(Note: running concurrent to Apparition: Specters of the Truth)

'Why me?' lamented Tim Franklin, luckless new agent of Imperial Intelligence. For all the years of his working life, he'd sat comfortably behind a desk in a distant area of Coruscant where he could relax, do his job - which was easy, as very few local officials cared about other cultures - and go home without having been shot at once.

But his luck had changed. He'd forgotten the golden rule of his line of work: Never be too good at what you do. If you are, people will eventually want you to do more. And thats' what happened. He wrote too good a report on alien cultures on Coruscant, and it got passed up the line until an Imperial Intelligence operative got his hands on it. He must have liked what he saw, because it was less then a week until Tim was visited by II. They'd offered him a job, and what was he supposed to say?

So he took the oath, took the training, and was now mournfully reading over his first assignment, which in II must be a euphemism for "certain death".

They wanted him to investigate the unusual warping of a hyperroute between Corulag and Jatir, some place off in the Bastion Conclave. There is perhaps nothing more dangerous then poking around hyperspace to see why you can't go somewhere, and nothing makes it even more dangerous then when its' a secret hyperroute you're told not to tell anyone about or they'll shoot you.

Ah yes, Tim reflected, as he put the report away, that seemed to be one of the most popular punishments in II. Shooting. However, it was closely followed by stabbing, drowning, liquidating, and the occasional swim wearing concrete shoes. Oh well, no time for that now, another bloody storm-trooper.

"Name, passport, security pass, ID card, licence and registration, please." said the trooper who guarded the entrance to shuttle-13.2, the one that would take him to this warped secret route of theirs. His superiors - when they weren't busy sucking up to their superiors - had told him they suspected none-Imperials as responsible, and wanted him to analyse the gravitational warping and report back on what's causing it.

He nodded feebly and provided the mass of papers and chips he'd have to scan to let him through this checkpoint. Finally, the soldier deemed him worthy and let him pass into the shuttle.

It was cramped, out of date, and looked like II had had the choice of letting him use it or throwing it out. A pair of disgruntled pilots looked at him as he came in, and Tim shrank noticeably, clutching his battered suitcase close to his chest.

“Um, I guess we better be off then?”

The two pilots eventually turned to their controls, and within a few moments, they were taking off.

‘Why me?' lamented Tim Franklin, not for the last time.

It would be several hours at the least before they made it to the Corulag hyperroute, so in the mean-time Tim went over all the files he was given.

Looks like he'd have to go through the Bastion Conclave on this mission, which is pretty big considering he'd never left Coruscant before. He hoped he wouldn't have to land anywhere in the area, even though his line of work allowed him to see past stereotypes he still knew for a fact the area is best avoided.

After putting that aside, he reviewed the map they'd given him of the hyperroute, and the highlited areas of unusual activity. He wasn't an expert in hyperroutes, but it looked like the path was budding off, and he was pretty sure thats' unusual behavior. He didn't know of any technology used by other factions - The Black Dragon Empire, The Anthos Republic, The Coalition and the Soverinty, and so forth - that would be used especially for such work.

Putting the map aside, he reached into his suitcase once more, and found his badge. It had a terrible picture of him - his brown hair was sticking in all directions and his eyes were wide as dinner plates - along with his service number, his name, his birthyear (which was a year too early, but after complaining it seems they'd rather he just adjust to this new age then reprint the badge) and some symbols and colours. He'd tried to learn to flip out his badge like they did in movies, but he'd only succeeded in dropping it in a toilet.

Lastly, he took out his gun. He hated his gun. Usually he didn't like guns, because having a gun means anyone else with one can shoot you. Plus, it makes you a lot heavier when you're trying to run away. But this gun was worse, it just plain looked horrible. Perhaps it wasn't intended to be fired at enemies at all, maybe just used to make them laugh to death?

He carefully replaced the gun, along with everything else, and turned to face the two pilots.

"So" he said, pleasently "do you do jobs for Imerial Intelligence often."

"Not usually" grunted one of the pilots.

"...So what do you usually do?"

"Well" said the other one "Before this I was shooting down Coalition fighters at the battle of Corellia, then went on leave, and got called back to haul your sorry ass to some secret hyperroute."

"Ah"

Tim leaned back into his seat. 'Why me?'

Tim was jolted awake, and then out of his seat, as the shuttle shuddered back into realspace. He struggled to his feet and gazed out the window. Everything was just stars and swirling nebulae, so he turned to the pilots.

"Um, where are we?"

"You should know" said one of them, the taller one, with a smirk. "You're supposed to be the smart one around here."

"I know that" said Tim, his voice strained "But I can't see the controls from here. Where are we?"

"On the edge of that Corulag-Jati rout thing you wanted to go to. Now do your thing so we can get out of here."

Tim grumbled as quietly as possible as he went about his tasks. Lifting a long, thin antennae from his suit-case, he hooked it up to the Shuttle's computers. There was a few moments of silence, then the monitor showed the image of local hyperspace conditions. He reviewed them for a brief few minutes, as the pilots looked on with the bored looks of two people who understand something terribly interesting must have just happened for someone who spent years learning about it first.

“Yes” he said, quite pleased “Yes, I think I recognize the patterns.”

“What is it then?” Said one of the pilots, agitated.

“Well” he said, and the pilots realized they were about to bear witness to one of the universes’ more boring lectures on hyperroute activity. “These spiral patterns here might signify it must have been Imperial vessels which dug this particular “budding” of the hyperroute. Each cut is exactly the same shape, and seems to conform to some of the Empire's more popular formats. Rebels tend to use cheaper and thus less clear-cut equipment, and would not be able to afford something of this scale. Mon Calamari would have diversified their designs and thus would have left different-shaped spaces along the route. It doesn’t seem to conform to any races’ methods except our own.”

He then turned to the pilots, one of which seemed to be trying to hang himself with his belt. “Oh, you’re finished.” he said, and got down.

Tim sighed again “All right, I understand, terribly boring. Anyways, whatever we’re looking for must be down that hyperroute, therefore I think we should immediately head home and file a report, perhaps advising someone else to be sent to investigate besides us.”

“Now hold on” growled a pilot “Our orders said to find what was causing the anomalies, and no way are we getting done up for disobeying orders. You pretty-boy intel boys may get the slap on the wrist, but its’ the gallows fer us, mate. We’re going in.”

As space once again jolted in front of him into a vomit-inducing kaleidoscope, Tim thought to himself - yes, you guessed it - why me? * * * * * * * * * * * *

Tim had been taking measurements of the hyperroute all day, and he could tell they were getting closer to its' end. They had been spotting Imperial grade pickets and satellites along the route, and yet they had yet to encounter any stations or ships. Tim was on edge, whatever it was it was well hidden, and seemed intent to stay that way.

The pilots were no help either. Tim knew their sort, they were the sort who stole his lunch money when he was a kid, the sort his mother said would never amount to anything and then he'd feel better, the sort who went on to do better then him flying ships in the military, the sort who still stole his lunch money, only now wanted him to download it to their checking accounts.

He was just warming up some tea, when the ship came shakily to a stop. After a minute spent slapping scalding tea from himself, he turned to look at why the pilots had stopped.

Above them, suspended in a most worrisome fashion, was an interictor cruiser, and a wing of fighters. He could see, further away, more ships of different shapes and sizes, moving haphazardly about the area. Tim swallowed his breath, and stared slack-jawed. One of the few things Imperial Intelligence Training actually successfully taught him - beyond that he was apparently a spineless worm - was that the navy were filled with mindless brutes, who saw II as a bunch of upper class fops. They were dead-right, of course, but as upper class fops it was the duty of II to automatically assume that since the military wasn't as sophisticated as them, they were wrong. The last thing he wanted to do was be amongst them at some secret location, with very few witnesses and an extroadinarily small amount of places to run to.

The pilots, however, looked more then happy to see some more of their own kind. "Looks like this is the place, we're being asked if we want to come aboard."

"No need for that" said Tim, his nervousness more then a little evident "I'm sure this is ample evidence."

"Ah come on" said one of the pilots "I need a drink, and this ship probably needs... maintenance... or something like that anyways. We're accepting their invitation."

It wasn't a request, it was a statement. Tim may outrank them, but he saw the wisdom in not annoying two men, each of which far larger and stronger then he, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by people who would back them up if they had to say "Honest, your honour, a huge mynock just grabbed him from the back seat."

"Ah." He said, and licked his dry lips. "All right then. Carry on."

Interdiction Cruiser ... Liberator


"Hyperspacial reversion!" came the scans and the Captain of the vessel scowled in anger.

"How many hapless alien transports are we going to have to blast to oblivion today?"

He glanced over at a Colonel in a fairly new uniform, brandishing the insignia of the vaunted Imperial Corps of Engineers and saw his companion shrug slightly.


"Sir. Ship registers an Imperial identity.."

The Colonel's eyebrows rose slightly. "Our transport is not due for another two hours....", he started.

"..and if it's not on the schedule, yet from the Empire, it must be.." the Captain continued

"..that someone is taking an interest..." The Colonel finished. "Only, is it an intelligence branch or one of the Protectorates?"


"I guess we'll find out soon enough." the Captain murmured. Turning to a Comm. Officer, "Assign the ship a berth and have it escorted in." He smiled grimly, "Invite them politely.. but .. be insistent."

The lives of those on the intruding vessel would ride on the answer they gave.


There were, after all, Shrouds in the area providing more than enough security for the cruiser.

Turning to Colonel Gustinius Drevell, the Captain expectantly said, "Care to see who are visitors are?"


The Imperial Engineer shrugged. He had nothing better to do. Nothing, at least, until the new struts arrived. "Why not?"


And the two made their way to the hanger as the landing instructions were relayed to the visitor.

Tim meekly stepped aboard the ship. His two pilot accomplices were already high-fiving people they knew from some place or other. Clutching his suit-case like some sort of vital organ, he tried to edge his way away from everyone and everything he saw. This was worse then he thought, there were people everywhere, and not one of them looked like a fellow intelligence agent, something that spoke volumes about the sort of welcome he'd get.

But unfortunately, it appeared some engineer type had his mind set to talk to him.

"Ah, an agent, most pleasent to see you." he said, obviously trying to look infinetly polite and smug.

Tim nodded weakly "I've been asked - that is, I am to - you know, uh - yes, well - about this - I have orders to ask what you're doing here. If its' not too much trouble?"

The engineer smiled. "And what if it is?"

Time began to sweat at an alarming rate. A natural defensive strategy, look slimey enough and maybe the thing won't eat you. "Uh, then I am to... uh... look over there!"

The engineer, in a moment of weakness, fell for the ploy, and when he turned around again, he saw nothing but a quivering garbage can. The engineer grinned, this guy wasn't going to be a problem. "You stay here, I'll be back."

Tim was glad to comply.

(*Lots of loud coughing*)

Colonel Drevell had never met anyone from any of TNO's Intelligence Communities. As far as first impressions went, however, the scab of a man before him left much to be desired.


Perhaps it was a testiment to how little Intelligence thought of this mission.


Perhaps it was not viewed as very important... Drevell could only guess.


He saw that the Captain came to the same conclusion as the little man before them stammered out his reason for being there. In a show of dominance the Captain growled out, "and what if it is?"


The Intelligence man turned into a blob of jelly.. the mucus one wipes from their boots after stepping through a swamp of slime squids. He nervously twitched out, "Uh, then I am to... uh... look over there!".

"You stay here... I'll be back" the Captain ground out as Colonel Drevell motioned for a discussion.



"I want the yellow bastard shot!" the Captain whispered harshly.

"Why bring more questions to an already sensitive area, Captain? It looks to me that Intelligence does not place much priority in this mission or they would have sent someone more... assertive. Give the man an answer and send him on his way."


The Captain saw the sense in the statement though he did not like it. Looking at the wimping agent, he did not like it one bit. Such weakness should have been weeded out years ago.


The Captain went up to the agent who seemed to shrink a bit as the gruff ship master closed.

"We are investigating galactic anomolies and measuring gravitation pulls within this sector of space." He glared at the agent. "There! Now you know! Now get the hell off my ship and go scurry back to whatever hole you came from!"

Tim wanted to comply, oh how he wanted to leave, but he really had to use the bathroom.

Once he was sure no one was watching, he slunk off down a side corridor in the mess hall. He had to study blue-prints of Imperial Ships as part of his training, and although he'd ignored most of it, he had noticed the all-important bathroom locations. Reaching the end of the corridor, he found three unmarked doors.

One is for men, one is for women, and one is for officers, thought Tim, but which ones? He picked the middle one on a whim, and hurried over to the toilet.

I don't think I have to go into detail as to what transpires when someone has to pee and they go into a bathroom. Suffice to say, that as he finished, Tim noticed what appeared to be a loose tile. Out of idle curiousity, he tapped it.

A nearby urinal flipped, revealing a staircase leading down into darkness. This was definetly not in the blue-prints.

Tim was just about ready to run for it, when a tiny voice, which in other people is called pride and usually a lot louder, tried to make itself heard. You're a member of Imperial Intelligence, it said, this is your job. You should go down there, if only so you won't feel so silly giving that made-up answer back at II. He was about to debate the merits of running fast in the opposite direction and not getting shot with this voice, when his legs, swayed by the argument, broke ranks and began to shuffle towards the stairs.

Reluctantly, he followed, and peered down the stairs into the darkness. One step at a time, he entered. Fumbling along the walls, he eventually found a lightswitch, and turned it on. The room lit up, and he could see a table littered in datapads and sheets of paper. Tim could almost hear the glop noise as he got in over his head. All the sheets were written in code, and he didn't feel safe deciphering them here.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps, from behind what looked like a regular wall panel. Grabbing what looked like an important sheet of paper off the top of the table, he scurried back up the stairs, remembering just in time to flick the lightswitch. He hurried back out into the bathroom and tapped the loose tile again.

Then came the cynical voice in the back of his head. Good work, it said, now what are you going to do? But Tim ignored it. This had to be something. He'd take it back, and perhaps get a warrent to do some more looking. Or better yet, they'd send someone else. He quietly crept out of the bathroom.

Gustinius Drevel and another engineer entered via a wall panel, courtesy of their paranoid captain.

But why anyone would link this room with the officer's bathroom was anyone's guess. Still, the architecture of a starship was something he knew hardly anything about, which was why he had his companion.

"Lexor, the calculations are right here.." he was saying as they both moved to the table and the room's lighting came on brighter. "The outside stresses we've worked out strategically placing our Constrainers but.."


"We are doing delicate work, man!" the other engineer cried in response. "The stresses of the surrounding gravitational forces have to be exact or the project will not work."

Drevell grunted, "From what I hear, the forces surrounding the area will trap Kaine's ship for good."

"A typical warship yes. But remember, this is Raptor we are talking about. It's supposed to cut through gravity like paper. Imagine, Colonel, Imperial Warships being able to outmaneuver and out flank anything existing in the galaxy!"

"Well, it's not going to happen without the figures..." Drevel was moving papers around looking for the correct one. "Now if I could just find it.."

His companion sat down scribbling down some notes on a pad he carried.

"Lex..." Gustinius' voice carried uncertainty. "It doesn't seem to be here.."

His voice trailed off. "I just came from the hanger and you.."

"I came from Comm station from the bridge delivering my update to the Grand Marshall." Lex clarified.

"Then... who..?" Gustinius looked around in confusion and turned to talk with the guards on the other side of the wall panel entrance they came through.

Tim was about as inconspicuous as an elephant in a birdhouse. Sure, he was wearing an Imperial Intelligence Field Agent uniform, with grey hues and none-reflective surfacing, but he was the only one wearing it. His expression of mixed fear and guilt didn't help as he legged it back to the ship.

"Stop right there!" A voice barked. Tim lost what little courage he had and froze. He could hear the clip of measured footsteps towards him.

"Have you got change for a fiver?" asked the man, a tall pilot type. Tim was hit by a wave of relief, and handed the change over to the man. He continued to his ship, got aboard, and froze.

What now?? he thought. There was nothing he could do, really. It was going to take forever to get clerance to leave the ship, and he'd have to hide the paper until then. On a sudden whim, he took the paper out and examined it.

It was gibberish to him, except for a handful of abbreviations along the top. They were starship abbreviations, for a number of craft. Tim desperately hoped it was important enough for Imperial Intelligence, because escaping with it a finding out it was records of some inter-crew sports team league or something would cost him several vital organs.

Suddenly, over the PA system, a voice spoke. "Would Agent Franklin please report to the bridge? Agent Franklin to the bridge."

That didn't take long, he reflected glumly, as he set out for the bridge.