Private The Balmorran Extraction

[Sephira Mond]

ODESSEN
SECTION C
O-BRANCH READY ROOM
0857 LOCAL TIME
​

Sephira Mond arrived to the briefing room early, as was her wont. Not as early as was her wont, but early enough to avoid a ticking off.

She didn't know exactly how Cresh knew who was late and who wasn't. She had never seen Cresh before, as far as she knew. The three times she had heard Cresh speak it had been in this room, a sealed security island outside of which she'd had to lock up her comlink, and inside of which she could not see a single camera or other observation device. Not even one of those one-way mirrors that fooled no one. She set her coffee cup on a table and knelt to refasten her boot laces, then straightened and carefully adjusted the pins that kept her shiny black hair tucked back.

The clock on the wall, an analog thing that inexplicably kept perfect time, ticked over to 0858 and she glanced at her watch to check. "Cutting it fine, Moz," she murmured through a smirk. I'm going to be mummy's favorite because I showed up on time. Victory is mine, victory is mine. Well that wasn't exactly fair. He still had two minutes -- rather, a minute forty. Sephira picked up her coffee cup and took a sip, savoring the moment of downtime before, at precisely 0900, the screen lit up, showing the planet Balmorra rotating slowly in hues of blue, data scrolling around the edges.

A faintly mechanical voice -- vaguely androgynous -- announced: "This is Balmorra, weapons manufacturing stronghold in the Core. When the Galactic Empire conquered it, the free nations of the galaxy, to say nothing of the Galactic Alliance, lost a significant arsenal in defense of democracy. The sudden nature of the Empire's actions prevented a larger-scale evacuation that was seen on other worlds like Coruscant. As a result, the Alliance lost access to a great deal of military materiel. During a recent raid on Balmorra, we received intelligence regarding a potential asset with experience in weapons systems and equipment development." The image shifted, a headshot of a woman in her thirties appearing, pulled from a corporate holosite. "Avenyx Bevan, of Heliox Logistics, had been unaccounted for following the change in Balmorra's status. Now we know that she is alive and active on Balmorra."

The voice paused and then the map returned. "Bevan was last seen destroying the Heliox Logistics research facility, presumably to avoid the records there from falling into Imperial hands. We also have reports, some confirmed, of her participation in a resistance cell on Balmorra, where she has provided weapons, ammunition, and equipment improvised from what remains on Balmorra following the Alliance pullout. Analysis suggests that Bevan would be strong asset to Section C. Your mission is to travel to Balmorra, locate Bevan, and extract her to Odessen. You will have local resistance support, if necessary. As a secondary objective, ensure that any of her plans, research, or designs are well and truly destroyed or extracted with her. For preserving the weapons research, Section C has activated your licenses to kill."

"Inside your briefing packets, you will find additional information, including a psychological profile, health misses, or old photographs." Another little pause. "Any questions?" the voice asked.

Ivo Mozorov​

 

[Ivo Mozorov]

Sephira Mond

"Just one, do we get some time off to explore the local literature scene?" The voice loomed up behind Sephira and would confirm that Mozorov had been in the room for quite a bit. Perhaps even sooner than Mond? Tough to say, for someone so gangly and tall as him, he had a way of showing up in the strangest places without warning.

The robotic voice didn't respond and that was an answer in itself.

"I guess not. In that case, I don't have any questions, do you?" To Mond. There would be time for some queries, but irrespective of that they'd leave right back from where they came. Out of the room and into the corridor beyond.

"I see you were trying to curry favor again with mother dearest. Are you not tired of losing to me yet?" Ivo teased her lightly as they went back towards the barracks, his hip checking hers in a light joking way. Sephira knew that it was at least partially a way to reassure himself. The idea of being given a license to kill still bothered Ivo.

He would do it, the training had been firm and assured, but he still did not prefer it.

One thing when they were in space and it was a dog fight. Another when you were holding the blaster and had to pull the trigger yourself.

"You think this is going to be a rough one? It's smack dab in Imperial territory..."

 

[Sephira Mond]

When neither agent had serious questions, the briefing room's lights came up. Sephira took a copy of the briefing holodisc and loaded it into her datapad to get a more detailed view. Some light reading during the flight, at any rate. "It's going to be a rough one," Sephira confirmed, her voice flatly analytical. There was no doubt about it in her mind. "From what I know, Balmorra isn't a picnic on a good day. It's industrial and war torn and absolutely cut-throat. I'm sure the resistance isn't helping things. You know how the imperials love a bit of a crack-down."

She tucked the datapad into the little pouch in her bandolier and smoothed her jumpsuit. "But we've got a leg up, I guess. Resistance contacts who know where this... Bevan is." Sephira unzipped the throat of her flightsuit a little, letting some cool air in. "Or at least, how to get us into contact with her." She glanced over at her fellow pilot, eyebrow lifting a little. "You think it's worth all this kerfuffle? One weapons researcher? When they've got a kriffing Death Star?"

Her tone left little to the imagination of what she thought.

"And don't worry, sweet pea. If you feel squeamish about using your license to kill to bash the fash, that's just... y'know. More for me."

Ivo Mozorov​

 

[Ivo Mozorov]

Sephira Mond

"I think we are up against a foe that appeared out of nowhere and immediately carved practically the whole of the Core out for themselves." Ivo said dryly as he followed her along, while trying not to get too distracted by the way she worked that zipper. It brought back memories of simpler times, when they were still studying to make a mark on the Galaxy.

Who knew they'd be here now, doing something decidedly more serious than forgetting homework or trying to keep a corporate job.

"So any kind of leg-up is probably welcome. And who knows, maybe that one researcher will come along with a whole armory." Then a shrug as they turned the corner towards the hangar bays. "We can always use more weapons at least."

Then a snort.

"Oh, shut up, I will do my duty. I have always done my duty, you know that." Ivo said quickly as they entered the bay itself with the ships inside. "I am just saying, we are only two people. We should be careful here, we are slipping into enemy territory and best if we don't raise too much suspicion on ourselves... lest we enter a situation we can't shoot our way out."

But it did belie his concern a little.

Would he hesitate if he had to squeeze the trigger? Training was one thing, this was another.

 

[Sephira Mond]

"You shut up," Sephira shot back with an exaggerated scowl, though her tone clearly belied amusement. "Don't worry your pretty little head, Moz. One can shoot one's way out of anything if one is brave enough, if one believes in oneself enough." A smirk, then: "Anyway, ready for the bad news? We don't get to fly the X-Wings this time. Got to have room to bring back this Bevan woman back. So... it's the station wagon." The station wagon was Sephira's derisive nickname for the battered-but-capable YT-1760 used to slip in and out of backwaters and industrial hellscapes like Balmorra. It lacked the speed and efficiency of the X-Wings that Sephira loved to fly, but it was a more comfortable ride, with some room for spreading out for the journey.

"F Branch left us a packet in the cockpit with a cover story and credentials," said Sephira. She palmed the door to the pilot's room open and stepped inside, snatching up her duty duffle. She went to her locker and began to put some clothes inside: casual civilian clothes, and a lightly-armored undersuit, her packet of lockpicking tools, her duty pistol, and other equipment.

"I wonder what kind of gear this lady's cooking up," Sephira said over her shoulder to Ivo Mozorov . "For Section C to go to all this trouble, you know?"

 

[Ivo Mozorov]

Sephira Mond

"Oh, you think I am pretty? Good to know." Ivo responded with a little smirk, skipping over the part where she told him to shut up.

He surpassed a groan at the mention of the wagon. It was also not his favorite, but Ivo was reasonably sure she hated the vehicle in a way he could never match. At the very least there was more leg room here compared to the cramped x-wings. They had barely been made for a figure of his height, so Ivo always had to duck to get in and not smash his head against the ceiling when they closed the cockpit.

While she was packing her stuff Ivo took the liberty to check out their cover IDs, but it didn't take long for Seph to hear him laugh.

That wouldn't bode well, but before she could ask she would feel him settle next to her, leaning against the lockers.

"Guess what, miss Mond. Looks like we are married for this mission." Dangling the papers in front of her. "You are gonna have to start calling me husband, be very considerate of my wants and needs, you know. It's not a Hapan marriage, after all."

His brows furrowed again at the question posed however.

"I think she must be some sort of genius, because you are right, this is a lot of effort for just any ol' inventor."

 

[Sephira Mond]

Sephira looked over her shoulder at Ivo, eyebrows lifting. "Married again, huh? This is -- what -- the fourth time we've been married? Fifth? You'd think we'd have it all figured out by now." She zipped her bag, turned fully to face him, and took the envelope from him to study the materials inside. "I wonder why they'd bother. It's just an extraction job. I don't expect that we're going to be checking into any fancy hotels on Balmorra. Oh yes, I'm Lady Helena Hudor-Tudor and this is my husband Sir Holbrook Hudor-Tudor and we're here on lovely, wartorn, noxious Balmorra for our romantic honeymoon -- I don't think."

"Very sorry to say, my dear," the agent said sweetly as she slung her bag over one shoulder and handed the envelope back to Ivo. "You'll be catering to your own needs, Four-Eyes," she said dryly, then gestured toward the door. "After you, Sir Holbrook."

It didn't take long to set things to rights on the ship. She retrieved the information from F Branch in the cockpit. "We are aboard the Leaping Somnambulist," she told Ivo, reading from the page. "Registered to Universal Exports, Limited, an Anaxes corporation. Our primary goal is to seek munitions for an Imperial-aligned militia." She flipped through the pages, dark eyes scanning the details that were included there.

Ivo Mozorov​