Dominion You've Got A Lot Of Guts Coming Here | First Order Dominion of Bespin

[Resurgent Chronicle]

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Bespin has been a highly contested world for many millennia, given its location and incredibly valuable tibanna gas mining operations. The original incarnation of the First Order had once welcomed it to the fold, but the Administration that had come to power after the OPA left it to its own devices was struggling. It was getting increasingly more difficult to engage workers to keep the tibanna gas flowing, to keep the unsavory elements in check that festered in the underbelly of every world, and at the same time maintain the business and tourism that kept the planet’s floating cities alive with travel and trade.​

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With honest concern for Bespin’s continued prosperity, the Administration reached out to the newly reestablished First Order, but only after a great deal of due diligence, research, and hearing first hand accounts of the way they strove to distance themselves from their predecessors. Negotiations began for Bespin to come into the new First Order’s family of worlds, bringing them to the current state of affairs - with the elements of the First Order finally arriving to assist where they could in the transition.​

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Objective 1: Despite the Administration’s best efforts, the different tibanna mining interests on Bespin sometimes don’t see eye to eye. Those differences usually break into what’s known locally as the Sabotage Skirmishes, but rarely end up as much more. This time, however, with the arrival of the First Order and the Administration’s fresh commitment to doing the best it can for the people, it’s devolved into worse. The Onsyr Conglomerate set off a series of explosions in one of the mining complexes under the control of Ugnograd, the primarily Ugnaught floating city. Given the conditions present within a complex used to mine and refine tibanna gas, it was catastrophic. The First Order has been asked to assist in recovering the fallen, seeing to the wounded, and assisting where they can to shore up the complex as plans to repair and resume operations are put into place.​

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Objective 2: In the seat of the planetary Administration, Cloud City, there are rumors circulating about the old carbon freezing chambers on some of the disused lower levels. The maintenance workers and guards sent down to keep an eye on them report things being out of place, peculiar power spikes showing on the monitoring reports, and signs pointing to the chambers having been used more recently than was officially recorded. The workers are convinced the levels are haunted considering the sentients that once passed through and were subject to carbon freezing but did not survive as the processes were being refined. The guards less so, but even they admit something’s going on and there aren’t enough of them to dedicate to figuring out what’s happening. Others think it’s become a turf war for the gangs of the lower levels to add swaths of the finite space to their territories. The First Order has been asked to try and find out what’s going on and in the process, ensure that the chambers are properly and permanently decommissioned.​

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Objective 3: A station built, destroyed, and rebuilt a dozen times over the centuries, Chinook Station has been a highly contested piece of Bespin’s valuable tibanna gas enterprise. With the Administration’s request to join the First Order, a small splinter group of anti-Imperial zealots has forcefully taken over the strategic station. Delegates were sent from both the Administration and the First Order in an effort to negotiate the Station’s release and for the freedom and well-being of the workers and residents. While the Administration was rebuffed in words that would make a Hutt crime lord blush, the First Order delegates were outright killed and left in plain sight as a sign. The people of the station have begged for assistance, and the Administration has tasked the First Order with providing it to them.​

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Objective 4: Bring your own objective! Negotiations with the Administration? Drinks with the local celebrities? Taking down one of the gang leaders and cleaning up a bit of the underworld? Whatever you fancy, come on down!​

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[The Major]

Red lit catacombs.
Orange foundries running hot.
Spouts of gas and fogging visors.
Jangling machines and busted metal.
City in the Clouds, they say.

Floating crisscross pile of crap, more like. ​

The city bobbing amongst the upper reaches of Bespin’s atmosphere was in some need of extensive maintenance. Before that could be undertaken a mysterious trouble had to be swept away, and most likely that problem would be swept away under a proverbial rug. This wasn’t exactly a glorious operation, but Sybil was happy to handle something relatively straightforward. Dressed in a uniform typical of a First Order Officer, she didn't really cut the special operations spook vibe. Major Shepard directed a part of the platoon assigned to this section to head down one series of passages while Ana-Sera Beliq and she explored this particular slice of mechanical Hell.

“So. . . what do you reckon we’re dealing with tonight? Gangs? Ghosts? A rogue Ren munching on dexedrine and spice?” Said the agent aloud, though she wasn’t exactly confident that there would be a response. It had been quiet most of the way down.

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

M E R C Y
Triage-class Medical Super Carrier
Orbit of Bespin

The small Anzat had his sleeves rolled back and was already questioning the life choices that had led him to this point.

Mercy was a unique ship in the Corellia Digital catalogue. It had been a gift from Sasori Research. It was the very same ship that Sor-Jan had brought to Mandalore, when he'd faced off against Mand'alor Vilaz Munin over permission to provide aid to the Mandalorians after the catastrophic detonation of a super volcano on the planet. And later supported the crisis on Midvinter when a pandemic had broken out there.

This wasn't a medical support ship. It was a floating hospital. Except, you'd be hard pressed to find a hospital this size. At three thousand meters, the Mercy was larger than most star destroyers fielded by the governments of the day.

Consequently, there was a lack of captains who were qualified to serve as masters of a vessel of this size. A military might be able to train for it, but very few civilian ships approached this size. And, those that did, rarely approached traffic lanes. They certainly wouldn't take the thing into atmosphere.

So, Sor-Jan decided he'd do it himself. Between the Clone Wars and his service with the Levantine ExplorCorps or the Silver Navy, the small Anzat had logged a great deal of hours in command of capital ships. Maneuvering a star destroyer and all its escort ships through Coruscant's traffic patterns at the height of the Old Republic had been no one's idea of a good time. But it had been a valuable learning experience all the same.

The boy had three thousand meters and several hundred metric tons of problems, and the company intern was not one that he had time for.

"General," the Rodian stammered. By the look of him, a recent Academy grad probably trying to find an entry-position in the company's marketing or banking arm. Instead, he'd gotten swept up in the call for volunteers for this Relief For Bespin campaign that was, hopefully, a pitch to drum up some good publicity for the company.

That is, assuming he didn't crash the ship into the floating city that they'd come to save. So, ignoring the intern, the Anzat hovered between the two droids that operated as the ship's helm and lee-helm. "Z minus twelve degrees," the boy remarked, as he looked overhead at the com-scan board and then down at the astrogation panel.

Mon Calamari had it easy, being able to look in opposite directions at the same time. Maneuvering a capital ship like this definitely required one to have their head on a swivel.

"Sir, the Healer's Guild..." the intern began.

Snapping up, the boy pivoted sharply toward the intern as he raised a solitary finger and a glare that commanded the larger alien's immediate silence. With that, the tense youth returned to where the pilot droids were operating in concert with one another. This kind of atmospheric shiphandling wasn't something that automated protocols were going to be able to predict with full accuracy.

No computer modeling was that accurate yet.

Yet.

"Ease up on your bow thruster," the boy said, glancing down at the lee-helm as the droid made a minor adjustment, before the tow-headed youth then looked over at the navigator and said, "Let gravity guide us down. Just keep the nose angled up between five and seven degrees."

With that, the boy had time to at last take a breath. As he did, the intern spoke up again. "The NGOs are getting anxious," the Rodian warned. "One of the Aargau Medical Observers is already screaming about calling IGN."

IGN? The boy glanced over at the Rodian for a moment. Was that meant to be a threat? What? Was Holly Starstorm going to come and write about how the evil mega corporation was giving people free health care in a crisis? How very dare they. "They should," the boy uttered finally, even as he looked away from the intern and returned his attention to the com-scan board. "And I'd rather those reporters have the Ugnaught situation to focus on and not a ship collision to write about."

"General, we are in the approach lane for Ugnorgrad," the navigator stated.

Leaning over the droid's shoulder -- or, servo-joint anyway -- the boy looked over the feed for himself. "All right, bring the repulsors up to one quarter power, That should bleed some of our inertia off."

"General," the Rodian intern pleaded. As the boy spared him a glance, the intern asked, "Sir, what should I tell the NGOs?"

Giving a nod of his head toward the intern, the boy looked at the navigator and asked, "Are we closing one kilometer?"

"Affirmative," the droid replied.

"Then you may inform them that they may start their landing," the small Anzat stated, turning to give the intern a dismissive wave. Then, he turned toward the droid at debarkation control and said, "Deploy shuttlebays,"

As the arms on the super carrier started to shift into launch and recovery configuration, the boy looked over at the communications station. "Open a channel to the First Order,"

"This is Sor-Jan Xantha of the Corellia Digital Corporation. We are carrying aid workers from the Healer's Guild, as well as some Aargau Medical Observers. We have a comprehensive hospital aboard and are standing by to assist with recovery efforts."

They were blowing a lot of credits on these Ugnaughts.

Here was hoping the charity paid off for the next quarter. Or at least maybe some upward trending on the Galactic Stock Index.

Worst case scenario, this was going to make for one hell of a tax write off for the end of the year.

 

[Vhondryl Gallaer]

Honestly, this wasn't the kind of work Vhon thought of when someone asked her if she could handle herself in a fight. She was trying to figure out civil service or army and had sat in one of the libraries on Dosuun attempting to figure that all out. Someone had a better idea and that someone had seen her scores on one of the many examinations she had taken. Vhon was a fresh face and one not commonly associated with the First Order, "what gave that away?" Asked Vhon to her handler, "my amazing looks, how I talk, walk, or the fact that I'm probably the same shade as the Confederacy's emblem?"​

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Her handler simply stared at her. An anti-Imperial group had essentially made things a little more interesting for the First Order's look at Bespin. The Administration that ran Cloud City proper had asked the FO to look into the matter at Chinook Station. Vhondryl was part of this team to do so, she wore the uniform of a maintenance worker there at the station. She wasn't going in blind or alone, there would be back-up just the kind that she couldn't see or know who. For all intent and purpose, she was alone on the job to infiltrate this group and get answers - all the while shutting them down and making this whole annexation process easier.​

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She took a skycar down to the station and exhaled hard. Force blessed it Ariadne Gallaer where the kriff are you now? If there was ever a time she wanted her sister around, it was now. ​

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[Isobel Nakano]

It wasn't leave, not exactly.

Delilah Graham, perhaps sensing that Isobel had been through the wringer recently given her up-close and personal exposure to the horrors of the Blackwing Virus, had dispatched her to Bespin's Cloud City to check in on the the Blue Lotus offices there. There had been a dip in productivity in the research and manufacturing numbers for the First Order's spy gadgetry. Isobel hadn't seen the reports, but the numbers she provided did reflect a minor dip, but nothing that would raise alarm bells for Isobel. The insecurity of Bespin's situation in the galaxy was liable to cause some deleterious effects on business.

So while she was not on leave, technically, she was at least being assigned to something less dangerous and destructive to the psyche than her last several missions. Truth be told, Isobel was happy for the respite. The last several months had been trying, on top of a difficult few years. The one bright spot in the last several months had been her reconnection with Val Pellian , but even that had come with complications. As members of Her Majesty's Secret Service, their time was hardly ever their own and always fleeting. It made maintaining a friendship difficult, let alone -- well, whatever the hell she and Pellian had.

Delilah had seemed to understand Isobel's thoughts about the man. "Happy Life Day," her instructions to rendezvous with Pellian on Crytal Nest had said. Coincidence? Maybe, but Delilah always had a kind of tongue-in-cheek way with words. Maybe she had meant it as a gift, a treat. The operation on Crytal Nest had not been expected to take the turn it had. A simple elimination job and the two could have been off, enjoying eggnog and talking in a quiet corner of the festivities at Crytal Nest.

Fate had intervened. Fate, and Val Pellian's ambitious plan to strike a Ssi-Ruuk entechment facility. She couldn't even be angry; rooting out Ssi-Ruuk facilities and liberating their captives was part of their job, after all. Still... for Isobel, it felt like a missed opportunity. She distracted herself with these memories and the pleasant thoughts of what might have been on Crytal Nest until the passenger liner she was on had docked at Cloud City. Isobel gathered her belongings and disembarked, pausing on the concourse to shrug into her blazer and tugged her long, black hair from beneath it carefully before picking up her attache case and continuing on her journey.

The Bureau -- no, the Section, she reminded herself -- was footing the bill for her travel, including business class ravel from the capital, a rental speeder, and a suite at one of the better hotels. At one point, Isobel had had an apartment in Cloud City, but it had lapsed in the wake of the Ssi-Ruuk's assault on the First Order. As she made her way to the car rental, Isobel wa distracted once again by a call from Graham requesting a check-in. "I've just arrived in Cloud City. I'm going straight to the shop. Probably twenty minutes in traffic. I'll repot back after."

 

[Dresden Verbrennung]

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On a tiny speck, way off in the distance, Dresden lay in the prone behind a massive sniper rifle. According to the mad weapons designer he was borrowing it from for field testing, it was called the Olga Mk 2, and she was a big girl. At over 3 meters long, she took up nearly the entire length of the modified flatbed airtruck that the marksman was perched upon, peering at the platform through a scope that had more in common with an astronomical observation device than a proper battlefield optic. According to the designer, Olga was good for up to 6 kilometers, which was frankly a stretch for even the best shooter. Dresden was on overwatch, about a kilometer away, where he was assured that the massive 15mm Longbow rounds could punch through just about anything short of a main battle tank. And even then, it depended on the tank.

His job was to provide overwatch for the strike team. Chinook Station had been taken over by some rather unsavory sorts, and while the average Joe wasn't exactly thrilled with their new overlords, said overlords were heavily armed and as cantankerous as a gundark with a bad tooth.

There wasn't a whole lot of hard intel to go off of. Dresden himself wasn't quite medically cleared to join the infil team, and at any rate, it was unlikely that he'd have been given free reign to run his usual schemes. The bad guys were rarely cooperative when it came to that sort of thing, and he wasn't up to the whole run and gun thing anyway. He was up to put lead through foreheads at whatever range was needed, and with the gun and the truck, he had more or less free reign over the exterior spaces of the station. Even with the current hullabaloo, cargo vehicles were still a common enough sight that his ride hadn't attracted suspicion, so in theory, he should be able to work over anyone in the open with impunity.

At present, there were enough civilians on deck to make it hard to positively ID targets, but that would probably change if things went hot. Civilians tended to react to sudden, unexpected violence by vacating the area, or else running around in a panic. Professionals tended to react in a more positive manner. The only real, solid intel about the FO agents on the station was that, if things kicked off, they'd be marked by IR strobes. Flashy IR strobe=friend. Friends don't shoot friends, unless someone's trying to double dip a chip, in which case, a little shooting was okay.

"Karking hell, man" Dresden muttered to no one in particular. "Get a grip."

Vhondryl Gallaer​

 

[Vhondryl Gallaer]

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"Yes a grip, I'll get a grip on the next nerf herder who tries to grope me," remarked Vhondryl as she waited to be picked up by the opposition. The Keshiri didn't have to wait too much longer. She was swept up by other 'maintenance' crew members and taken to a small open area. The splinter group was certainly diverse, but Vhondryl had to wonder just what it was they all hoped to achieve. Beyond the open area, there were guards keeping the regulars away. ​

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A large Kaleesh approached and boy did the Keshiri wish she had something more than a lunch box in her hand. "You escaped the Bryn'adul?"​

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"Yeah." Vhon replied with some defiance in her voice, "what about it?"​

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"You a little Keshiri manage to escape?"​

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She narrowed her eyes, "with a little help from my dead parents, what you gonna stand there and question me all day bone face?" Something was off here. The Kaleesh laughed, a lot - and then Vhon got nervous, kriff me why am I here again? Vhon shifted her lips to one side and watched the Kaleesh's movements and ducked beneath his swing. "Gonna have to move faster than that big guy."​

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"Maybe, I think, you come from a convoy by big nation and not on your own, little Keshiri."​

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"Maybe you oughta think about what comes out of that mouth."​

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Before another swing could be dealt with, a Twi'lek called out to the Kaleesh enforcer. The Twi'lek definitely walked in like he owned the place and approached Vhondryl. He put his hand on Vhon's chin and then patted her cheek condescendingly and turned toward the Kaleesh. "Listen if anyone gets out of there alive, they oughta have some guts right?"​

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"That's why this one is going to take these nice explosives and detonate them near, these coordinates, where we expect the First Order to arrive." ​

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Vhondryl chewed on the inside of her lip and looked at the explosives that she was being handed. Quietly she wondered how she was going to handle this. A small tablet came with them a set of instructions apparently so she didn't blow herself up, that was helpful. The Twi'lek, the Kaleesh, and the others left and Vhondryl sighed. "I'm not saying this looks tamper-proof, but I'm saying I need a way to make sure these don't blow up on us."​

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Dresden Verbrennung ​

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[Dresden Verbrennung]

Dresden nearly fell off the aircar in surprise. Karking hell, someone else was on this freq?

Of course they were. He cursed his brain, still occasionally a bit scattered from the aftereffects of a body surgically rebuilt from the nervous system up, and focused on the problem at hand. There were a series of micro probe droids deployed around the station, no more than the size of a coin. Their broadcast range was relatively short, hence his proximity, but they had good cameras. He zeroed one in on the source of his apparent companion, and took a moment to assess the situation.

"Okay, so the good news is, they're shet when it comes to building a bomb," Dresden supplied helpfully. "That's literally just a bunch of mining charges daisy-chained together. Cheap, commercially available, and honestly not all that dangerous in the open air. They're supposed to be placed in a hole, where the pressure wave can be concentrated. Karking amateurs."

He had to resist the urge to lecture the operative on how such a device should be made. Mining charges could make for a hellaciously effective IED, but they took a lot of prep work. For kark's sake, it didn't even look like they had anything on there to generate shrapnel. That "bomb" was little more than a Holonet pyrotechnic device. Dangerous within a couple of meters thanks to overpressure, but beyond that, it was good for soiling trousers and not a lot else. Which meant that either A, they were complete idiots or B, they had something else in mind.

"The bad news is, I think they're setting you up to take the fall. At a guess, they didn't give you something that would cause too much havoc if you decided to dump it somewhere. There are probably other poor bastards with similar missions. The FO arrives, gets blown to hell by the real device, and they get to pretend to be good little boys and girls, helping identify the 'culprits' with suspiciously high quality holocam footage. As far as plans go," he mused, "it's not terrible. I don't think they counted on us already being here."

Taking control of the probe's tiny optical laser pointer via his datapad, he highlighted the primary detonator.

"Doesn't look like that thing's hooked up to any secondaries. Pull it out, snip the detcord about a centimeter above the metal bit, and your party popper will be about as safe as it's gonna get."

Vhondryl Gallaer​

 

[Val Pellian]

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We have more important things to do than this, Agent Crane.

Spend the last few years chasing lizards and ghosts, ma'am, I think I have earned this, don't you?

Very well, while you are there I will have an assignment for you however.

You are always prepared, aren't you?

That is how we win in the end.

---

Isobel Nakano​

A car settled down right next to Isobel.

Slightly more upscale and fancy than the usual taxi, but that wasn't entirely out of sorts. After the collapse of the Outer Rim Coalition Bespin had gone through a wringer of its own. Out on top came the rich ones. The bleeding-edge corpos that could afford to sink millions of credits, just to keep their business afloat now that chaos was running through the streets. There was no rebel coalition anymore to keep them in check. Things were good, but who knew how well that would last?

"Where to, miss?" The voice of the driver drawled as Isobel got in. That voice would make her blink though. It belonged to.... and there he was. Looking over his shoulder with a grin.

They had to separate after Crystal Nest, again different assignments, until Crane had pushed for this. More low-key, less death threatening, which usually wasn't his forte and yet... here he was. It was time for it. An actual conversation, a talk without the deadly adrenaline keeping them on edge. Maybe they could smooth the wrinkles out this way.

"Told D that if we weren't put on this assignment together I'd rebel." Twinkle in his eye as he made the car to lift off the platform. The airways were busy, but that was to be expected.

Bespin would be one of the jewels in the First Order's territories.

"How you been holding up?" He had to keep his eyes on the road, but Crane couldn't help but catch glimpses of Isobel in the mirror.

 

[Isobel Nakano]

Isobel's datapad buzzed as the car rolled up next to her, telling her that her ride had arrived. She checked the numbered plate and then put her weekender in the boot before sliding into the back seat. The voice that asked for her destination felt somehow familiar, but she didn't pick up on the driver's identity immediately. "Black Lotus," she said distractedly as she studied her datapad. "On Sterling Street." Sterling Street was known as a boutique area for the wealthy and well-connected to wile away their hours, spending exorbitant funds on clothing and jewelry and accessories. Black Lotus fit right in on Sterling Street as a purveyor of high-end lingerie, jewelry, and fashion accessories (as well as a side-business for high-tech stealth gadgetry).

She glanced up when she noticed the man peering at her in the rearview mirror, and her stomach leapt. "Val?" she gasped, leaning forward. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd be back to hunting scales!" She grimaced. "Please tell me there aren't scales here."

Isobel put a hand on his shoulder and then carefully climbed over the center console to settle into the passenger seat, then fastidiously tugged her skirt, which had ridden up during her maneuvers, primly back into place. He had strong-armed Delilah into assigning him to this operation. Grinning like an idiot, Isobel cocked her head to one side fondly. "Brilliant. I'm... I'm glad to see you." She squeezed his arm and looked out the window as the scenery of Cloud City began to scroll by, as much to admire the view as to stop herself from staring at her chauffer.

"Oh," she said in response to his question. "I'm all right I guess." Isobel didn't tell Val that she hadn't slept without the aid of a pharmaceutical for weeks or that she struggled with waking nightmares. She was sure he had his own baggage to deal with. "I've seen a lot, traveled a lot, I hope I've done some good. How about you? How did you know about this operation? What have you been doing since we escaped Absit?"

Val Pellian​

 

[Vhondryl Gallaer]

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Vhondryl's saving grace in all this babble was the fact that her sister played with enough electrical wiring and parts that she had come to learn the bobbles and bits that went with it. "Sucks to suck I guess," quipped the Keshiri out of the side of her mouth as she headed for where the party popper was supposed to be set. Dexterity on her side she was able to disarm the daisy-chain of kriffing-netherbits and set it up on a pillar that it was supposed to take out. ​

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The guy on the other end had a point this was a little too easy and so Vhondryl wondered just what these anti-Imperial zealots were up to. No doubt there were others that had to go about and do this little errand. A quiet survey of the otherwise too-quiet area gave way to the hidden folks, the ones who were supposed to be watching. "Got eyes on a few birds, four, seven and ten o'clock one looks like the Kaleesh from earlier." The bone face was a little easier to find. "Gonna go see if there's another party popper around here."​

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Probably the real one of the actual quality of sorts. She walked away from the pillar and headed toward another choke point a few meters up to her right. The zealots followed her and another got out from their hidey-hole to inspect the pillar itself. Under the guise of maintenance, it wouldn't look like anything more than just that. Vhon had to stay on the low to still make it appear as if she was going to do what was asked of her. She didn't have to look far or hard even, she turned just enough to catch the red and green lights of a quality party popper.​

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Chatter on coms had it that more stormtroopers were en route. "Right, so, we've got bucketheads coming down this way and the zealots are probably figuring out I've been a little naughty with their daisies."​

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Dresden Verbrennung ​

 

[Dresden Verbrennung]

"I'd duck if I were you," Dresden said conversationally.

One of the zealots was, in fact, attempting to sneak up behind the purple lass with a large pipe wrench in hand, probably to club her over the back of the head. Was, being the operative word. Olga spat out a 15mm projectile, travelling at speeds that would make a starfighter blush, that caught him in the upper torso. The energy of the frangible round transferring to soft tissue as it powderized and expanded turned everything above the pelvis into a cloud of finely atomized, pinkish-red mist. The mist itself wasn't harmful, unless the guy had some sort of blood-borne contagion, but it was icky. The legs, deprived of electrochemical input by the central nervous system's sudden failure to exist, toppled over backwards with nary a twitch. A second later, a sound not unlike thunder rattled the windows of the station as the report washed over it in a sonic assault.

"I'd say it's safe to assume they're onto you," he supplied helpfully as he scanned the area for more targets of opportunity. "You Kaleesh pal is headed your way, and boy, he looks angry. You want to handle him, or should I?"

The comms chatter suggested the bucketheads were about five minutes out. They were, thus far, oblivious to the threat at the LZ, and there wasn't any way to warn them off. Dresden could listen in to their comms, but his transmitter wasn't powerful enough to reach the shuttles this far out. Bespin's atmosphere was prone to all kinds of interference, thanks to the robust electrical activity of the gas giant's atmosphere. He was tempted to pop one on the nose with Olga as a warning, but even at this range, she was like as not to punch through.

Whatever they were going to do, they needed to act fast, or those troopers were going to join the zealot in the pink mist brigade. The agent's mind raced as he considered various plans. He hated this seat of the pants stuff. Given even a few hours of prep time, he could plan and prepare for several different contingencies. Out here, though, all he could do was respond to threats as they arose. Granted, Olga was a fairly effective response to anything short of a krayt dragon materializing out of thin air, but even she couldn't work miracles of the sort they needed.

Vhondryl Gallaer​

 

[Val Pellian]

Isobel Nakano

It took her a moment to blip who she was riding with.

That amused him and gave him a moment to look at her while her guard was down. She looked good, but... tired. To be expected after the wringer they had gone through. If it had just been that one wringer though? That would be one thing. Instead it was years of close-calls and hardship. This was something that couldn't be avoided however.

It was the job.

Crane wouldn't be surprised, if the majority of Intelligence was teetering on the brink.

"Nah, no scales here... not that I know of anyway. D wanted to throw me right back into the fight, but I managed to convince her I needed some downtime before I could perform at peak efficiency." He glanced her way as she climbed on over, smirking at that double entendre, before refocusing his attention on the trip ahead.

"Glad to see you too. It's been... a while. I know, but I am glad to see and hear you're doing okay." There was only so much keeping track of you could do while working. He had kept track of her a little. Here and there. Kept tabs to make sure she was okay and that D (or someone through D) wasn't sending her off on suicide missions without good back-up.

Grudges could be a fierce thing.

"Oh, been all over former and current Order territory. The scales have a refined operation. We might be back, but they never truly went away, so D's been running me ragged to keep them on their back...claws? As for how I knew you were here, you really think I haven't been keeping tabs on you?" Bemused tone there as he turned the corner and began landing procedures for their destination.

"When I saw you were heading to Bespin... well, I knew it was a nice opportunity to catch up again, no?"

 

[Isobel Nakano]

Isobel wasn't quite sure whether to be more impressed at Val's ability to get around the security or touched by his apparent concern for her wellbeing. "Delilah isn't usually so easily swayed," Isobel observed coolly, casting a sidelong glance at the driver. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say your cracked MI's security cyphers. Or you've got a friend in high places. Maybe both." Her eyes traced over his profile, then she looked out the front windscreen again, her eyebrows lofting enigmatically. As much as she felt she knew Val Pellian, she had to admit that he was still a mystery man to her.

Sterling Street came into view, and she drew her handbag from the back seat and flipped open the visor and opened the makeup mirror. "In any event," she said as she pulled a tube of lipstick from her handbag, stamped with the premium label of Black Lotus. Eldritch Blast was a vivid crimson shade that applied an indelible pop of color to her otherwise pale features. "I'm glad you did. It's always a treat to see you." She began to carefully touch up her lipstick, careful not to trigger the taser feature, and then put the tube back in its cover. "I think perhaps I didn't convey that when we met on Crytal Nest. I was just surprised, and then there were Ssi-Ruuk..." Her voice trailed off as she completed her makeup by touching up her eyeliner before tucking her makeup pack away.

"There's a concern about the productivity of the shop," said Isobel. "This is also one of the manufacturing centers for the, uh, private collection, if you catch my drift. So Delilah wants to make sure there's not a larger problem. I was planning to walk in and say you all work for me, what the hell is going on but if you have other thoughts as to how to approach it, I'm all ears."

Val Pellian​

 

[Vhondryl Gallaer]

​

Casually, Vhondryl took the opportunity to duck as mentioned. ​

​

What the kriff. The Keshiri thought as she slowly stood back up, the bloke went from standing to mist in all of a few seconds. "Stang," quipped Vhondryl in return. No chite they would be onto her and that only meant that the purple lady had moments to work with in order to accomplish the task of rooting these guys out. "Kaleesh is an akk on a leash, we need to locate his master. Twi'lek looked like he was in charge," she continued and managed to get down and away from the scene of the crime. "I got bone face."​

​

Bone face on point turned to try and leverage weight, Vhon sidestepped and pulled a vibrodagger from the inside of her suit and caught him in the kidney. Kaleesh moved to pivot, Keshiri pivoted as well twisting the dagger and pushing it down. Blood spilled from bone face onto the floor. He shoved her away, she took the dagger with her. He was angry, and angry made him stupid he went high, she went low and cut him across the side of his torso. ​

​

Vhon managed to nab the man's pistol, he attempted to wrestle it out of her grasp and was promptly stabbed in the hand. He managed to shove her to the ground, she skidded backward partly through the pool of blood. Kaleesh managed to get a stomp on her leg, she grappled with the blaster pistol. She fired a shot upward it landed on the Kaleesh's leg shearing it off. Last stand, bone face took out the dagger and caught Vhon on the foot with it. "I always thought the basic was shot in the foot not stabbed, kriff."​

​

More chatter, bucketheads landed. ​

​

The Keshiri crawled toward the Kaleesh and searched his body. She cursed in at least four different languages pulling various currencies off the man, a grenade or two, and something shiny. "Hello, I found the detonator which chances are our twi'lek friend would want, I'm gonna - clean myself up. Let me know when you get eyes on the Lekku Boy."​

​

Dresden Verbrennung ​

 

[Dresden Verbrennung]

"I see 'em," Dresden said.

The Twi'lek, having apparently realized that something was wrong, was furiously shouting into a commlink. That was not encouraging. Even though they had the detonator, there was still the possibility of backups. Fortunately, the incoming buckets had an EOD tech or two. Using the micro probe as a relay, he was able to warn them about the situation, and the poor soul with the pauldrons of a bomb tech went to work on the landing pad. It wouldn't take long to render the pad safe, the agent figured, but they might not have that time. No sooner had the troopers landed and dispersed around the pad, securing a beachhead, than presumably hostile workers boiled out from the lower decks.

Most were either unarmed, or poorly armed, wielding makeshift clubs and such. About one in ten had a blaster or slugthrower, and had the distinctive air of herding dogs directing livestock.

"Kark it all, they're using meat shields," Dresden spat.

It was a pretty standard tactic among irregulars in a tight spot, providing their moral compass swung a little loose. Gather up a mob, either through fancy words or coercion, and point them in the right direction, and count on nature to take its course. A military force in a strange land could be counted on to react poorly to a mob rushing at them, and if you told them that their homes or their families were in grave danger, the mob could be counted on to rip them limb from limb given half the chance. The inevitable outcome was massacre, a fine spectacle for any opportunistic holocams nearby. It was the stuff propagandists thought about when they made love. Or, more accurately, the stuff they thought about when frantically tugging the tauntaun in editing rooms. Dresden seriously doubted anyone would willingly sleep with one of the slimy bastards.

The agent loaded an incendiary round into Olga, and took a bead on the Twi'lek.

"Unless you're actively dying, you're going to have to get to the troopers before that crowd does," he barked at Vhondryl Gallaer.

With that, he squeezed the trigger. Olga bucked violently as she spat a 15mm projectile from her muzzle, the bullet briefly reaching hypersonic speeds before it collided with the Twi'lek's femur, or whatever their analogue to a femur was. Everything below the point of impact went spinning away, hard enough to leave several bright splotches on the various walls, ceilings, and decks it collided with before careening out of sight. The Twi'lek was propelled the other way, if not quite as forcefully, then certainly with equal aplomb. The incendiary round cauterized the stump where his leg used to be, so he probably wouldn't bleed out, but then again, he also probably had a nasty concussion, so it was 50/50 whether or not he'd survive until medical teams got to him.

"Hentai head is down. I'll see what I can do about slowing the mob, but you've got to get to the LZ."

 

[Ana-Sera Beliq]

Tag: The Major
Gear: Outfit | IR-5 | Enforcer | Vibrodaggers | Tehk'la Blade
Muse Soundtrack: Seether "Words As Weapons"​

She wasn't supposed to be there.​

​

There was a costume party that Ana had been tasked to infiltrate, among the higher strata of Cloud City's social scene, in search of information regarding the Onsyr Conglomerate. It still amazed her after two centuries of this type of work that people still hadn't learned to keep their mouths shut when there was alcohol involved. Bad for them, certainly, but good for her, as it made her work that much easier at times. But with the Administration contacting the First Order with a list of concerns they needed assistance with, she'd been contacted and asked to assist.​

​

Unfortunately, there hadn't been time to change her clothing, which provided a stark contrast to the weapons now strapped and sheathed to her form. Her armor would have been preferred, but there hadn't been time to retrieve it from the secure storage it was tucked into. The agent would just have to make do and be thankful that weapons were so easy to hide in a Shi'ido body.​

​

The trip down had been mostly silent as Ana fussed and settled the holsters in place, ensuring her blasters were ready to go. She did realize after several moments that it was incredibly rude of her to have remained silent for so long, and she winced at the thought. Turning to her companion for the mission, she waited as part of the platoon was directed towards a sweep of the passages to the right, while they headed to the left. ​

​

"Let's hope its as simple as gangs fighting over territory, shall we? A rogue Ren munching on dexedrine and spice would be a new kind of nightmare. Entertaining though...I don't think that's even on the bingo card for this place." Ana grinned, tucking her hair behind her ear. Canting her head to the side, she glanced down to the schematic displayed on her datapad before they began moving down the dimly lit passage.​

​

"This will take us to the first of the chambers. There's two that were decommissioned but according to these reports, still pull too much power from the grid on this level." she added after a moment, joining Major as they led the remaining troopers down the passage. It was an eerie feeling, and she began to think they should have made arrangements to have had more of the lights turned on.​

​

​

 

[Vhondryl Gallaer]

​

Vhondryl chewed on the inside of her lip. She had to get to the bucket heads before mob rule got them and no amount of betaplast was going to help them. Couldn't exactly go out guns blazing either, the Keshiri pushed her lips to the side and ran a hand over the subtle of the undercut of her hair. "I got an idea," the Keshiri rushed off ahead of the crowd thankfully the chuckles were dense and hadn't noticed the choke points they were walking toward. There was a narrow path between them and the bucketheads, one neither one had crossed yet.​

​

It was just wide enough for a skycar. Vhondryl rushed up and over, grabbing gear along the way as she jumped into the skycar. She did her best to cover up the purple skin with gear. She pushed the skycar up and around the target area. Just enough time to give Vhon time to rework the detonator for the charges she had. The Keshiri then stuck the charges on the inside of the vehicle and maneuvered the car around to bear down on the path. The Keshiri bailed from the vehicle tumbling backward hitting a few things along the way, crates, people, and the pillar.​

​

She had just enough consciousness left to hit the detonator she grabbed earlier. The explosion brought down the path and woke Vhon up enough for her to stumble onto her feet and beat it out of the AO. Vhon tossed the gear and collapsed not too far down from the wreckage. Everything hurts. Vhon rolled out of the way and climbed up to her feet and leaned against what was left of the wall. "I uh, I think that did it?"​

​

It wouldn't be much after that someone from the Zealot side conked the purple-skinned idiot on the head and pulled her out of her support's line of sight. ​

​

Dresden Verbrennung ​

 

[Renata Westaway]

The subtle call of "Doctor Westaway? Doctor?" was lost in the din and shuffle.

It was chaos on the plaza-cum-field hospital-cum-operations center-cum-conference center that stood in front of the only shuttleport left open in the city. In the distance, smoke rose in columns, the result of rioters angry and braying for blood in retaliation against whoever had exploded the mining complex nearby. Hundreds of Ugnaughts had been killed in the blasts and many more were injured. First Imperial Medical Services were on hand in the plaza, working triage as more and more victims were brought in.

Renata, for her part, was there on behalf of the First Order's Refugee Council, which made her President and CEO of Everybody's Problems today. To her left, a team of Ugnaughts were bellowing for the blood of the other tibanna mining efforts -- which, especially, were not yet clear to Renata -- who had set off the attacks at the tibanna mining rig. To her right, members of the Baron Administrator's mediation team, begging for calm. Renata felt a migraine coming on, and she wanted to tell them both to buzz off.

"Listen, I -- " she began, but the Ugnaughts just went off again. Renata dropped her pen on the small camp table that served as her working desk and conference table and sighed, reaching up to rub her temples. "Stop it!" she finally bellowed, bringing silence at last to the squabbling Ugnaughts. "We've got more important things to focus on, in this instance, than shooting up your competitors, besides which we have no evidence which of them it was. We will come to the justice portion of this event later, I assure you, but right now FIMS is still pulling your people out of the wreckage and FOCIE is trying it's damnedest to keep it from crashing into the core of the planet, so why don't we pencil retribution in for after all that?"

The protocol droid cocked its head quizzically at Renata. "Shall I translate that... verbatim, Doctor Westaway?"

"Translate it however you damn well please," said Renata. "Then tell them I'm taking a five minute walk." She shoved away from the table so forcefully it nearly upended things. Careful, she admonished herself. We're not in Governance Row now.

Fishing her cigarette case out of her pocket, she stalked away from the meeting, crossing the greenbelt towards the mess tent. She had barely had a moment to light up when the same voice from before called out: "Doctor Westaway?" She turned, drawing furiously on her cigarette, to see a Refugee Council communications officer approach. "Sorry, have you been looking for me? It's been... well," she said, ashing her cigarette into a nearby concrete planter. "What do you need?"

"We've received a hail from the Corellia Digital Corporation," the comms officer said.

Renata's eyebrow raised. "Oh?" She took another drag from her cigarette. "Good people. Helped us out on Najarka, I think. I didn't work with them now." She exhaled slowly, then looked at the officer again. "Oh right, you want me to come and talk to them. Of course. The communications tent is -- " She gestured with her free hand.

"Third from the left, Doctor. This way."

Renata was almost down to the butt of her cigarette when she put Sor-Jan Xantha on screen. "Mr. Xantha," she replied. "Renata Westaway, First Order Refugee Council. I'm glad to see you. Your offer of assistance is very kind and on behalf of the First Order I accept. Let's talk logistics. How do you want to do this? I've got a triage center here, but depending on your facilities it might be wiser to divide and conquer. Sending our specs. Let me know your thoughts." Luckily, Renata had been warned. It might have felt odd dealing with a small child, otherwise. "You're more than welcome to join me here, as well. Up to you."

 

[Ariadne Gallaer]

It was, if not the most dangerous place Ariadne had ever been in her life, at least the most dangerous place she had ever walked into of her own accord. ​

The tibanna mining platform was unstable, occasionally lurching as a bank of repulsors went out and flickered back on with the fortunes of the power grid. Even when the platform wasn't lurching, it listed at a several-degree angle thanks to failures in several scattered repulsors on the north side of the platform. She was barely off the ship and already the place was making her feel a little sick. But she had a job now, and watching the others get on with theirs reminded her to keep moving.

Weaving through the carnage -- groups of FIMS personnel triaging Ugnaughts while others brought in stretchers or helped them hobble in -- she found her way to the central stairway. After checking her breathing apparatus once more, she descended, following her instructions. Over one shoulder, she carried her satchel of tools. On the other perched Chunk, chittering away anxiously.

"Could always return to the ship," said Ariadne. "But don't worry. Chemicals here aren't harmful to droids."

The droid trilled in her ear and then settled in as Ariadne hustled down the stairs into the bowels of the tibanna mining station, carefully making way for medical personnel as they chimed in with an on your left! while hurtling down. Finally, she reached the maintenance levels and drew her datapad in order to follow the instructions to the first of several dozen engineering tasks she would be required to complete that day. "Light please," she grunted at Chunk, who obliged with a bright light that lit the path in front of her as she worked deeper into the innards of the station.