Private Bloodless For Now

[Valerius]

DUBRILLION - SOUTHERN HEMISPHERE
IMPERIAL FUEL REFINERY - RAILCRAWLER LOADING BAY

The air ran thin this high up in the mountains. Thin and cold. Valerius had a fondness for the cold. Helped keep him alert. Focused. The foreman - a husky, venerable man by the name of Krayce - felt differently, bundled tightly as he was in a thick, furred coat. He shuddered away despite it, not happy to be waiting in the loading bay, doors open and exposed to the environment as it was.​

​

There was no conceivable way that coat fell within Imperial uniform guidelines, but that was the least of anyone's concerns. Dress code enforcement was not something Sovereign Protectors showed up for.​

​

But when a RICO agent went missing while conducting an inspection, it did warrant this level of attention. This rusted-out refinery was more important to the war effort than most people were comfortable admitting. Foul play had to be dealt with. Discrepancies corrected.​

​

Krayce attempted to stifle a hacking, rattling cough and, when he failed, surreptitiously wiped his hand on his back. "Who else are they sending? Do you know?"​

​

"Another Assessor."​

​

"Oh, I see…" Krayce rubbed his hands together, eager for whatever shred of warmth that movement could produce, "I thought, perhaps, you being a Sovereign Protector..."​

​

He trailed off when Valerius looked at him. Yes, Krayce was correct in his almost-implication that Valerius could do this himself. Theoretically, Valerius could threaten and beat wokemen until the truth was dragged out by the throat. That was something he was qualified to do. But the finer details would be lost, which in this matter could lead to more trouble in the future.​

​

"Your records still need to be audited," Valerius eventually told him, "That's the Intelligence Commission's job."​

​

He was only here to make sure it happened this time. Krayce frowned and shifted his feet. He remained silent even as the tracks started to rattle, and the railcrawler they had been waiting for could be heard in the distance. Before long the brutal vehicle had pulled to a stop in front of them, and its old doors rattled open.​

Cressida Moon​

 

[Cressida Moon]

DUBRILLION - SOUTHERN HEMISPHERE
IMPERIAL FUEL REFINERY - RAILCRAWLER LOADING BAY

The railcrawler was not among the most comfortable modes of conversation Cressida Moon had ever taken. The appointment was... decidedly not luxurious, but that was fine. Point Aurek to Point Besh, that was all she needed. That's all, she reminded herself as the railcrawler jolted violently where, Cressida was certain, the track had been ripped away and carried forward on momentum alone. She braced herself against the wall with a gloved hand and momentarily closed her eyes against the shine of her datapad to consider the facts.

A missing RICO agent. As if that wasn't bad enough on its won, the agent was missing from a critical fuel refinery. If the agent had turned his coat -- merely thinking of it made Cressida, in her decidedly standard-issue Imperial uniform duty coat that was, definitionally, inadequate for the temperature -- or somehow been captured by enemy forces, it could spell disaster, not least of which because there was no telling which enemy would have the information and be coming for them.

She hated to admit it, but the best case scenario was that the agent had died in an as-yet undiscovered accident.

But there was the matter of internal disruptions. Cressida was loathe to consider that the Assessor who was missing had been about to discover some kind of internal malfeasance and been silenced. That sort of thing did happen. The Imperial Remnant did its best to weed out impurities like corruption and graft -- at least Cressida herself did, with a fervor bordering on the religious -- but one couldn't be everywhere at once.

The railcrawler slowed and Cressida sighed softly. She tucked her datapad away into her attaché case and then drew a pair of standard-issue leather gloves from her pocket and worked her slim hands into them, so that by the time the door opened, she was tidy and presentable, looking not a fraction of the frazzled she felt from her rickety ride in the railcrawler. The biting cold raised patches of rose in her cheeks as she emerged into it, and her immaculately curled chestnut locks drifted lightly in the breeze.

"Sovereign Protector," Cressida said efficiently as she strode forward. "Cressida Moon, Assessor, Royal Intelligence Commission."

Valerius​

 

[Valerius]

Not an inch of his countenance moved, but Valerius counted himself surprised at the sight of Cressida. Like everything else the Emperor had at his disposal, RICO was a patchwork of hastily assembled personnel. He shouldn't have been surprised to find that her presentation was as far removed from Ferenc Kaul - the only other Assessor he had meaningfully dealt with - as possible.​

​

But he was surprised. At least for a moment. Spirited and put-together were a rare enough combination these days.​

​

"Captain Valerius," he introduced himself in his clipped way, cutting off Krayce who had just begun to open his mouth. "This is Lionel Krayce, the foreman of this refinery."​

​

Krayce smiled politely, if not warmly, "A pleasure. I hope the ride wasn't too much trouble."​

​

"I think we can skip the small-talk. An Assessor is missing."​

​

The foreman tensed, lips thinning. It wasn't as if it had slipped his mind, but being constantly reminded of the scandal unfolding around him did not exactly improve his mood. Valerius, meanwhile, folded his arms across his armored chest.​

​

"His Majesty the Emperor has charged me only with monitoring progress. I'll be watching closely to that end," he spared Krayce a glance, "Otherwise, I am at your disposal. As I'm sure the foreman is as well."​

​

"Oh, yes," said Krayce, through again-smiling teeth, "I certainly am."​

Cressida Moon
​

 

[Cressida Moon]

DUBRILLION - SOUTHERN HEMISPHERE
IMPERIAL FUEL REFINERY - RAILCRAWLER LOADING BAY

Not one for small talk, Cressida mused as her glassy amber eyes rested on Captain Valerius briefly. Just like the others. Something in the breeding, perhaps. Or the training. Her eyes adopted a rather more disdainful bent when they flickered to Krayce, and she forced her lips into a slight upturn approximating a smile at his concern for her comfort. Not that she would have told him that his railcrawler was a deathtrap, but Valerius' abrupt intervention saved her the trouble of formulating a lie.

"Mr. Krayce," she began, all cool Imperial efficiency. Polite, perhaps clinically so. "I would like, in the following order: First, access to your records, as well as the schematics of the building with annotations denoting surveillance cameras and any known or suspected points of ingress and egress, and full and unfettered access to the recordings from those surveillance cameras. Second,, a copy of the manifests of transports in and out starting forty-eight hours from the last time the missing Assessor checked. Third, the names of any of your staff you know to have conversed with the Assessor."

She paused a moment, considering. "Before you do all that -- zeroth, I suppose -- suspend access to the railcrawler or any other means of leaving. And be prepared to bring people I further identify upon review of the surveillance cameras to a private room for... shall we say, a polite yet direct chat."

Cressida began to peel her gloves off, finger by finger. "And a hot cup of caff when you have a moment." Krayce hesitated, and Cressida finally favored him with a tight smile. "Off you pop."

When they were alone, her attention swiveled back to Valerius, and she approached. Respectfully, of course. She had learned recently that Sovereign Protectors were not to be trifled with. She made a movement somewhere between respectful nod and genuflection as she tucked her gloves into her handbag. "Sir," she began. "Would you mind sharing what you know about Krayce? Is he trustworthy? Obviously, no one is off the table, but -- is he a suspect, in your estimation, or an ally?"

Valerius​

 

[Valerius]

Krayce indicated he would fulfill Cressida's list of requests and then quickly marched off. Something in his gait reminded Valerius of a struck hound. Perhaps ashamed and fearful, but a leal beast nonetheless. Valerius internally chided himself for the small feeling of amusement it brought.​

​

"Krayce has been running this refinery since before the Cold War," Valerius replied, almost in the tone of recitation, "Not for merit. Some distant relation secured the job for him. He's grown into it since then. Very few complaints recently."​

​

Normally that kind of nepotism got people in deep trouble… In this case, Imperial resources had been tied up in harassing the Chiss and establishing regency councils. Krayce slipped through when there were only cracks in the Empire's edifice and not the gaping chasms of late. Now as luck had it, Krayce wanted the role badly enough to put effort into doing it well.​

​

Valerius continued, "I don't think he's part of whatever's going on here. But he'll be eager to save face, so I doubt he'll be as forthcoming as we'd like."​

​

He considered the railcrawler, now indefinitely delayed, and all the stacks of fuel containers in this warehouse that would sit idle with it. The Emperor would miss that fuel, but if there were deeper problems here, he would miss this refinery even more. Oh, the things sacrificed for a shred of security.​

​

"He's on edge, as you've seen. I don't think he sat around waiting for us to arrive - something tells me he may be trying to get to the bottom of this on his own."​

​

Movements from running an unauthorized, parallel investigation would often look the same as running a desperate coverup. But Valerius didn't think Krayce had it in him. Not even a little.​

Cressida Moon
​

 

[Cressida Moon]

DUBRILLION - SOUTHERN HEMISPHERE
IMPERIAL FUEL REFINERY - RAILCRAWLER LOADING BAY

The Assessor was silent for nearly a full minute, still and statuesque. The wind whipped her coat and skirt, the few hairs that were not secured firmly in place by bobby pins and industrial-strength Imperial discipline. It gave the illusion of fidgeting, but Cressida had remained stock-still, except for her eyes. Glassy amber irises flickered this way and that, as if reading from an invisible computer screen. Really, she was simply deep in thought, analyzing the information that the Sovereign Protector had disclosed to her.

Finally, her jaw lifted and after a momentary twitch of her ruby lips, she said: "Thank you, sir." Another of his ranks -- she wouldn't name names but he knew who he was -- would have dangled the information out of her reach, chastised her for daring to impose on the time and resources of a Sovereign Protector. This one, it seemed, she could do business with. If she tread carefully.

Cressida usually tread carefully.

"With your permission," she prefaced herself, glancing up to Valerius' steely gaze briefly before lowering her eyes deferentially. "I'd like to leverage him. Offer him, essentially, immunity from backlash provided he will give us everything -- everything -- pertaining to his own inquiries. He doesn't strike me as the criminal type -- a little graft, perhaps, some perks of the job I believe people call them." Cressida couldn't relate, and it turned her stomach to acknowledge it, let alone propose that it go unpunished, but there was the matter of competing priorities and proportionality to consider. "Of course, this could then serve as a warning that he clean up his act. The amnesty -- such as it is -- would be retroactive, but not ongoing."

She paused, pursing her lips a moment. "Thoughts, sir?"

Valerius​

 

[Valerius]

"Immunity?" Valerius repeated, like recalling the punchline to an amusing joke, "Generous."​

​

Valerius had to admit to himself he had little conception of what Krayce would do in the face of such an offer. Maybe he would take it without a fight, or feign being insulted, or take it as an opportunity to buy himself time and attempt a flight. How very exciting. The results of the rank violence and intimidation Valerius employed himself were comparatively predictable.​

​

He would try his best to treasure it, at least until his impatience got the better of him.​

​

Eventually he answered, "You can offer him whatever you want to get him moving. I'll convey your recommendation to His Majesty, but his judgment could differ. I can guarantee nothing."​

​

A lie he repeated so often it was rote. Valerius could guarantee whatever he wanted - it just so happened that the opinions of His Majesty the Emperor universally aligned with the opinion of whatever Sovereign Protector happened to be standing around. But drilling into such worrying details would not be helpful to the investigation… Or morale.​

​

Appearances had to be kept. The real guarantor would be the extent of Krayce's corruption, negligence, or complicity. All of which had yet to be determined.​

​

His eyes drifted to the doorway Krayce had passed through. "Maybe you'd like to see the facility. Krayce will be kept busy for a little while."​

Cressida Moon
​

 

[Cressida Moon]

DUBRILLION - SOUTHERN HEMISPHERE
IMPERIAL FUEL REFINERY - RAILCRAWLER LOADING BAY

Cressida inclined her head, a shrewd glint of recognition flickering across her amber eyes. She believed she understood the Sovereign Protector. "Quite," she agreed. "And of course, none of us can -- Assessors, I mean, not our august Sovereign Protectors, of course -- can know His Majesty's mind. I believe I could secure Mr. Krayce's enthusiastic cooperation by offering -- not amnesty, but my advocacy on his behalf."

She glanced at Valerius from the corner of her eye. "An Assessor, for someone who knows no better, could be considered a powerful enough ally to ensure his cooperation." What she didn't add, what she didn't need to add to a Sovereign Protector, was that Krayce didn't need to know, was that the authority of an Assessor was next to nothing in comparison with a Sovereign Protector, and was literally nothing when compared to the Emperor himself.

The young woman shifted her briefcase to her other side and frowned thoughtfully.

"Probably a good idea," Cressida assented . "Was that an offer to show me the place, or an invitation for me to stop bothering you?"

Cheeky? Perhaps. But Cressida Moon was occasionally known to push her luck. What was he going to do, kill her and get yet another Assessor out?

Valerius​

 

[Valerius]

The Sovereign Protector stared in silence. Whatever cold equations were playing out in his head were not readily visible in his expression. Something tugged faintly at the corner of his mouth, though whether that would have been a scowl or a smirk before getting snuffed out was anyone's guess. At the very least, Cressida offered a change of pace from the thinly-concealed resentment Kaul dragged around wherever he went. Maybe - just maybe - it would even be a welcome one.​

​

"Follow me," he said, and then as an afterthought added, "Please."​

​

There were heavy freight doors leading to another room - they'd been left open a crack after Krayce departed. It was an open floor, one corner sectioned off with a safety gate, signaling a massive turbolift. Above them, a lattice of catwalks crisscrossed the ceiling, leading to different sections of the facility.​

​

Valerius spoke, as expected, with no particular enthusiasm, "Most of the process is automated belowground. There's only a small crew down there to oversee filling up canisters. Then it gets sent up through the lift to be loaded onto the railcrawler. It's shut down and empty now."​

​

A pair of footsteps went urgently across the catwalk above them. Valerius glanced up and saw a technician nervously scuttling along, carrying something with reverent caution in both hands. Headed for the stairs closest to them.​

​

"The control room is to our right. Dormitories, offices, and the rest to the left," Valerius continued, gesturing now (with a polite, open hand) to a faint reddish-brown smear on the floor a few meters away, "That is where they found Assessor Morok."​

​

He raised his hand to indicate a section of the above catwalk where the railing had been visibly repaired in a hasty, slipshod manner, "And that is where they suspect he fell from."​

​

Or was pushed, but that went without saying. The technician made his way down, a young man with close-cut fair hair and a patchy, unpleasant beard. He was holding a standard-issue Imperial vacuum flask as if it were the most important gift that could be transported by hand. "Uh. Caf? For…?"​

Cressida Moon
​

 

[Cressida Moon]

DUBRILLION - SOUTHERN HEMISPHERE
IMPERIAL FUEL REFINERY - INTERIOR

There was precious little about which Cressida Moon got personally invested.

A personal life, in her line of work, was generally a waste of time. Sure, she had friends -- hadn't she? No, those were colleagues that she didn't hate, which was -- a close approximation, certainly, but not really friendship. And she had dates. Having outgrown her ugly duckling stage and grown into the too-wide nature of her mouth and too-large protrusion of her nose that had made her look, in certain (read: almost all) angles almost porcine in her youth, she had allowed herself to be taken to dinner or the theater by men in a position that could be useful to the Empire -- idiots in Dubrillion's upper echelons who would let things slip if they thought they were in with a chance.

They never were.

But this -- the death of an Assessor under suspicious circumstances -- well. That was enough to get Cressida Moon's icy blood pumping faster. Still icy, of course, but a cold fury.

She listened to the Sovereign Protector's assessments and the tour, her eyes tracing the trajectory that Morok may have taken in reverse -- from where he may have landed, to where he may have fallen from. Cressida glanced around, cursory, impatient. "I suppose it's too much to ask that any of this area, or the ladder or stairway to access that stretch of catwalk be in range of security camera. Or that it was kept clear of people so as to avoid contamination of an investigation."

Not a statement as much as an observation with a question mark pacing languidly at the end of it.

The technician with unsightly facial hair approached, clutching the flask like it was a key to the Death Star. Cool eyes traced down to the flask, then back up to him, lingering on his beard with the slight, nonverbal implication that a shave might be in order, before she said. "One Caf. What are the Sovereign Protector and I supposed to do with one caf?" A note of bemusement. "Share?"

Valerius​

 

[Valerius]

The technician wavered and swallowed audibly, pulling the singular caf back towards his chest, "Oh, I… Krayce said just the, um…"​

​

He looked to Valerius for something, anything, but the sight of the Sovereign Protector impatiently staring him down only amplified his nervousness. Caf was an indulgence Valerius rarely felt the need for. The Force was enough to keep him sharp and awake. The cold wind of this hostile clime was just a welcome bonus. An alternative.​

​

"I'll go get another one," the technician - the name Flinder was printed in blocky, monospaced aurebesh over his right breast - said quickly, glancing between them, and pivoted sharply to get away.​

​

"Stop," Valerius ordered, and Flinder snapped so abruptly to a halt he nearly tripped. Imagine that.​

​

Flinder looked back anxiously, as if expecting a beating. Valerius had neither the time or inclination, fortunately for all parties assembled. "Leave hers."​

​

"Oh," Flinder said, relaxing only slightly, "Um, right."​

​

He re-presented Cressida with her caf and urgently departed, beating a noisy, clanking path back up the stairs. Valerius exhaled deeply, as if personally embarrassed. Seated where he was in the Remnant's "command", anyone's shortcomings must have felt at least partially attributable to him. So it goes.​

​

"The catwalks don't have camera coverage," Valerius resumed, "Others were offline at Morok's direction. Routine maintenance."​

​

Not unheard of. Anything immediately obvious on the rest of them would have surely been found by Krayce well before either of their arrivals. But perhaps Krayce didn't really know what to look for.​

​

On he went, eyes returning to that sad stain that marked Morok's landing. "Production did not fully cease until I arrived. The workers needed routine to keep them from panicking. Krayce's words, not mine."​

Cressida Moon
​

 

[Cressida Moon]

DUBRILLION - SOUTHERN HEMISPHERE
IMPERIAL FUEL REFINERY - INTERIOR

"Thank you, Flinder." The Assessor called at Flinder's retreating back, then turned her attention to Valerius, canting her head to one side with and adopting an apologetic, almost penitent look. "Sorry," she said quietly. "I get so little opportunity to sharpen my claws -- it's frowned upon to practice on one's colleagues, as I'm sure you're aware."

She lifted the caff to her chin and sniffed delicately at the smoke. It hadn't occurred to her in that moment that one dead Assessor didn't necessarily mean there wouldn't be two dead Assessors. But if they wanted to poison her, they'd want to poison Valerius as well -- clear up any loose ends -- but perhaps they hadn't wanted to bring a caff unsolicited...

Her mind worked over this puzzle as her hands warmed around the steaming cup, and she walked toward the stairway. She wasn't thrilled by the soft groans that the metal made as she took to the steps, but Cressida was certain that it was due to the age and state of repair of the stairs and not her weight. "Krayce may well have been on to something," Cressida said to Valerius as she climbed methodically. Her eyes, like hawks, traced down the industrial railing on either side.

The facility was older, no doubt, and it was very... industrial. But it didn't seem rickety, really, not in the way that would suggest an accident or equipment failure. She reached the section that had been repaired and crouched, smoothing her skirt carefully as she examined the railing. "It's not -- a natural place to lean," she observed. "Nothing to look at. Not really hidden from prying eyes -- if a worker wanted to skive off, have a smoke." Eyebrows furrowed and she frowned thoughtfully before standing up.

"Where's the original piece that was here?" Cressida asked. "This one has a different coloration. More -- faded, I'd say. Like it was taken from one of parts of the facility that sees more sun." The Assessor craned her neck, glancing up into the rafters to see if there were any skylights nearby. "See? There are no windows here. This piece was taken from somewhere else and dressed up to look like it was broken and repaired. Otherwise it was broken and repaired. But the fact of the matter is that this isn't the piece that was here. Look -- there was some kind of damage. A welding torch or something that went across here -- " The Assessor indicated the piece to the left of the damaged railing, then down to the floor in front of the damaged railing. " -- and here. It's not likely it would go from here to there without touching this piece." She tapped the repaired railing.

Valerius​