Scruffy Lookin’ Nerfherder
When Seth Shorn woke to the sound of his comlink going off, he found himself covered in cold sweat. The perspiration soaked his pillows and sheets. He frowned. It was the nightmares again. In them, he was a different man. Seth Shorn the pilot. Empathetic, kind and caring. When he woke up, the Voice plagued him with its incessant whisperings, yammering on about how he much he needed to kill everyone. Still frowning, Seth picked up the comlink. He'd learned to ignore the voice. Except during battle. It seemed to seek only to break him, because whenever he listened to the Voice it would stop the yammering and give him simple, detailed instructions. Like a handler. And he was the spy.
Seth activated the comlink, "This is Lieutenant Shorn."
The voice on the other end sounded irritable. "Seth, it's Dent. Get down to the agency now. Emergency meeting."
Emergency meeting? This must be serious. "I'll be there right away," Shorn deactivated the comlink and dressed quickly.
~ ~ ~
Several hours later, an exhausted Seth made his way out of the Agency. Apparently, the Hapan they'd brought back had some connections to the Southern Systems Syndicate. The rebels - Odd, how we are fighting rebels now, when the forebearers of the Republic themselves were rebels. Makes me wonder what the Republic is fighting for these days - within Hapes were being funded by the separatist regime. It made things... complicated considering the outright hostility between the Republic and the Empire. If things came to conflict, the Galactic Republic would be caught on two fronts. And they could not trust the Mandalorians to stay on their side forever. They were mercenaries to the core. And mercenaries tended to change sides. Seth didn't trust them. Never had.
In the meeting, the Agency had summoned Seth as a consulter, incredible as it might sound. They had learned that Seth's intellect when it came to stratagems and tactics stood among some of the best in the Republic. A byproduct of his genetic alteration. But they couldn't know that. Many were impressed by his suggestions. To cripple the South Systems required only the shutting off of their trade routes. It was the lifeblood of what was nothing more than a band of smugglers masquerading as a legitimate government. But how did one stop the flow of trade from smugglers? The answer was simplistic. Pirates. First, shut off the System's trade supply with embargos and perhaps a few well placed terrorist attacks, pinned on some organization or other, then have pirates prey upon the smugglers who sought to get past security routes. It would end the South Systems and bring them to their knees.
How can I come up with such schemes? Where is the man who hated causing another being harm? Now, I sit composed... callously coming up with ways to cost the lives of hundreds, thousands, maybe more. It's in these genes. In the voice inside my head. Is that who I truly am? Or is the man in my dreams? The one who feels compassion and love. Not this machine of a man I am becoming. Or have already become. I wish Mikhail were here. He would make me laugh. He could always make me laugh.
It pained him that his brother had defected to the Sith Empire. He had read the reports of what had happened. It was his fault, really. He shook his head. Funny, that. His fault for dying. Even in death he couldn't save people. It was why he had quit the Medical Corps to be a starfighter pilot. It had taken him a while, but after seeing so much blood and death from inside the medical bay he had come to the acceptance that killing was necessary to prevent more death. So, he'd joined the military branch where killing meant blowing up another starfighter. He didn't have to see blood. Just explosions. Just the shredding of metal. It didn't fool him. He knew that the death was still there. But it was easier to bear, that way.
He took a shuttle to the naval officer's lounge. It was large facility on Coruscant. Many of the names making headlines in galactic news walked and dranked inside. It was a place for Lieutenants, as well as Admirals. Open to Jedi and Politicians as well. A place for socialization. And laughter. Seth came for the drinks. And the laughs. Laughing was good, even if he didn't join in. Even if he couldn't join in. Not with the Voice.
When he arrived, Seth headed straight for the bar. "Tapani Rum," Seth ordered. He sat down. Time for a drink.
Seth activated the comlink, "This is Lieutenant Shorn."
The voice on the other end sounded irritable. "Seth, it's Dent. Get down to the agency now. Emergency meeting."
Emergency meeting? This must be serious. "I'll be there right away," Shorn deactivated the comlink and dressed quickly.
~ ~ ~
Several hours later, an exhausted Seth made his way out of the Agency. Apparently, the Hapan they'd brought back had some connections to the Southern Systems Syndicate. The rebels - Odd, how we are fighting rebels now, when the forebearers of the Republic themselves were rebels. Makes me wonder what the Republic is fighting for these days - within Hapes were being funded by the separatist regime. It made things... complicated considering the outright hostility between the Republic and the Empire. If things came to conflict, the Galactic Republic would be caught on two fronts. And they could not trust the Mandalorians to stay on their side forever. They were mercenaries to the core. And mercenaries tended to change sides. Seth didn't trust them. Never had.
In the meeting, the Agency had summoned Seth as a consulter, incredible as it might sound. They had learned that Seth's intellect when it came to stratagems and tactics stood among some of the best in the Republic. A byproduct of his genetic alteration. But they couldn't know that. Many were impressed by his suggestions. To cripple the South Systems required only the shutting off of their trade routes. It was the lifeblood of what was nothing more than a band of smugglers masquerading as a legitimate government. But how did one stop the flow of trade from smugglers? The answer was simplistic. Pirates. First, shut off the System's trade supply with embargos and perhaps a few well placed terrorist attacks, pinned on some organization or other, then have pirates prey upon the smugglers who sought to get past security routes. It would end the South Systems and bring them to their knees.
How can I come up with such schemes? Where is the man who hated causing another being harm? Now, I sit composed... callously coming up with ways to cost the lives of hundreds, thousands, maybe more. It's in these genes. In the voice inside my head. Is that who I truly am? Or is the man in my dreams? The one who feels compassion and love. Not this machine of a man I am becoming. Or have already become. I wish Mikhail were here. He would make me laugh. He could always make me laugh.
It pained him that his brother had defected to the Sith Empire. He had read the reports of what had happened. It was his fault, really. He shook his head. Funny, that. His fault for dying. Even in death he couldn't save people. It was why he had quit the Medical Corps to be a starfighter pilot. It had taken him a while, but after seeing so much blood and death from inside the medical bay he had come to the acceptance that killing was necessary to prevent more death. So, he'd joined the military branch where killing meant blowing up another starfighter. He didn't have to see blood. Just explosions. Just the shredding of metal. It didn't fool him. He knew that the death was still there. But it was easier to bear, that way.
He took a shuttle to the naval officer's lounge. It was large facility on Coruscant. Many of the names making headlines in galactic news walked and dranked inside. It was a place for Lieutenants, as well as Admirals. Open to Jedi and Politicians as well. A place for socialization. And laughter. Seth came for the drinks. And the laughs. Laughing was good, even if he didn't join in. Even if he couldn't join in. Not with the Voice.
When he arrived, Seth headed straight for the bar. "Tapani Rum," Seth ordered. He sat down. Time for a drink.