the beneficial side effect of making the station far harder to destroy and unscannable on sensors. It was commonly referred to as Skip 100 by those who lived in or frequented the Run. To those who resided in it, however, it was simply called the rock, or the slab.

It was a short flight from Skip 100's Executive hanger bay to the waiting Luck, preparing for deployment even as he flew to their rendezvous. As he pulled above the battle station's rocky camouflage, the ominous, dagger shaped ship loomed above him.

You know, he thought to himself, they do look a lot more terrifying in Black.

With a brief yaw as he slipped through the hanger's magnetic air lock, he pulled into the great black Leviathan's cavernous hanger.

After the acquiring of the ships, one of the first things that they had done was to remove as many non-essential systems as possible so the hangers could be expanded. The Luck now had twice the fighter capacity and shuttle complement as a standard Victory-- 48 fighters and 120 shuttles, and much of the ship's shuttle complement had been taken off to allow for even more smuggler fighters--for every shuttle or transport removed, an additional four fighters could be carried, vastly increasing her fighting ability.

They wouldn't be replacing all of the shuttles, though. The ship's complement of 36 Skipray Blastboats would remain on board.

As he set his ship down on the vessel's cold, black deck, a pair of men stepped out from a doorway trailed by six black-armored Alliance Assault troops serving as the honor guard. The first man, a tall blond in a black uniform, spoke before Jesh could open his mouth. "Jesh," he said as he extended a hand, "It's good to see you again."

Jesh took the hand with a grin. "It's been far too long, Bim. I've been looking forward to seeing you again for a while."

"As have I," the younger Thorton replied. "This is Sean Weston, my number two and old smuggling partner. You may or may not remember him."

"After all we've been through? How could I forget!" he said with a grin and shaking Sean's hand.

Right after that the air turned serious and Bim's voice turned soft and sharp. "Have you spoke to Kach lately?"

Jes shook his head. "No. It' snot like he's disappeared or anything--from what I understand he's actually doing rather well for himself. Just a month ago he appeared over Bandomeer in a Venerator, took the planet, and sent this Coalition bastard named Harrison running with his tail between his legs."

"Venerator's the 6,000 meter one right?"

"Yeah."

"And Harrison's the bastard who's now giving our men a hard time in the Genaris system right now, right?"

"Yeah."

"I wish he'd finished the bastard off instead of dumping him onto our shoulders, but at least he gave him a good ass whipping in the process."

A klaxon began blaring and on the space side of the hanger a massive blast door began to slowly close. In real space magnetic airlocks were great, but in hyperspace they would give way to massive quantities of hyper energy, destroying the craft. "Five minutes to jump" a voice announced over the intercom. "Now here this, five minutes to jump."

"Shall we head back to your quarters?" Bim suggested.

"Of course," Jesh replied. "I still have yet to tell you just what I'm doing here."

Unfortunitly for the Garotians, there secret did not stay secret fro long. Both Garos IV and Sundari had each others militaries totally infiltrated, and despite a noble effort on the part of Garos Iv's officers "in the know," information manged to leak back to Sundari about the program and the accompanying test. From there, a journey through a chain of imperial spyies and contacts put them in the know about the events in just a matter of hours.

All documents and even a Garotian sensor record of the test passed through an intelligence "sifter" who check their authenticity, and then made their way onto the desk of Admiral Tobias Gilford approximately six hours after the incident.

Without any thought on his part, he called up Thorton.


"Line Captain Kach Thorton reporting for duty," he reported to the Admiral's secretary, standing at a tension before her desk.

He though he heard her say something about men being so serious even when not necessary and a chuckle after she waved him into his superior's office.

He opened the door and entered, then shut the carved mahogany piece behind him as he stepped in. Gilford was sitting at a large wooden desk watching him.

Gesturing to a chair before the desk, Gilford spoke. "Greetings Kach, have a seat." Having never had the opportunity to see his office before, Kach took the opportunity to quickly survey it as he seated himself. On the right wall were several book cases containing books about military strategy and ancient warfare. On the left wall were more book shelves and books, but a holo projector also sat between them and the desk. Behind Gilford was a pair of large paintings of Kuati origin, he believed, though he was hardly an art expert. In the far left corner sat a grey stone sculpture with cold eyes that seemed to be staring at him.

The artwork made him think of the late Grand Admiral Thrawn and his rumored habit of studying his enemies artwork to gain insight about their character and how their minds ticked. Using that info, he was said to be able to launch attacks taking advantage of psychological blind spots.

Creepy stuff, but if there was honestly something to it then perhaps it was worth looking into. He made a mental note to himself to look into studying some art.

"A drink?" Gilford offered in a warm tone, gesturing at a bottle of champaign to Thorton's left.

"Thank you sir," Kach replied, "but I must decline your offer. I quit drinking years ago, it's not good for the mind, and I think a military man needs all of his wits."

Gilford chuckled at Thorton's response. "Sensible," his elder said with a smile. "Thorton, it's been a long time since I last saw you in person, and yet I've been in command of you since you got out of the academy. I've been carefully reading all of your reports that cross my desk. You're becoming quite an officer."

"Thank you sir," he said with a smile. "It has been a while, hasn't it? I think the last time we spoke face to face was when we did some exercises in the Elrood sector, and before that the last time I'd seen you was after that inspection at the academy when I met you."

"During the inspection, yes. I picked you out then and there, you know. they wanted to send you to the Mid-Rim Protectorate for duty, because they believed and still believe that conscripts fight better if stationed at home. But I saw something special in you, and pulled all the rank I had and some I haven't to get you out here under me. That's why you're out here spreading the Imperial gospel instead of a bridge lieutenant on some Mid-Rim Cruiser or Frigate surrounded by a bunch of filthy aliens."

Gilford was an old school, straight edge Palpatine-era Imperial officer. He never hesitated in making his beliefs known to his colleagues or anyone else around him.

"I was rather disappointed to with you when I heard about your Foroest incident. You and four cruisers going AWOL."

"Nobody was being deployed to do something about it. I couldn't just let it happen. That planet would have given them a base to strike Coruscant from."

"Which those higher up than you soon realized, which is why you're still on active duty instead of breaking rocks in a chain gang or mining spice on some prison world. Unfortunitly, the fact you disobeyed orders has a lot to do with the fact you haven't recieved a promotion yet. As necessary of an action as it might have been to protect Imperial Center and the Core Worlds," Gilford deliboritly used Coruscant's Palpatine era name, "You still went AWOL and they don't like that.

"Your skirmish with the Coalition over Bandomeer with that bastard Harrison and the Foerost incident both got you in the holo news, however, and you know what they say: 'There's no such thing as bad publicity.' Thorton is almost a household name now, and in the long run that will count far more towards how far you go in the military than some old windbags opinions. From what I understand you're liked by Grand Admiral Desaria and Govener Kraken, and Simon Kaine and Grand Admiral Zell have personally met with you, so that will also help you get ahead.

"But regardless of your moments in the lime light and who you might be in the favor of, there is still a black mark next to your name in the militaries records. What I offer you today is a chance to correct that."

The holoprojector next to Gilford's desk came alive, presumably as he touched a button concealed under the desk, out of sight. It displayed a rather normal looking class D planet like those that humans are most comfortable to live on. Around it orbited several white, rocky looking moons.

"This planet is Garos IV, located along the Hydian way."

The planet changed. Now there was a rocky, baron, and dry looking world in front of him. It was the dull brownish-red color that many desert worlds possessed.

"This is Sundari, located in the same system but closer to their common sun."

He paused dramatically and looked at Kach.

"For nearly four thousand years, since the worlds were colonized, the two worlds have been at war almost non-stop. There was a brief, forty year peace that ended about a hundred and fifty years ago, and there's no end in sight. Both planets continuously buy military hardware to throw away against the other's military hardware. Occasionally one gains the upper hand over the other, but they've always managed to balance out in the end, with nobody winning.

"Garos IV, however, has just developed a trump card that will give them the advantage they need to win this war. Observe."

He swiveled away his chair from Kach to the screen. The room's lights automatically dimmed, and footage of a Katana-series dreadnought began playing.

"This was filmed approximately two days ago in a 200,000 kilometer orbit above Garos IV by a shuttle full of scientists and politicians."

For a few moments nothing happened. Then, the dreadnought just disappeared. A few moment's later it reappeared.

"Independently, this planet, the galaxies only source of Hibiridium I might add, developed a cloaking device, one of the Empire's greatest secrets." Gilford's voice turned hard and cold. "This must not be allowed! If this secret gets loose, cloaking shields could turn up all over the galaxy in the hands of friend and foe alike. If the designs are leaked, it will cause an immeasurable amount of trouble for the empire.

"Thorton, I want you to go and take those plans, and that ship, away from them, and then bring both of those planets into the Empire. If so, I will arrange it so that this black mark will be removed from your record."

"Godspeed, son. Time is of utter importance."

The room he'd been assigned was the old captains quarters when the victory had been in the employment of it's previous owner. The formerly luxurious accommodations had been removed and sold, however, and their replacements were rather spartan. With only a bunk, a mini fridge and mini bar, a dresser and several cheap but comfortable looking pieces of furniture, the quarters looked positively cavernous.

In a drawer of one cabinet, however, was one piece of equipment in this spartan room you would be hard-pressed to find in even the most paranoid admiral or captains quarters, a probe scrambler. By transmitting a mix of signals on multiple electromagnetic bands, it scrambled the reception of any bugs or probes that might be listening in on them, and then, using electromagnetic pulses, jammed the signals they sent back to the observer or recorder. It was a nearly foolproof method of keeping any electronic eavesdroppers at bay, and one not particularly well liked by governments across the galaxy. The tiny piece of equipment would get you arrested and locked away for as much as ten years if you were found with it withing the New Order, and even in the Coalition you would get two. On some planets ruled by particularly crazy regimes, if they found one on your person or in your possessions they would take you out and shoot you, no questions asked.

Interestingly, since the Alliance had finished developing them and begun selling them on the black market across the galaxy several years ago they had become very popular. It wasn't as popular as it's Bakuran equivalent, of course, but it was far cheaper, even if slightly less effective.

Idly, he stepped over to the drawer it was in, turned it on, and then lay it back down gently.

Without looking at Bim he asked: "What would happen if the Smuggler's Alliance had a means of making it's ships undetectable? Something that would allow them to cross even the thickest blockade undetected, past the most thorough customs patrol points unnoticed. Even to slip onto Coruscant itself without the Imperial navy knowing the vessel exists."

"That's easy," Bim replied. "We'd have more money and more business than we knew what to do with."

He turned around to face him. "You remember Thrawn, don't you? Not the second time he came around, but the first."

"I was a kid when he came rolling across the galaxy, just old enough to remember my parents grabbing everything they could of value and fleeing the planet as his ships entered orbit."

"Well, you've heard about Sluis Van, then. And I'm sure you've heard of Coruscant with those asteroids he put in orbit."

"Of course. He used cloaking devices."

"Yeah Jesh. That's not exactly a secret. The whole galaxy knows about that stuff, but the Empire's the one with the cloaks, and I don't know about you, but I'm not flying this ship into wherever they store their TIE Phantoms and whatever else they have now."

"We don't have to. The stuff that makes cloaks work as I've just found out--the secret ingredient, if you will-- is Hibridium. It has the unique property that lets it controllably warp space-time when charged.

As it happens, our intelligence network has just come across the source for this element. A single, modestly wealthy planet located approximately halfway between the Imperial Borderland protectorate and the Black Dragon Empire."

"No doubt crawling with Star Destroyers and TIE Fighters. I know where we're going, a place called Garos IV. I'd never even heard of it until today, but if it's important as you make it sound--the only location for this special element and such--then it's bound to be crawling with Imps."

"That's just the thing," Jesh coolly replied. "It isn't. For whatever reason, the Empire doesn't have any sort of presence there. No Star Destroyers, no TIE Fighters, no garrisons, no nothing."

"There's no fucking way. A planet that important's got to be crawling with them."

"Our you doubting our informant network?"

"No, it's just..."

"I was skeptical as well, but the information I received--information that you will be privy of soon--included multiple verifications of our original informants assessment. Indeed, other than the few agents that they place on every world, there is not imperial presence at all. Garos IV is independent, and maintains her neutrality in the current Civil war."

Bim thought about this for a moment. "Okay, so the retaking of this place slipped some uber-admiral's mind a while back, I can buy that. But we don't need some fucking rocks. We need a cloak. A visit to this place isn't going to do us any damned good. The empire's got the schematics and we don't . . . unless you've managed to come upon some?"

"Not quite. The locals, however, have managed to develop one." Jesh handed him a data card in a controlled effort not to slip it to him. There was not need for that here, but old habits die hard. "The whole report's on there."

He paused. "Our job is to steal that cloak, and if possible any schematics and other data we can get our hands on.

"Success here, Bim, and mean a total smuggling monopoly for the Alliance. And you know what that would give us. Money. Loads of it. We could smelt all our credit chips into beams and girders and then build a city-planet like Coruscant and we'd still have mountains of them. Do you think you and your crew are up to it?"

He'd been getting annoyed earlier, but at the talk of money Bim had resumed his smuggler's smugness. "I'll do anything if the price is right, and that much money certainly sounds about right."

He had to move slowly, take things one step at a time. They could rush into this, but that could be lethal. They weren't in a race. There was no reason not to be prudent.

"The secret to success," he quoted to himself, "is to know something nobody else knows." He couldn't remember who had said that, but he knew it was a real old one. Somebody called Onassis, he thought it was.

He stopped thinking for a second as he took a sip of his drink. Then his thoughts continued churning.

They had the time to do this right, to plan it out every step of the way from beginning to end.

But first, he needed information.



The bridge was as near as a short turbolift ride from his quarters. Once stepping out onto the cold, black deck, he located Bim overlooking the Navigation station as they made sure the ship had emerged at the proper location, less than a hundredth of a light year--a five minute jump--from the system.

"Bim," he said. "Do we have any sort of hyperspace deployable orbital surveying probe on board?"

Bim turned his head around towards Jesh. "No, but if you need that done, we can have a Skipray tow a pair of Hornets into the area to do it. What are you looking for?"

"The ship, of course."

"Alright, we can do that. Give me four hours and you'll have your answer."



Sleek and insectile, the gloss black Hornet Interceptor mk. II slid out of the Smuggler's Luck's hanger bay, it's identical companion beside it. From of the forward hanger bay emerged a Skipray Blastboat.

"Vulcan 1 clear," Devon Thane reported into his comm.

"Vulcan 2 clear," he heard his wingman--wingwoman, if you wanted to be anal about it--Salli Kimms.

"Vulcan 3 clear," the pilot of the Skipray that would be towing them to their destination added dryly. "I don't got all day, so if you don't mind, could we get this show on the road?"

"If you don't mind," Devon said teasingly, "I'd rather wait a while. I get paid by the hour."

On the other end of the line there was silence.

Slowly nudging his craft forward with it's micro thrusters, he positioned his craft fifty meters behind the blastboat, optimal range for this sort of operation.

"Magnetic tow activating," the Blastboat pilot said. If you just looked outside, it appeared nothing happened, but you could feel shudders as complicated systems on the other craft aligned their magnetic fields in such a way that the blastboat could propel them into hyperspace and then drag them back out. On one of his sensor screens to his left, he could actually see the magnetic energy aligning.

"This is Vulcan 3, ready to depart," the pilot reported. "Magnetic tow successful."

"Acknowledged," he said into his radio.

"Acknowledged," Salli said.

"Vulcan 3 ready status acknowledged," said the flight controller on the

Luck. Best of luck to you all. Jump when ready."

"Six Z-95s, eleven o'clock low," he told his Hornet Interceptor II's flight computers. "195 kilometers out, flanking. Designate as primary threat." He paused. "Is there any data that points to a source?" On on of the several large LCD touch screens in front of him a variety of orbit, trajectory and source data appeared, suggesting that they had been launched by an orbital battle station currently hidden on the other side of the planet and well outside the range that would be dangerous to them or their mission.

Of more concern to them--he an his wingman, or wing woman rather, Salli Kimms, was the flotilla of warships that orbited slowly below them. Any one of the multitude of Corvettes and Frigates escorting even more powerful Heavy Cruisers and battleships would be more than adequate to blow the twin fighters out of the sky.

For now, though, it appeared they were in the clear. The ships would essentially fly themselves unless they got forced into combat, and alarms would sound to warn him in the event of trouble. For now, though, he could relax. After switching control to autopilot, Devon streatched out in the Hornet II's rather roomy cockpit.



"Nothing," Jesh said detachedly to Bim. "They found nothing. The dreadnut, the Twilight Fury, was nowhere to be seen. In fact, no Katana Dreadnuts at all were in orbit. This is not to say the recon raid was in vain--far from it. They had gathered valuable intelligence info, including the manifest of the fleet in orbit, orbits and velocities of battle stations and satellites, locations of ground installations, and even estimated amounts of shipping traffic, but these all meant nothing next to the fact the only real objective was a failure."

"It's either not there, or it's cloaked to protect it from prying eyes," Bim reasoned.

"Like ours," Jesh injected. It shouldn't be too big of a surprise that we couldn't find it really, they don't want it to be found."

"There were not holes in their formation they could have placed it in, and no dockyards or structures that could be hiding it. I doubt it's in orbit with the fleet, it's got to be on it's own orbit or otherwise there'd be risk of orbital collision."

"In either case that's fine because it'll be isolated when we assault it, but this knowledge alone does nothing for us. We still dont' know where it is. Did your men check the thermal scans?"

"The IRSTs picked up nothing. If it is in orbit--which you seem to be sure it is--it's running with engines cold."

Jesh leaned back in the chair behind the desk he'd moved into his quarters." They'd be fools to do anything else, there propellant trails emerging from nowhere setting off any nearby ship's sensor alarms."

"What about the Lunar orbit," he asked. "Maybe it's..."

"I think we're going about this the wrong way," Jesh declared. " I think we need to try something else."

"Try what? If you've got any more ideas, by all means please spill them."

"Of course I do. This plan was the one I liked best because it had the best chance of results, but it also had the highest degree of risk, which is why I ordered the orbital survey first. But, you see, both Garos IV and Sundari's militaries are completely infiltrated not only with spies, but with freelancers willing to sell state secrets for a tidy sum. A natural phenomena that happens naturally during any protracted conflict--even the Empire and Coalition are slowly approaching this point, but they're still a long way off. Information brokers sell stuff like current vessel deployments and personnel deployments for nothing planet side, with which we could easily locate some secret facilities or something and determine our next course of action. And if we talk to one of the specialists, that is one who specializes in just this military secret area, we're likely to do even better than just basic records. One of them would have exactly what we need."

"One problem," Bim brought up,"I don't have any contacts here, and I don't think you do either."

"I don't," Jesh coolly replied, the master of the situation. "Me and your brother never worked this sort of business. If a rebellion needed arms we were happy to help, but we weren't kingpins with the shipping power to supply an army.

"The crew, however, might have a few. A search of our records indicate that, in fact, several were born here. The planets required military service policy leaves many feeling out of place in society after there terms are up, and as a result these two planets are common sources of mercenaries, a few of which are currently serving as Shock Troops for the Alliance. Between them they will have at least one reasonably powerful underworld contact between them, and this contact will have a broker they trust. And he will be the man for us."