Something Wicked This Way Comes

[Delila Castillon]

Location : Iaomai Medical Station , just outside of Kuat | [member="Cato Fett"] | [member="Cecile Miraxus"]


Good help was hard to find.


Good soldiers were even harder to find. Back on Coruscant she held command of decent soldiers. Most were young, hadn't seen much in the way of battle or action, which was fine for guarding a Embassy. When she had gotten orders from House Organa to investigate mysterious on-goings within the ruling boundary of the Monarchy no soldier had popped into mind to help her with the assignment.


It was why she had to travel back into Alderaan space to find one. Someone seasoned enough to handle any situation that could be thrown at them without panicking and getting them both killed. They had to have the discipline, stamina and intelligence not to get easily discouraged. There were only a few breadcrumbs for her to follow.


Certainly a tall order.


There was an influx of Mando soldiers flooding over into Alderaan space. Medical care, refueling, escape, arms dealing - anything related to the Civil War and the region was feeling an influx. Mandos were notorious soldiers. Ones that could fit her specifications nicely.


A particular gentleman had already caught her eye. Had stood up to let the chick who 'started' the war talk. Caught hell for it too but he seemed to stand by his ideals. Stubborn. Probably a bit hard-headed. Seemed smart enough for the job at hand. Another bonus : Cato Fett didn't seem popular with the Mandos anymore. In her experience, he should be more willing to join her.


If he was able to get out of the damn hospital bed.


Shiny black boots strode confidently down the halls of Iaomai Medical Station. Face was pulled into a bit of a frown at the stale, antiseptic smell that hung through the halls and rooms. Reminded her too much of her own stint years back after a Reaver attack in Protectorate space.


Room numbers passed by, getting closer to where she needed to be. A nurse gave a sympathetic smile as she stopped to observe where she was supposed to be. 5-056, 5-057....5-058.


Hand reached out to knock on the door.


"You decent?"

 

[Cato Fett]

Cato held himself to a fighting standard. When visitation rights were granted, following rigorous physical and psychological screenings in the wake of multiple implant surgeries, he locked himself in a provided bathroom and properly washed. Etyc grime was thoroughly excised, hair barbered, shaved, scrubbed himself thrice over until the filth of bed-ridden ache and weakness left him. He’d rubbed his shoulders raw, scruffing the pores with pumice stone, before dousing under ice cold showers. The fugue of bacta recovery and pain medication slowly bled out of his system. Cato found his wits again, determined to keep them. Despite the still present ache just beneath his artificial sternal plate, he ran through calisthenics whilst waiting for check up rounds.

There wasn’t practical exercise to put his married implant packages under combat duress. The artificial Q-2 heart pump kept its nominal pace under thirty BPM, the Rybcoarse musculature that replaced previous muscle and connective tissues always frighteningly responsive and unfatigued, the sensory packets granting an unheard-of level of tactile perception. The neural tissue transplants had reportedly taken and were expected to function as predicted. Mystifying attending physicians and cybeneticists was Cato’s decision to forgo a replacement appendage for his lost hand. He still harnessed on the old forearm prosthetic. Mentioning some cryptic excuse, ‘only way I know it’s real’.

The summons bell broke him out of rumination and he answered on the comm pad. “One moment.”

Dressed briskly, donning a untagged bodysleeve, hospital issue. [member="Delila Castillon"] was admitted into a scant room, facing a wide plasteel view screen slanted with polarizer blinds. There was a patient gurney, plastic pre-fab furniture anchored with polymer bolts to the white decking, and the opened, black mouth of an attached bathroom closet. Cato prowled back to the viewscreen. Some element seemed coiled in his stature, single eye at once busy and still, taking in Castillon’s mercenary demeanour. Beautiful, efficiently capable, easy predilection to violence, authorative. Stark, flat light blinked off the durasteel shrapnel-horn wedged in the side of his brow.

“…Wanted to see me?” He broke the pause.

 

[Talon Vosra]

[member="Delila Castillon"] [member="Cato Fett"]

Location: Coruscant, deep undercity cultist temple.
Objective: Force Slaves

The light of the Coruscant sun had not penetrated this far into the Coruscant depts for centuries. The city above was oblivious to the depravity upon which it had been built or they chose to ignore it. The Lady knew however. It was her creation. All of it, only in her benevolence she had allowed them to believe in their own illusion of freedom, but the galaxy was hers. It had always been her and as such her will was law.

She sat on a padded chaise and sipped at a glass of white wine as one of her new servitors paraded some fresh applicants.

"My Lady." The man said his eyes glossy as if heavily drugged and simply sleep walking, "We have brought 10 more."

She waved a hand to beckon them into the room and sat her glass on a tray held by another servant on her right. The mismatched group of beings was lead in blindfolded bound and gagged. Such methods were necessary for them right now, but they would learn to accept the truth. She would lift the veil from their eyes in due time. She waved the frist forward amd they floated to her on a wave of power before settling to their knees.

"This one has the gift." She said after a moments consideration, "Take her to the training quarters for Enlightenment."

She continued the inspection of the involuntary recruits and directed her servants to see it was done before heading to the training area herself to begin opening the minds of the new recruits. They would learn to serve their goddess, their creator and destroyer. They would learn to worship properly and for that. They would have to be broken down. They would have to know pain.


She would teach them herself. And her disciples would grow.

 

[Delila Castillon]

[member="Cecile Miraxus"] | [member="Cato Fett"] | Location : Iaomai Medical Station



"Wanted to see if you're ready." Blue-green eyes overlooked the man. He looked a bit worse for wear in some parts, old injuries covering various bits of his features. He was up and walking around. A positive sign. "I've got a proposition for you."


Striding to the bolted down chair, Delila took a seat. Legs crossed and she pulled a datapad out from a pocket. The device would be needed in a moment to make her case. First a bit of flattery. Never hurt to butter up the person one was trying to hire to do a dangerous operation. Even if they weren't aware of her intentions in the beginning.


"I need a capable well-seasoned soldier to assist me with an investigation. Time frame for how long I will need you is questionable. I've heard positive things...well, positive in my opinion, about you Mr.Fett. You're more than qualified, you've been a good warrior for years."


Datapad was turned on, Delila aware she might need to start referencing technical details if be began to ask. Black-frame glasses came out of another pocket, a hazard of aging.


"I'm investigating several disappearances on Coruscant. Normally this wouldn't be my jurisdiction. However the Embassy I am in charge of securing got hit, a high level employee joined a number who have dropped off the map so to speak. The Royal House of Alderaan has chosen myself to investigate our employee. I've been tasked with finding a team."


"I see the team I need right in this room. Pay is decent" More than decent, Delila had a good deal of funds to handle this investigation. "You'll be provided with everything needed. You and I will be in neck deep on this. Its dangerous. In addition to pay, the House will provide full burial rights and payment to a spouse or partner and up to four children should you die."


Delila wanted those words to sink in. If he was going to back out it had to be now and not when things were looking grim.


As if a lightbulb went off, Delila remembered her manners. Datapad was set down on the chair and she stood, walking to the man. Hand was extended by way of greeting.


"I forgot to introduce myself, Delila Castillon."

 

[Cato Fett]

“Castillon.” He took her proffered hand, shook, and felt the subtle pull of tendons and character in her grasp. Cato knew stories coming out of the east blocs. About the Pyre, it’s profitable armies-for-hire, their lengthy campaigns purging Bando Gora elements out of the core and chasing the remnants as far ‘south’ as the Kathol Outback. There was Castillon and Kerrigan, Merrill, Pottieger, Corek. ‘The Lion-Pack’. Cato felt flushed for chat, having nothing quite so prestigious in his cv. Two-score contracts in a variety of theatres, killing low-profile insurgent fighters, a handful of hushed assassinations that did his name no pride, and a stable reputation as a disciplined operator. The extent of his valor and fame.

“You said Coruscant. We’re working with any Alliance command or assets on this one? They even aware the Royal House is responding with an insertion?” Cato asked. He passed her and knelt by the gurney, collecting a weighted rucksack, a patched duffel-bag marked in old ink stencils, and an oiled slug-rifle with a welded launcher packed under the barrel shielding. “Just how loud can we afford to be?”

Successful mission prosecution would give Cato a platform to negotiate, if disputes rose over contractual pay. ‘Haggling’ wasn’t a strong suite, and this wasn’t bounty killing. Delila Castillon wasn’t indentured Hutt muscle. He detected an appreciative edge of professionalism, self-discipline rather then honed fanaticism. Even in the eyes of Mando’ade, he’d grown tired of seeing the same look of feral tempers and impulsive stupidity. Cato thought of Ra, Munin, Garon, and the other clan scions marching under Death Watch colours. Tasted bile and contempt, unzipping the duffel sack and briskly taking kit inventory. Blinked. The emotion sundered, then left him. ‘Always representative’, Cato reminded. A mask of iron-clad proficiency hardened in his one eye.

“What’s the worst we could be looking at?” He asked.

[member="Delila Castillon"]

 

[Delila Castillon]

[member="Cato Fett"]


"No and no. We're going to keep it that way for the moment as well."


Delila had no desire to get the Alliance involved or work with them at this point. Once their investigation was underway and results were being found, she would report back to House Organa for further direction. Personally Delila didn't want the Alliance involved. It would be one more piece of a complicated puzzle, someone else to merely get in the way of what was to be done.


"Quiet? Well, I have a penchant for explosions but we can do our best to keep a low profile."


She took the glasses off her face, tucking them back into a pocket.Datapad was shut down, it looked as if Cato was interested in heading back to Coruscant with her. Until he asked what was the worst that could happen to them. Blue-green eyes came to meet his.


"Death." She paused. "Well, death might be the worst for most. For me? Torture. I personally would rather be shot execution style than face that. Maiming, various injures, mental and emotional abuse and stress....Take your pick on whats the worse."

 

[Cato Fett]

“When they leave you alive,” Cato said after consideration. “When they let you live. That’s the worst.”

He shouldered the rucksack and duffel, hugged the rifle off the opposite arm and followed Delila out. During convalescence, when not fussed over by technician droids and nursing staff, he’d fashioned a crude dataspike from salvaged console parts. He accessed station schematics, charting the maintenance, power, and air-flow ducts, wanting to know the fastest route between his hospital room and the lifeboat pods. They stalked down an arterial passage, taking a lift up to the vessel docking ring. The lift ascended through shielded glasteel, briefly shuttling them across a section of station exterior. Viridian Kuat glowed lambent in the void, surrounded by its girdle of innumerable dry-docks. Starship running lights winked against unfiltered sunlight.

When they let you live, Cato thought, following Delila out onto shuttle deck. Their vessel waited in a high story berth, droids scouring its hull with cleaning laser picks. Life after defeat depended on individual interpretations of honour versus disgrace. Some Mando’ade followed older, extremer practices. Suicide, self-flagellation, while others were content to brood until the poison of rage broke their character and then their will. Cato accepted pain and failure for the challenges they were. Life was a means to make amends. The Resol’nare was armour for the soul, he knew. To endure.

“Glad to do something other than sleep,” Cato said, following Castillon up the shuttle ramp.

[member="Delila Castillon"]

 

[Delila Castillon]

[member="Cato Fett"] | [member="Cecile Miraxus"]



"You may not be saying that once we get underway."


Delila would act as pilot, heading straight to the cockpit to get them to Coruscant. The Royals would have no doubt provided a privately chartered shuttle of some sort. Tickets to luxury-class accommodations on a transport could have also been arranged. Yet she wanted to keep things quiet. Collateral damage to a minimum. It wasn't as if one couldn't easily torture information out of a pilot, use a pilot as a mole to record conversations and movement.


Underway she would pass Cato a datapad needed with the proper information. Sadly for him it would be horribly thin.Information on the employee in Interspecies Relations. Basic information on the Embassy. Information on similar disappearances throughout Coruscant. It was easy to think it was kidnap, ransom.


She sat down across from him, propping feet up.


"I can't answer much of your questions yet. Don't have answers for myself. Just need you familiar with the background on this."

 

[Cato Fett]

The debriefing was sparing. Cato thumbed the handful of data-fields, following the few noteworthy citations, trying and failing to guess at causation from the lack of details. The file condensed the embassy assault into a shallow paragraph emphasizing its political profile versus any debriefed analysis. The target was likewise unremarkable, a career negotiator attached to the Alderaanian mission, with ties to numerous public and private institutions. The gunmen were only mentioned as armed and lethally capable. Cato depowered the dataslate and left it on the co-pilot armrest.

Too early for anything intuitive, he believed. Nothing deductive to be taken from the reports. Save that it was not the first instance and possibly more, potentially high-profile seizures were waiting in the near future. He knit a scant picture; a small, maneuverable unit, with training on-par with most respectable anti-terrorism units, had stormed embassy grounds and defeated presented opposition. Then took a single employee and extracted. Again, without contest. It spoke of agility and precision. How did they obtain tactical insight to the embassy itself? What was the extent of their intelligence net? Could that be exploited in turn? Fed false-positives, bait them with plausible feints? Could they, he and Castillon, tap into police resources then?

Cato combed the employee precis. Immaculate cv, degrees honouring graduate certification from various Alderaanian institutions, no notable misconducts, middle-aged, unmarried, image of a political ‘salaryman’. Bland political cutout looking to scale into greater ambassadorial responsibilities. Competent, but presumably unimaginative. Cato guessed his prioritized recovery lied with sensitive information that would be compromised through interrogation. It wasn’t a matter of saving said secrets. By now, their networks of physical and digital assets were undoubtedly under lock and scrutiny. The Royal House wanted more to know what had been disclosed.

If it were solely to give the Royals a black eye, Cato ruminated, how did this taking measure against the other reported snatchings? …Gotta be a shared quality standing them out from throngs, he thought. What bridged an embassy employee with a nine-to-fiver McYoda’s shift supervisor? The Mandalorian settled deep into his seat upholstery, propping his arms behind his nape. Sleep on it. We’re only playing catch up until we wrest something from this mess that will give us an edge. Then we’ll run that edge over the enemy’s throat. We’re not flatfooted. Only picking up our stride. Cato shut is one eye, and slept.

[member="Delila Castillon"]

 

[Delila Castillon]

[member="Cato Fett"]

​

​

Cato had been quiet during their trip to Coruscant. For someone who claimed he was tired of sleeping he was certainly dozing for over half of their time in air. They had landed at the Embassy where she had offered a room to Cato, they would be using the building as their base of operations for the meantime. Weapons, various data terminals, and information was all found there. Considering her office was off-limits to the staff most of their off-street investigation could happen there.


Currently they were on foot towards the apartment held by the Embassy worker. They had gone down several levels - nothing unusual. Apartments were typically cheaper and surface real estate was at a premium. It looked a mix of entertainment and residential, various species milling in and out. Delila had seen nothing unusual yet. She figured the living quarters would give them more clues into the last known whereabouts of the worker. Perhaps the person they were investigating had been back.


Blue-green eyes took in address numbers as her steps slowed, coming to a less garishly light apartment block. Delila continued to push forward until they found a lift, in her hand a piece of paper with information they would need to find the right apartment number.


"Don't have a key but it should be a breeze to bust in."