Private Secrets in the Stratosphere

[Agent Vigilant]

Lyra Ventor

Onboard an Imperial orbital station, above Coruscant

Plainclothes were nothing knew to Vigilant, after years of deep cover ops on the glittering jewel that shined from the viewport, but wearing a suit felt strange. He was used to streetwear, or militia gear. He'd been involved in arming partisans before the Core Wars, but he'd never posed as a businessman. Until today. Briefcase in hand he made his way to the hanger of the tradestation, boarding a privately chartered flight to the far Outer Rim that was imminently and stealthily departing amidst the heavy traffic.

His cover identity was business magnate and venture capitalist Jorian Jerjerrod, ostensibly flying to the gas giant world of Kril'dor to meet with refiners of valuable Tibanna gas, and perhaps make an angel investment. In reality, he was going to steal valuable research data for the Office of Imperial Sciences. The ISB had hired a complete unknown, a commercial pilot he presumed, to make the transit. He knew nothing about them, and the Bureau wanted it that way. The less likelihood of this being traced to the ISB, the better. Kril'dor had until recently been an Alliance world, and was now under the watchful protection of the Chiss Republics, which long burned for a hatred of The Emperor after he destroyed Csilla. His hope was that they'd be in and out quickly and without issue.

He came to the ship and showed the protocal droid his ticket. The droid ushered him on, and he boarded the ramp of the small luxury transport. He tipped his hat to the pilot, a young blonde. Pretty. He was expecting someone more...

...grizzled, for an outbound flight to the edge of the galaxy.

"Hello, are you Miss Ventor? How are the hyperlines looking for our journey?"

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra was tightening a panel on the overhead conduit when the boarding ramp vibrated beneath her boots. She stepped back from the console just as the protocol droid ushered the passenger into the cabin—a well-dressed man with a briefcase and the kind of posture that didn't match most people who hired small transports to the Outer Rim.

She wiped a faint streak of coolant from her fingertips onto her trouser seam and straightened as he approached.

"That's me," she said with a short, professional nod. "Lyra Ventor."

Her voice was steady, clipped at the edges, the tone of someone used to working alone and speaking only when it mattered. At his question, she reached over to tap the nav-board. Hyperlane projections flickered in soft blue.

"Hyperlines are clear," she replied. "Kril'dor's sitting in a quiet corridor right now. No ion storms, no Republic patrol choke points. Should be a smooth run."

She stepped back, giving him space to enter fully.

"You can stow your briefcase in the compartment by your seat," she added, motioning toward the passenger row. "We'll depart as soon as traffic control clears our window."

The ship's engines thrummed under her hand as she flipped another diagnostic switch. Everything was stable—for now.

"And just so you're aware," she said without looking up, "I fly fast. Not reckless—just efficient."

She glanced over her shoulder at him, a faint, pragmatic spark in her eyes.

"If that's an issue, now's the moment to say so."

She doubted it would be. People who chartered private runs to the Outer Rim usually wanted one thing: a pilot who got them there quickly. And she was very, very good at that.

Agent Vigilant

 

[Agent Vigilant]

Lyra Ventor

"I would say that the company hired the right pilot, then." he remarked, placing his briefcase in the designated compartment and taking a seat. He straightened out his suit and took off his brimmed hat, matching black. Underneath his hair was slicked back, the very image of a young hotshot businessman, one carefully crafted. If the ISB had hired a human pilot than they must have expected that she would be totally ignorant.

"I was half expecting a droid for a pilot. I see you don't even have one, or do you have an onboard shipbrain?" he inquired, seemingly as small talk, but his eyes surveyed her flying instruments. He needed to know who or what was going to be recording information about the flight. He figured perhaps a human pilot was better. Easier to dispose of. There was no telling whether a droid was going to back up its internal data to some corporate cloud, or hide it beneath layers of software protection and then pass it on the highest bidder. Plus it was harder to get a droid to lie about where your ship was coming from...

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra eased herself into the pilot's chair, fingers moving over the Starling's startup cycle with an easy, instinctive fluency. The engines responded with a soft, rising hum—clean, well-tuned, the sound of a ship that was used to being flown hard and maintained with care.

"At least someone thinks so," she said lightly, glancing over her shoulder just long enough to acknowledge him before turning back to her controls. "Most companies don't bother looking past the résumé. Nice to know this one did."

She caught the flick of his eyes across her instrumentation—sharp, evaluating, the kind of look she'd seen from officers, smugglers, and corporate types alike. All of them wanted to know what kind of ship they were entrusting their lives to. Or what kind of pilot? Or both.

When he mentioned expecting a droid, she huffed a quiet breath that might have been a laugh.

"Oh, I have one. Just not the kind that sits in the pilot's seat."

She tapped a switch on the overhead panel, and a soft chime answered from somewhere behind the cockpit. A small holopanel lit up with a diagnostic line scrolling across it—ship integrity, system pressure, fuel ratios—far more precise than the standard transport offered.

"R0-V7," she said, nodding toward the indicator as it pulsed. "Rovie, if you prefer the short version. He's integrated into the Starling's systems. Handles long-range nav, hazard prediction, and keeps an eye on the engines when I'm too busy keeping us alive."

Her tone was dry, matter-of-fact, neither bragging nor apologizing.

"He's new. Scout-model astromech, built for ships like this. Doesn't override my controls, doesn't record anything unless I tell him to, and doesn't interface with any external cloud."

A faint smirk touched her mouth as she added,
"Which I'm guessing is what you were really asking."

The Starling's console lit fully, the soft thrum underfoot settling into its regular pulse. Lyra rested one hand on the throttle, steady, confident.

"Don't worry," she said, glancing back at him with an easy, professional calm. "Between the two of us, the Starling runs clean and quiet. No unnecessary data trails, no nosy systems, no surprises. Just a ship that does its job and a pilot who does hers."

She toggled the comm to request departure clearance.

"So unless you wanted a chatterbox droid," she added with a hint of dry amusement, "you're in good hands."

Agent Vigilant

 

[Agent Vigilant]

Lyra Ventor

"So it would seem. Clean and quiet is all I could ever ask for, Ms. Ventor."

Vigilant nestled into his seat for the journey, putting one heel up on his knee and leaning back, reaching into his briefcase for two items: a travel mug of caf, and a datapad. He sipped slowly, thoughtfully, as he engaged himself in his notes. If all went well, he would be in and out in a few hours. He didn't say much else to Lyra for the rest of the ride, engrossed in whatever it was he was reading.

When they arrived on Kril'dor, he simply told her to wait patiently, that he would return quickly. He disembarked the ship to the welcoming handshakes of a greeting party, variably made up of Humans and Chiss. Perhaps their smiles were genuine, for they believed they were in the presence of an angel investor. His smiles were always a fabrication. After a few minutes of introductory pleasantries, the group ushered who they though to be Jorian Jerjerrod into the facility, disappearing from Lyra's view.

After two hours of peace and quiet, all hell broke loose. Alarms began to blare, emergency lights flashed, and Vigilant came sprinting out onto the landing platform clutching a small black datadisk in his hand.

Rushing onboard the Starling, he was panting for breathe entering the cockpit.

"Ms. Ventor, how fast can you fly this thing?" he asked in a composed tone that very much belied his demeanor, and everything about the situation that Lyra would be able to see.

Out on the platform, Chiss security guards began to pelt the ship with maser fire, shouting something in Cheunh. Over a louspeaker on the side of the facility, a booming voice revealed the situation.

"There is an Imperial spy in the facility. Muster starfighters, ensure that he does not escape with the research data!"

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra didn't so much as flinch when the alarms tore through the stillness of the platform. Two hours of quiet hadn't softened her instincts; if anything, they'd wound her tighter. She'd been in this line of work long enough to know peace was just the breath before the storm—and the storm finally arrived in the form of Vigilant sprinting up the ramp, clutching a datadisk and a lie about composure.

He barely made it three steps into the cockpit before she was already moving, fingers gliding over the controls of her ship with the kind of fluid precision that only came from living in the pilot's seat as if it were an extension of her own body. The Starling hummed under her hands, as if waking up with the same irritated awareness she felt.

"How fast can I fly it?" Lyra echoed, not looking back as she slapped the hatch controls and sealed them inside with a metallic thud. "Fast enough."

Blue maser bolts streaked past the canopy in vicious, electric arcs, lighting Vigilant's face like a man caught between panic and stubborn calm. She didn't bother meeting his eyes—she could feel the tension rolling off him, sharp and metallic, but she didn't need his steadiness to ground her.

This was her ship. Her skies. Her fight.

"Strap in," she ordered, voice clipped, "and hope The Maker's in a generous mood today."

The repulsors roared beneath them as the Starling lifted in a violent climb. Maser fire slammed into the aft shielding—the whole ship shuddered, warning lights flaring to angry life across the dashboard. Lyra ignored the chorus of protests, angling the ship into a blistering roll that skimmed the edge of the landing platform and sent debris scattering like sparks.

She muttered under her breath, "Of course they've got gunnery teams armed to the teeth. The moment you walk in the door, things go sideways."

Another volley of fire lashed out from below, closer this time—too close. Lyra yanked the yoke to the left, teeth gritted, coaxing the Starling into a narrow escape vector.

"You didn't mention the 'Imperial spy' part when you hired me," she said sharply over her shoulder. "Or that half of the planet would try to vaporize us once you pocketed whatever that thing is."

But there was no fear in her tone. No uncertainty. Just raw, sharpened focus—the kind that came alive only when death was close enough to taste.

Lyra killed the auxiliary stabilizers, letting the Starling dip for half a breath before surging forward again. The maneuver slingshotted them upward with a burst of speed that rattled the hull but punched them through the worst of the ground fire. The sky above shifted from storm-gray to the darker promise of orbit.

"There," she murmured to herself as the atmosphere thinned. "Just need to—"

A shrill alarm cut through the cockpit. Three Nssis-class Chiss starfighters broke from the ridge behind them like silent predators, engines glowing faintly blue in the darkening sky.

Lyra's hands tightened around the yoke. She didn't turn toward Vigilant. Didn't need his reaction. Didn't want it. "You asked how fast I can fly?" She shoved the throttle forward so hard the Starling groaned in protest. "Fast enough to make them question their life choices."

And then, softer — not for Vigilant, not even for The Starling—but for the one presence she always whispered to when death circled close: "The Maker guide my hands."

Agent Vigilant

 

[Agent Vigilant]

Lyra Ventor

"If all had gone as planned, you would never have needed to know." he replied to her question about his true nature. His hand carefully rested on his blaster, but he didn't draw it. After all, she wasn't turning around, nor hailing the enemy ships for a ceasefire and a hand-over. He couldn't tell if she was locked-in out of pure survival instincts, or if she was truly desperate for the pay day no matter who it was coming from.

"This is--" he was cut off as the ship shook, "some impressive flying."

If... no, when... they returned to Coruscant, he considered getting this girl a pay raise. After all, the ISB hadn't expected such circumstances. The security was supposed to be lax, or at least low enough that a trained agent like Vigilant would have no problem. He supposed he hadn't counted on the heightened paranoia in the Galaxy as of late, something that didn't seem to exist within his pilot as she weaved around with the Chiss starfighters on her tail. The Chiss were known for their fearsome pilots, and yet in this moment nothing about them seemed as deadly as their reputation went, as they struggled to keep pace with the speeding Starling.

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra didn't even spare him a glance—not with three Chiss fighters locked on her tail and the Starling's stabilizers screaming in protest. His words hit her in pieces, swallowed between engine roar and proximity alarms.

"Yeah, well," she shot back, jerking the yoke as a blue bolt grazed past the cockpit, "plans tend to fall apart the second someone forgets to mention they're Imperial intelligence."

Another violent shudder rocked the hull, but she kept the ship steady, threading a narrow gap between two rising basalt pillars with barely a meter of clearance on each side. The Chiss pilots hesitated—exactly the hesitation she needed.

She punched the throttle.

The Starling kicked forward like a living thing.

His hand was still on his blaster. She pretended not to notice.

"And don't compliment my flying right now," she added through gritted teeth, "unless you want me to start thinking you're panicking."

A sharp twist, a dive, a sudden climb—she flew like someone born in the cockpit, not a girl barely out of her teens.

"Hold on," she warned, already plotting the jump vector in her mind.
"I'm getting us out…but after this?"

A bolt skimmed across their port side. The shields flared.

"…you're explaining everything you didn't 'need' me to know."

Her voice stayed steady, even as the adrenaline burned hot beneath it.

"All of it."

Agent Vigilant

 

[Agent Vigilant]

Lyra Ventor

Hers was a totally valid reaction. If all had gone as planned she would never have had to risk her life like this, as good as she was at it. But Vigilant figured he could spin some kind of story for her. Would he deny it outright? Probably not. The job was shady enough at face value that she wasn't going to believe he wasn't an Imperial spy. But he had to spin something up, because in truth even he didn't know the full extent of the details. This job had come down the channels as an outsource from the Office of Imperial Sciences, supposedly from some big shot connected to the Imperial Ruling Council and the Grand Vizier. He wasn't really allowed to know more than that. It was far from a regular in-house ISB mission, unorthodox certainly, since it didn't involve toppling governments and infiltrating partisan groups. Maybe that was why he'd let his guard down and botched it.

Vigilant could no longer keep his hand on his blaster, needing to hold himself firmly in the co-pilot's seat as Lyra performed break-neck aerial maneuvers. He waited, and silently prayed to the Emperor that they would break from the atmosphere soon and jump to hyperspace, and that the Chiss starfighters wouldn't shred through their shields at any moment before then...

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra didn't look at him—not once—as she threw the Starling into another brutal roll that scraped the edges of physics. The Chiss fighters overshot again, blue contrails slicing past the viewport.

"Yeah," she said through clenched teeth, fingers dancing over thrusters and stabilizers, "believe me, I figured out the spy part on my own."

A bolt grazed the aft shields, the ship shuddering hard enough to rattle her teeth. She compensated instantly, adjusting power distribution before the alarm had even finished chirping.

"What I didn't sign up for," she continued, voice sharp with focus rather than fear, "was a whole squadron on my tail because someone didn't think to mention 'Oh, by the way, Lyra, this might piss off the entire Ascendancy.'"

Another violent jolt. She forced the nose downward, letting gravity sling them into a steep dive that made the inertial compensators whine.

Her heart hammered, but her hands were steady.

"So unless you've got something useful to add," she said, pulling the Starling into a screaming climb toward the edge of the stratosphere, "maybe stop praying and start strapping in tighter."

The shields flared again—too close.

Lyra pushed the throttles forward until they clicked against their stops.

"Hold on."

The sky thinned. The stars sharpened.

And for the first time since this mess started, Lyra allowed herself a thin, dangerous smile.

"One more burst and we're clear of the gravity well. Then I'll get us to hyperspace—unless your friends out there decide they're done playing nice."

She flicked the stabilizer into its override position and braced herself as the last stretch of atmosphere roared around them.

"Next time you hire a pilot," she muttered, almost to herself, "maybe tell her she's escorting a kriffing spy."

Agent Vigilant

 

[Agent Vigilant]

Lyra Ventor

Had she really deduced that he was a spy all on her own? He doubted it, but he let her have the small victory, if it was going to keep them alive.

"Don't worry about the ramifications, Ms. Ventor. Once we're clear of these-" the whole ship shook as one one of the starfighters landed a decent hit, "-these guys, they'll forget all about you. The Chiss hardly have a functioning state after the Alliance collapsed."

Lyra pushed the throttle harder, approaching hyper speed. As hyperspace folded around them, he sighed, letting himself relax.

"Would you have taken this job if you'd known you were escorting a spy?" he asked, almost as a test. Her answer would give him a much better idea of the caliber of woman he was dealing with.

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra didn't look back at him when he asked.

Her hands stayed steady on the controls as hyperspace stretched into clean blue lines ahead of them, the sudden quiet after chaos settling into the cockpit like a held breath finally released. The Starling hummed—content, unbothered, alive. Only then did she ease the throttle back to a comfortable cruise, shoulders loosening a fraction.

"You're assuming I care what someone does once I drop them off," she said after a moment, tone even, almost thoughtful.

She glanced sideways just enough for him to catch the edge of her expression—not accusatory, not naïve. Measured.

"I take jobs," she continued. "I don't swear oaths. I don't fly flags. And I don't ask questions I don't want answers to."

A slight pause, then a quiet exhale.

"If I'd known you were carrying secrets someone wanted badly enough to shoot us out of the sky?" Her mouth curved faintly. "Yeah. I probably still would've taken it. I price risk, not ideology."

She finally looked at him then, blue eyes sharp but not unkind. "You didn't lie about the part that mattered," she added. "You needed a pilot. I got you out alive."

The Starling surged smoothly through hyperspace, unbothered by politics, empires, or whatever game he was really playing.

"What you are," she finished quietly, "is your business. As long as you don't make it my problem mid-flight."

Then, just a touch lighter: "And next time? Maybe warn me if I need to upgrade the shields." A beat. "Chiss pilots hit harder than advertised."

Agent Vigilant

 

[Agent Vigilant]

Lyra Ventor

"Hmm. Yeah, they do. I apologize for that. I'll see what I can do about the Bureau covering your repair expenses. No guarantees, though." he said placidly and professional, despite all that had just occurred. He intended to be level headed as he offered her a consolation prize. It was best to keep potentially useful assets appeased. He wasn't certain what other use for her assets he'd find, but having just witnessed a feat of escape few human pilots in the galaxy could have pulled off so cleanly, he was getting ideas.

He wondered why she was so adversarial when even she admitted she'd have taken the job without all the pretense. He figured it was just nerves. Totally valid. Maybe the thought of working for the Empire was weighing on her?

"You've handled yourself under pressure quite well, Ms. Ventor. I'm sorry things did not go as I had planned on this operation. But now that you know who I work for, tell me... it doesn't bother you to be working on the Empire's credit?"

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra didn't answer immediately.

The Starling held steady in hyperspace, blue-white starlines stretching endlessly ahead as the ship hummed around them, smooth and obedient now that the chase was over. Her hands rested easily on the controls—not tight, not shaking. When she finally spoke, her voice was even, composed, as if the danger had passed and she knew it.

"I'll take the apology as it's meant," she said quietly. "And if the Bureau helps cover the repairs, I won't argue. The Starling didn't sign up to be part of your surprise complications."

A brief pause, then a slow breath out.

"As for the credits…" Her eyes stayed forward, focused on the hyperspace tunnel rather than on him. "They're just credits. As long as they clear and don't get flagged everywhere I land, I don't lose sleep over where they originated."

There was no bite in it. No bravado. Just practicality.

"I don't work for governments," she continued. "Or movements. Or causes. I work contracts, fly ships, and get people where they need to go."

Another slight pause—thoughtful this time.

"What bothered me wasn't the Empire," she added. "It was not knowing what kind of risk I was actually accepting. I don't like flying blind—figuratively."

Then, calm and direct: "You've been straight with me now. That matters."

The Starling surged onward through hyperspace, steady and unflinching—not a symbol of rebellion or loyalty, just a pilot and her ship carrying secrets through the stars, exactly as hired.

Agent Vigilant

 

[Agent Vigilant]

Lyra Ventor

"You know all the right things to say, don't you?" he smirked at her response. A pilot with no qualms, no questions, no allegiance, and a clear head. A mercenary like that was a priceless gem.

"I've been straight with you now because the worst thing I could do after blowing my cover would be to alienate a potentially valuable asset. I'm using you. You only get to know any of this because you're agreeable and amoral. Lot of smugglers in this galaxy that would have put a gun to me already."

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra didn't look at him right away. Her hands stayed light on the controls, steady as hyperspace streamed past the viewport in endless bands of blue. The Starling hummed beneath her like a living thing, familiar and grounding, and she let that rhythm settle her before she finally answered.

"Not always," she said evenly, finishing the thought without heat or defensiveness. "Sometimes my mouth runs ahead of my brain. Wouldn't be the first time it's gotten me in trouble…and probably won't be the last."

She glanced sideways then, just enough to meet his smirk without flinching.

"But don't confuse calm with ignorance," she continued, voice still measured. "I know exactly what you're saying. You're using me. I'm useful. I didn't ask questions because they wouldn't change the job." A slight shrug followed, almost casual.

"I fly ships. I move cargo. I get people from point A to point B in one piece if they pay me to do it. Empires, rebels, corporations, criminals—they all spend the same credits once they leave the mint."

She tapped a control, the course holding steady. "I don't put guns to clients because it's bad for business," she added, a faint edge of dry humor threading through. "And because pulling a blaster in a cockpit usually gets someone killed—usually the pilot."

Another glance, sharper this time, but not hostile. "So no, I'm not offended," she said quietly. "Just don't mistake my lack of allegiance for lack of a line. I won't cross it for anyone—Empire included."

Then she looked forward again, relaxed, unshaken, as hyperspace carried them on. "You hired a pilot," she finished. "That's exactly what you got."

Agent Vigilant