Big Brother is always watching. [Linna]

[Sarge Potteiger]

Mos Espa Starport

Taking deep breaths to fight the adrenaline coursing through his veins, Sarge stepped out into the belligerent rays of the twin suns of Tattooine, knife still dripping blood into the sand. Wiping it off on the cloth he wore beneath his carapace armor, he takes a look to his right, then his left.

Standard starport traffic, if a bit more on the light side.

Perfect for avoiding being run into like he was half the time he tried moving unseen. It came with the territory though. Speaking of coming with the territory, a curious Zeltron with white hair had caught his eye. Not because of her shifting tattoos or her, unsurprisingly, good looks.

But because she'd been in a bar with books. Lots of 'em.

Hopefully she followed him out here as requested, cause he knew exactly who she was. He knew who everyone in OmegaPyre was.

He just didn't actually know most of them.

 

[Linna Beorht]

Lugging a shoulder bag full of books, the Zeltron political consultant followed Sarge through the starport. She had no tracking skills to speak of, despite a few expeditions in Sharu ruins and Thrella temples. In general, when it came time to follow someone, she used other instincts, the kind inborn into every Zeltron.

Not that she wanted to sleep with Sarge, per se. She was just aware of him now, in a certain sense. Unlike certain others within le Pyre, she didn't believe in sleeping with coworkers.

She continued to follow, weathering the usual catcalls.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Sarge ducked his way into a hangar, which housed one of OmegaPyre's Ranger interceptors. He turned, facing the entrance to the circular landing pad. He kept his hood up, as usual, but pushed his cloak around his back so that it became more of a cape and she could see him better.

Again... the books nagged at him.

Why the books.

"Well, Doctor. How can I be of assistance?", he asks in a curiously accented voice. It wasn't discernible, as it seemed an amalgam of a number of accents, from Vong to Dathomiri. "I trust you weren't ordered to follow me around, cause if so, you've done a good job of being unnoticed so far."

As if on cue, a small wind picked up, sending sand particles into the air and causing his cape to flap gently and the shadows of his hood to undulate as the cloth fluttered. Sarge's stance clearly suggested he expected trouble of some kind from her.

But he didn't do anything. Not yet.

 

[Linna Beorht]

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Sergeant," said Linna. "Omega Pyre: We're Growing Your Way. There's rumors of a merger with the South Systems Syndicate -- I can't confirm or deny them, of course, but there's no denying that the Pyre has interests in this direction. I'm working on some...shall we say, regional research, and working up a paper in the process. You're incidental. Interesting, but beside the point.

"That is, until you got me to follow you, at which point I decided to take a study break and examine the wild Sarge in its natural habitat. Violence."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

The man's shoulders slumped slightly as tension eased its way out of his muscles. Tucking his arms back in close to his body, he wraps himself up again. "So you do know me, do you?", he asks with the barest glimmer of a smile showing.

"I wasn't aware you'd been informed of me. Then again, I shouldn't be surprised. People have a habit of knowing me despite me never having met them."

 

[Linna Beorht]

"You were off my radar," she said. "And I think that's how you like it. No, my interest was entirely on Alcori, Velori and DuSang -- right up until a certain NCO beat the living dren out of the Pyre's resident Sith Master. Then I heard your name. Well, insofar as Sarge is your name at all.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"Yes, that is how I like it. I love it that way." This time, the smile was warm, genuine. The smile of a man content with where he was in the moment. "Colonel," the sheer scorn thrown into that title made it almost toxic to hear, "DuSang will get people killed. Not to mention that he's clearly a Sith with an ego larger than the Galactic Republic at it's height."

Snorting, he shakes his head, pacing to and fro like a predator in a cage, unable to unleash what was inside but with a need to release. "Most know me as that, without the knowledge of my real name. It was even like that in school. So yes, it may as well be my name."

It was becoming evident by his tone and by the sheer malevolence he exuded in such a simple act as pacing that there was something quite dark buried beneath his generally genial facade. For now, however, it seemed to be off his own radar.

 

[Linna Beorht]

Linna might be, in her own estimation, somewhat too prone to hopping on the backseat of grungy swoop bikes, but even she recognized genuine danger, as opposed to titillation.

And genuine danger had uses.

"Then let's talk about DuSang. Why is he with Pyre, what is he good for besides killing, who does he answer to, is he good for the organization, and, if not, how do we go about removing him?"

Nobody, in any circumstance or social setting, had ever mistaken her for anything other than straightforward.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"Well, I can answer one of those questions. He's no good for OP. as for the others, well, accidents happen." He shrugged, entirely nonchalant. Vaguely though, he knew he couldn't kill DuSang. Not yet. He hasn't done anything stupid enough besides be a pompous windbag.

 

[Linna Beorht]

"You are...so very, very useful to me right now," she groused, fishing through her bookbag. She emerged with a textbook on interstellar politics of this particular region. "Yeah, here it is. Bpfassh, Roon, Falleen -- this whole region has bad history with Darksiders. He'll become less and less convenient for public relations the more influence we gain in this end of the galaxy. Feth, there's even the Kathol Outback. I would pay serious money to see Avicus DuSang versus the Aing-Tii monks...but that's something of a pipe dream."

She dug through her bag and removed a ryll kor pipe. Without embarrassment, she lit up.

"Who would I talk to for my other questions? If I really needed to understand why he's with us, who would I see? Sure, they're making me Communications Director, but I'm not part of the crowd -- and I'm not willing to sleep my way in."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"Don't. Please don't. There's already too many lesbians. I've seen no straight women yet, just a bunch of lesbians and a bisexual or two. Driving me nuts." He actually did sound like the entire thing was driving him a bit bonkers. She was continuing to puzzle him, perplex him.

Slowly, his gaze traveled down her frame - not that she'd see. No air of desire emanated from him. Only the continued red haze of a man with his hackles raised. He was, in fact, looking for likely places to hide weapons.

But as his eyes traveled upward again, her shape seemed to shift. The red of her skin became white, and her cheekbones drew up, becoming more pronounced; almost regal in aesthetic. Her white hair became brown, and her eyes were blue.

Her clothing shifted, becoming a leather jacket with dual pistol holsters dangling at the waist. Her frame was more muscular now, but it gave her a certain elegance.

'Useful' rang in his head time and time again. "Nooo.", he groans, shaking his head with his eyes screwed shut. "You're not her. Stop acting like you are." He was talking to her, or at least something he thought was her.

 

[Linna Beorht]

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I was born attracted to -- well, essentially everything. What I do with that, well, that's not something I discuss..."

She trailed off as he did. His words did nothing to assuage her sudden unrest -- a shift in her evaluations.

If he flipped, she was dead. Simple as that.

"You all right over there, friend?"

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Sarge grimaced a little, the vocals shifting, changing, rolling like the ebb of the oceans tides. Then, everything seemed to settle a bit. Opening his eyes slowly, he found himself looking into green eyes. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine, Angel. What's the mission again?" She wasn't Angel, but something about her made it so he could swear up and down she was.

The man seemed a bit more happy now, certainly, and now there seemed to be a bit of sexual tension coming off of him, but he seemed to be pushing it down.

 

[Linna Beorht]

Well, wasn't this fascinating. On one level, a level not associated with bat-clart insane terror, Linna could thoroughly appreciate the complexity of the situation. Didn't mean she had any idea what it all meant, or how to handle it. You could appreciate a situation's complexity without having a clue.

"The mission?" Ordering him back to base wouldn't be a consistent scenario with his current keyed-up condition. She needed to find just the right solution -- one that didn't compromise the Pyre here on Tatooine.

Tuskens. Nobody gave a flying frack about Tuskens.

"We lost someone in the desert, soldier," she said. "Think the Tuskens took him. What do you have for transport? I've got enough for some speeder bikes and supplies if you don't have anything available."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"Just the interceptor, Admiral." He says with a shrug, hiking a finger over his shoulder as if to say 'it's right fething there'. "Only room for one; I know you usually come with. You mind if I get started without you....?"

Angel almost always accompanied him, but he'd never been sure why. Part of him fancied she liked his company, and part of him figured it was just the thrill of combat. He'd never asked.

But one thing was for sure. It was going to be mighty suspicious if she didn't join him in some capacity. "I could always provide sniper overwatch while you snuck in, if you'd like."

 

[Linna Beorht]

Sneaking in. Taking point. While it solved the whole problem of there being no genuine Tusken prisoner, it also provoked not a little anxiety.

Because, bottom line, Linna couldn't fight worth clart. Not in any style, range or way. A sonic servodriver would be worse than useless against low-tech opponents. And that meant she needed real stealth.

Or a really good sniper. Feth.

"Take overwatch," she said. "I can handle the camp. I'll grab a speeder bike and switch the beacon to setting two-forty-two so you can track me from the interceptor and then whatever spot you pick for landing and sniping. I'd suggest one of those big stone pillars, the kind that's half a klick high. Your call."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"I'll be fine Admiral. Just be careful." Flashing her probably the warmest smile anyone had ever gotten out of him, he turned and climbed into Ranger behind him. Turning on the engines and weapons systems, he gives her a sharp salute as he pulls his hood down and radios for permission to take off.

Time to find out how the crazy really did business.

 

[Linna Beorht]

She left the hangar.

Step one. Start drafting a report.

Step two. Buy the speeder bike.

Step three. Set the tracker to 242 and head out across the desert.

Step four. Self-flagellate.

Step five. En route, make a call or two, enough to verify that 'Admiral' and 'Angel' turns up almost nothing. Not for a long, long time back.

Step six. Wonder how, exactly, Sarge could be hallucinating someone who was either a figurative or literal ghost.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Shadowing her across the desert was the diamond wing shape of the OmegaPyre interceptor. He was flying so low that sand turned into glass in its wake, and the sonic boom of its passage could be heard for at least a klick in any direction.

That is until he tipped the nose up sharply and streamed into the sky, disappearing into the blazing midday glare off the twin suns. Once she'd stopped, he found himself a vantage point and eased the ship down for a landing.

Sniper in hand and cloak back in place, he sets himself up to provide cover fire. He just had to find her first...

 

[Linna Beorht]

The desert blurred by underneath her speeder bike. Its panniers held her books and such, rather than anything like infiltration gear or weaponry. Her sonic servodriver bobbed on her hip -- cold comfort.

She also sent in a mission-in-progress sort of report to Command. Just because. She phrased it very, very carefully.

The speeder bike pulled up not far away from a Tusken camp. Linna steeled herself, stripped down to something basic, and began a crawling approach -- slowly. Sarge could be patient, the file said. He would have to be, because there was no way she was approaching the camp at anything other than skin-of-her-teeth dead crawl.