Contract 002 - Marick Del'abbot & Talos D'tana
“We’ve got a leak.” A voice spoke out right next to Marick’s ear, causing him to flinch involuntarily.
“Spast! Sashar, a little warning?” He growled irritably, for once not bothering with the ‘sir’ honorific.
“I was practicing. There’s been a marked increase in smuggling in Estle City. It’s stemming from two locations; Giletta Spaceport, and down in the lower city itself. We know they’ve got a man on the inside, but we need this taken care of quietly. This one’s off the record. Zandro’s got me handling the smugglers themselves, but we need their contact in the citadel found and dealt with. Perfect for you Oblivious Brigade boys.”
“Oblivion.” Marick corrected, knowing his former mentor had made the mistake on perpose.
“Whatever. This might be a two-man job. I’d recommend Talos. He knows the spaceport well. He’s good at sniffing out moles. Don’t mention this to anyone. Word gets out that our security’s so lax that mundanes can smuggle goods in and out and we’ll be seen as weak. Can’t have that.”
The Hapan’s lip twitched slightly in amusement. “No we can’t.”
“Oh, one more thing. Their contact could well be a force-user if they’re operating from within the Citadel, so don’t take any chances.”
“Got it. We’ll take care of them.”
At any given time, on any given day, the busiest place in all of Estle City was the Giletta Spaceport; home to not only the Space Traffic Control Center but also the 20,000 men and women of the Dajorra Defence Force’s Division III, Giletta was packed day in and day out.
Amidst the bustle were two figures; both were male, tall and sharply dressed in suits from the Hapes Cluster and both moved with purpose, though their gaits revealed their differing backgrounds. The lead man walked with an air that befit a noble (which he was) while the other walked straight-backed, something that just screamed “ex-soldier”. By all appearances, they were bodyguard and client.
The truth could not be farther off because, though it wasn’t openly shown, the aristocrat possessed a considerable amount more power than the bodyguard. Alas, it was not the kind of power that one could just display in a public place without endangering the mission they had been recently assigned.
The pair crossed into Giletta proper and made their way to a private lounge on the third floor of the main terminal that possessed a clear view of the congestion below, which was perfect for people-watching. Once the noble made sure that they were alone, he turned to his bodyguard and broke the silence:
“So what do you think, Talos?” asked Marick Del’Abbot as he shrugged off his suit jacket and sat down in a plush flo-form chair.
The “bodyguard”, actually Dark Jedi Knight Talos d’Tana, said nothing as he walked to the bay window and looked out into the crowd below. It was some minutes before the Heragan spoke.
“This would be easier if we had more information than just ‘the target frequents Giletta Spaceport’. That’s about as vague as one can get”
“Well that’s all Sashar gave us to go on. He had to think we’d be able to do this or he wouldn’t have bothered with us and just taken care of it personally” Marick said, grinning as he imagined the Mandalorian Elder trying to remain inconspicuous on a planet that he had, until about a year ago, ruled.
Talos half-turned from the window and raised an eyebrow at his Captain.
“He knows nothing else?” the Knight asked.
Del’Abbot gave a laugh as he sprung from the chair and joined his protégée at the window.
“Oh I’m sure he knows more, Talos. Something tells me that those smugglers he took down last night were very helpful”
“I guess he didn’t feel the need to be helpful in turn” Talos muttered, but he knew that making things easy was neither the Mandalorian way nor Sashar’s way.
“Apparently not. But enough of this. Focus” commanded the Obelisk Templar and silence enveloped the lounge once more as Talos studied the legions of people.
“Ok…so if the smuggling was all done here, that means our target frequents this place, just like Sashar said” Talos said some minutes later. Marick nodded in agreement and waited for the Knight to continue.
“Which in turn means that the target needs to be someone who wouldn’t look out of place being here day-after-day-after-day. That rules out civilian. And a bonafide Dark Jedi would draw way to much attention…which only leaves…” Talos trailed off as he saw two uniformed military policemen walk across the busy promenade.
“Soldiers!” the Heragan finished, turning to look at Marick who had a look of approval on his handsome face.
Talos d’Tana peered out from between the slats of the ventilation duct that ran through the breakroom reserved for the servicemen and women of the Arcona Armed Forces.
The Oblivion Agent (for that was what he really was) had been in this position for some hours hoping to glean some sort of lead from the soldiers that passed in and out of the breakroom.
All he had gotten however was his Captain’s ire and a sore back (if it wasn’t for the prototype Specter armor that Talos was wearing, which automatically adjusted body temperature, he would be downright miserable).
“Omega, report in” Marick Del’Abbot’s voice suddenly resounded through Talos’s skull, courtesy of the internal comlink that the Specter armor’s headband had been installed with.
“Omega confirmed; I’ve…got nothing, sir”
Talos could have sworn that he heard Del’Abbot chuckle before he replied:
“Copy, Omega. I’m going to rejoin polite society and take a look around the Freight Terminal. Let me know if you get anything. Alpha out”
As Talos adjusted position, he envisioned his friend and mentor being able to stretch his limbs and walk straight up. Childish envy began to seep into his mind and his thought pattern became muddled as random as hours ticked by.
But then, the sound of plastic chairs scraping against the ferrocrete floor reached Talos’s ears and the gruff baritones of two human males soon followed. Crawling to the end of the duct, the d’Tana looked out and saw two MP soldiers in fatigues lounging in the chairs directly below him.
“Blast, I hate Freight Terminal guard duty” said the first, who bore the insignia of a Sergeant.
“Agreed, it’s easily the worst shift here. And it’s not even important…I don’t think anyone is dumb enough to try and smuggle contraband through a spaceport that’s home to 20,000 soldiers” the second agreed (this soldier wore the insignia of a Lance Corporal).
From his vantage point above the pair, Talos was seriously tempted to draw his WESTAR-35 blaster pistol and shoot the LCP. Obviously someone was dumb enough to start smuggling illegal items, not just into Giletta, but also into to the Arconan Citadel; because if there wasn’t such a threat, he sure as hell wouldn’t be crouched in a ventilation duct, spying on people who had no idea who they really served.
“Yeah. Anyway, did you hear about Dunkirk?” said the Sergeant after he had taken a sip of his soda, Ar-Cola Diet he had purchased from the vending machine.
“Captain Dunkirk, he’s the officer in charge of Battalion 2’s Civil Affairs”
“Oh yeah. What about him?” asked the Corporal.
“Well, apparently he’s been spending too much time up at the Citadel when he’s not supposed to be. So he got assigned to funeral honor guard duty for the next 6 months”
At the mention of the Citadel, the Arconan Dark Jedi’s seat of power, Talos’s attention was immediately perked.
“Hahaha, what a suck!”
“Yeah, his first funeral is PFC. Dylan Cobb’s, in three days” the Sergeant chuckled.
“Cobb… the bloke who got killed in training over on Secundus?”
“That’s the guy”
“Wow…a fool burying a fool. But wait, about Dunkirk and the Citadel...” the Lance Corporal began.
“Yeah, what about it?” asked the Sergeant, who had finished his soda and was now leaning back in his chair with his boots on the table…a serious breach of military etiquette.
“What if the Captain’s one of…one of…” the LCP leaned in close to the other Noncommissioned Officer before finishing:
“…one of them”
A look of confusion crossed the Sergeant’s lined face for a brief second before he caught on to what his junior was insinuating.
“Oh, you mean one of them? That’s a good point, but you see I heard this rumor that Captain Dunkirk has that power but…well, apparently not enough of it because he got washed out. Offered a commission here in the DDF to keep quiet”
Talos d’Tana didn’t need to hear any more of what the two enlisted soldiers had to say because he was sure he had their guy. With a big grin behind the Specter armor’s opaque visor, Talos pinged Captain Del’Abbot’s com-frequency.
“Alpha, confirm” he said once a line had been established.
“This is Alpha confirmed; go ahead, Omega” came Marick’s reply.
“Alpha, I think I have something...”
“Nathaniel Dunkirk. Captain, Division III, Dajorra Defence Force. Age 32, height at 5’9, weighs 147 pounds. Assigned to Civil Affairs, Battalion 2.” Marick Del’Abbot read off from a laptop he had “borrowed” from a University student.
He sat at the kitchen table of the safehouse that he and Talos had established; with the Citadel being the site of the smuggling ring and Event Horizon (Oblivion’s public face) buzzing over the death of Alexi Drexhof, it had been decided that the two Oblivion Agents would set up shop in something a little less conspicuous. A dorm room in Aurek-Xesh-Dorn Fraternity Hall, located at Estle University, had done nicely.
“Check his disciplinary records” suggested Talos d’Tana from the other side of the room, where he was lifting weights. Marick’s hands flew over the laptop’s keys.
“Got something; he was disciplined last week for dereliction of duty and abandonment of station. Ooh what is this?” Del’Abbot said as he tried to click on the “Prior Service Record” tab of Dunkirk’s dossier.
Talos picked up on his Captain’s tone of voice and put down his weights, crossing the room to peer over the Hapan’s shoulder. Displayed on the screen was a large red exclaimation point with the words “Access Restricted” directly beneath it.
The two Agents looked from the screen to each other, before a smile crept across Marick’s face.
“Child’s play” he muttered as he pressed ctrl+enter and typed the following into the box that appeared:
A green checkmark replaced the red exclamation point and row after row of white text began to fill the screen. When the flow of text had stopped some minutes later, the two Dark Jedi were speechless.
Nathaniel Dunkirk hadn’t been washed out of Clan Arcona due to lacking the power…he had been washed out for partaking in a very dangerous mission years ago, under the reign of Consul Emeritus Mejas Doto. He had been a Dark Jedi Knight on the cusp of being promoted into the Equite ranks.
“Our job just got a lot more interesting, Talos” said Marick a few minutes later, his eyes still glued to the laptop screen. The d’Tana nodded in silent agreement.
“Kit up, we’ve got a lot of work to do” the Battleteam Leader finished, rising from his seat and fixing his subordinate with a look that was commonly associated with cold-hard determination.
The AXD dorm room looked a lot different than it had the previous morning; glossy pictures of Captain Nathaniel Dunkirk, as well as pictures of his Honor Guard unit, hung from the windowsills and covered sidetables while images of Giletta Spaceport’s Military Terminal 7 (MilTerm7) and also the Freight Terminal covered the kitchen table. An impressive array of weaponry, both conventional and not, was arranged on the kitchen counter.
“Quick, tell me who’s on the Honor Guard for Cobb’s funeral” demanded the Hapan noble, looking up at Talos from the holo-pad he was reading.
To his credit, the younger Agent flawlessly recited the names of First Lieutenant John Hale, Sergeant Miko Perel, Staff Sergeant Alp’munn, and Corporal Antioch. Including Dunkirk, who would be commanding the Guard, three of the soldiers were human while Alp’munn and Antioch were Bith and Devanorian respectively.
“Good” said Marick before returning to his reading. Silence descended upon the dorm room until Talos finally broke it.
“What’s next, sir?”
A sigh escaped Del’Abbot’s lips and he looked up at the Sith once more before replying:
“You tell me. What would be the best way to get close to our target?”
Talos was about to counter with that he wasn’t sure, but then the answer came to him and he felt like a major idiot. It must have shown on his face, for Marick smirked.
“We infiltrate the Guard!”
Del’Abbot nodded but then caught Talos totally off-guard with his reply.
“Not we. You”
“Me? Just me? Where will you be?” sputtered the assassin, fixing his Captain with an incredulous look. The Hapan motioned Talos to join him at the table, where the maps of Giletta were spread out.
“I will be in service port 11 of the Freight Terminal with an airspeeder. I got a communiqué from Sashar last night that we are to interrogate Dunkirk before killing him. Apparently the smugglers he tracked down and eliminated weren’t as helpful as we thought” he explained.
“It will be your job to bring Dunkirk to me any way possible, as long as he remains relatively undamaged, so that we can spirit him off for interrogation. Clear?”
Talos paused to carefully word his reply:
“For the most part, yes sir. But how will I infiltrate the Guard? Including the commander, it’s a 5-man thing”
Marick smiled broadely and extended his hand toward the window where a glossy picture of a man in full uniform was hanging. He pulled and Talos felt the Force surge as the image landed in the Templar’s outstretched hand. He held it up for the d’Tana to look at.
“Well, if you ask me, Lieutenant John Hale looks a lot like you, Talos” Marick said, tossing the picture on the table. “You just need to make sure the real John Hale doesn’t show up and blow your cover. You know how to do that, I assume?”
But Talos was already crossing over to the weapon’s counter as his Captain finished speaking. He picked up his WESTAR-35 blaster pistol and a suppressor attachment before turning back to Marick.
“Oh yes. I’ll be back later, sir” he said before screwing on the suppressor and sliding the pistol beneath the nondescript cloak he was wearing. Then, without further fanfare, he slipped through the doorway.
Giletta Spaceport, Military Terminal 7
At 0830 the next morning, Talos d’Tana, in the guise of First Lieutenant Jonathan Hale, walked into the briefing room where Captain Nathaniel Dunkirk had ordered his Honor Guard to assemble. As Talos took a seat, he ran a hand over his near-bald head, courtesy of the brutal haircut that Marick had given him the previous night.
"It’ll help you get into character" the Hapan Obelisk had said.
Talos had to admit that Marick had been right to a degree; the Heragan now appeared to be a spitting image of the real Jonathan Hale, who was buried under mounds of trash at the Estle Sanitation Plant.
“Good of you to join us, Lieutenant Hale” said Captain Dunkirk in a drawling voice, definitely Courscanti in origin.
“Thank you, sir. It’s an honor to be here to assist in the burying of one of our own”
From his extensive stalking of the real John Hale yesterday and his own military training, Talos was able to reply in the way that he knew Dunkirk would be expecting…in other words, John Hale had been a total sycophant.
“Yes, well…there’s coffee and pastries behind me” the traitor paused and looked down at a holo-pad. “I see you’ll be the Division Guard for today?” he continued, meaning that Talos would be marching to the right of the standard of Division III, carrying a Ceremonial Rifle.
“Yes, sir. It’s my usual position” the pseudo-Lieutenant replied.
“Well then, there’s no reason to change protocol then; this will be just like every other Honor Guard. Follow me” the Captain said, walking through the conference room’s back door and into a small armory, where the rest of the Honor Guard was getting ready.
As Lieutenant “Hale” followed his target, he suppressed a smile at the irony of the words just spoken.
“This will just be like every other Honor Guard” Dunkirk had said
“If only you knew” muttered Talos.
The funeral procession for Private First Class Dylan S. Cobb went off without a hitch; for a soldier who had died in training, there was a fair amount of people who had come out to see their friend or relative (Talos didn’t much care) be buried.
Fifteen minutes after the Honor Guard had first stepped off in front of PFC. Cobb’s casket, Talos and his fellow guardsmen were standing directly behind a Defence Force Chaplain, a light rain matting their hair (or lack thereof) to their scalps and, in the case of Dunkirk and d’Tana, plinking off of their officer’s ranks which were fastened to the epaulets of their dress uniforms.
The Chaplain finished his remarks and turned to Nathaniel Dunkirk.
“Captain, if you would”
From the center of the guard formation, Dunkirk bellowed:
“Guardsmen! Shoulder arms!”
In unison, Talos and Sergeant Miko Perel raised their Ceremonial Rifles to their shoulders and pointed them skywards.
“Fire!” barked Dunkirk and two cerulean blaster bolts flew from the muzzle of the rifles. The crowd gave an audible “gasp” as the retort of the weapon’s echoed around the military cemetery.
“Fire!” the Captain ordered once more and the two rifle-bearers squeezed their weapon’s triggers once more.
Captain Dunkirk gave the same command five more times. Once the 14-shot salute had finished, the Honor Guard came to full attention, dipped their two banners, one bearing the DDF’s insignia and the other bearing a roman numeral III, in PFC. Cobb’s honor and then straightened up and began the solemn march back to Giletta Spaceport.
“That was good work, Lieutenant” said Nathaniel Dunkirk as the two sat in the Honor Guard’s locker room. Both had stripped off their soaking “Class-A” uniform jackets and were dressed in the gray “duty uniform”.
Talos voiced his appreciation sycophantically, just like he knew the real John Hale would have. But deep down, an icy cold fear gripped his heart.
The Captain rose from the long bench he had been sitting on and straightened his uniform, patting the double-bars of his rank appreciatively. Then he stared at Talos with an interesting look on his face.
“You know Lieutenant, there’s something about you that reminds me of myself…I just can’t place it”
Talos jumped at the opportunity to firm up his cover:
“Perhaps it is the desire to succeed and rise through the ranks that we both share?”
Dunkirk laughed loudly and shook his head.
“No, I’m sure that’s true of both of us, but it’s something else…something deeper. Below the surface if you will…” the O-3 trailed off, musing to himself.
Trying to remain as inconspicuous as he could, the Dark Jedi Knight slowly reached behind him and wrapped his hand around the butt of his blaster pistol, feeling reassured by the cool metal.
Dunkirk’s sudden outburst nearly made Talos jump out of his skin:
“I know! YOU’RE FORCE SENSIT—ngh ah!” before the Captain had even finished his sentence, Talos had stood up, drawn his WESTAR-35 and put a bolt right in Dunkirk’s left thigh. The traitor crumpled to the ground immediately. The Oblivion Agent quickly switched weapons so that the bronze beam of his lightsaber was pointed at Dunkirk’s throat.
“Now listen here, traitor. Oblivion Brigade knows what you’ve been up to and I know you've been punished by the military. But let me tell you, your punishment is only beginning. Come on!” hissed Talos, his voice as silky smooth as a seducer but with far more dangerous intent.
He grabbed the moaning Captain from the floor and with a burst of Force prowess that he didn’t even know he possessed, he willed the injured officer to be quiet until Talos said otherwise. Arranging himself so that it looked like he was helping an injured comrade, with Nathaniel’s arm slung over Talos’ shoulders, the Sith began to steer them towards the Frieght Terminal.
Service Port 11
“And why did you shoot him in the leg?” asked Marick Del’Abbot as he helped his subordinate throw Nathaniel Dunkirk, none too kindly, into the back of a commandeered “Selenian Bakery” airspeeder.
“He figured out that I was Force Sensitive” Talos replied as he sat down in the speeder’s passenger seat.
“Ah, yeah. I would shoot him in the leg too. What did you say back?”
“That his punishment was just beginning…”
[[Post 2/2. Marick Del'Abbot will be finishing up ACB Contract 002]]
Service Port 11
Marick had to hand it to his protege; Talos d’Tana had performed above and beyond his expectations. He completed his missions with no collateral, which meant less paperwork for the Arena Master later. A slight grin pulled at the corner of his lips. It was good to be out in the field again.
Even though the two Arconan’s came from different backgrounds they had created a bond that all members of Oblivion Brigade seemed to share in terms of professional respect and brotherhood. He hid his praise though, making sure to maintain the steeled demeanor befitting of his title as Captain of Arcona’s Black Ops.
“Right,” the Hapan said as he waited for Talos to lock the trunk and hop into the side seat of the speeder. “I’ve prepared the room already.”
Nathaniel Dunkirk’s eyes slowly flickered opened as they attempted to focus in on his surroundings. The room was dark, a single beam of dull yellow light shining down on his position from the ceiling. The walls where lined with plastic tarps, and it smelled sterile of bleach.
“The fu..” The Captain started to mutter before wincing in pain at the sudden jolt of pain that thrust up through his body from his leg. The pain caused him to jump to attention as he came to his senses, instinctively trying to move. He could do no more than wiggle, though, as he had been restricted to a chair with some sort of high-resistance, synthetic-rubberlike binds.
“It’s a new material we designed specifically for ‘Force Sensitives’,” A steady voice explained in his ear. Eyes darting back and forth, Dunkirk tried to locate the voice’s source but to no avail. “Not only is it durable enough to keep a Wookiee tied down, there are micro-servos cells ingrained within the compound that cuts off ones connection to The Force.” The voice gained a body as the slender figure of Marick Del’Abbot emerged seemingly from mid-air in front of Nathaniel.
Clad in full Specter Armor, the typically unassuming Hapan noble looked rather intimidating and even ghostly. His deep blue eyes where obscured by the opaque visor that shielded his handsome face and his white, sleeveless robes contrasted starkly against the all-black, form fitting armor he wore beneath it. His hands where clasped calmly behind his back.
“Nathaniel Dunkirk. Captain, Division III, Dajorra Defence Force,” Marick started to say, his typically soft and slightly accented voice now cold and flat like a common stormtrooper’s due to the filer in his visor. He felt it gave him a more menacing edge.
“Age 32, height at 5’9, weighs 147 pounds. Assigned to Civil Affairs, Battalion 2” the Hapan continued.
“Yea, that’s me. What the kark do you want?” Nathaniel spat trying and failing to again free himself.
“I know a lot about you, Nathan. Is it alright if I call you Nathan?” Marick inquired, his tone sounding almost...polite.
Dunkirk replied by spitting on the Hapan’s expensive and recently polished boots. Marick replied by taking one of his gloved fingers and pressing it down into the captive’s wounded knee. A yelp that could have been mistaken for a beaten nerf escaped Nathaniel’s lungs.
“It hurt’s doesn’t it? One of the first tricks we are taught when learning to accept the dark side is to control and suppress pain. We often forget what it actually feels like.”
“Parent’s divorced at a young age,” Marick continued. “Coping by striving to be the best at everything you decided to enroll in the military to find meaning in life. Rather cliche and dull, if you ask me.”
“What the hell do you want?” Dunkirk spat again, trying to fight his restraints. Marick let his hands remain clasped behind his back, his posture straight and relaxed.
“After getting a taste of war and finding an affiliation with the force, you joined the Brotherhood. Serving under Clan Arcona and Mejas Doto, you ascended to the rank of Knight before being ‘discharged’.” Marick slowly circled Dunkirk as he spoke. When he was behind him, the Hapan leaned down and spoke into his ear. “Now, as interesting as that may be, I really could not care less about your past. What I’m concerned with is the present.”
Marick disappeared, and then reappeared on the other side of Dunkirk. “Nathan. What I want is information on your little smuggling operation you have going on.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking ab-OUUUUUUCH!” Nathaniel yelped again as he Marick’s finger pressed down against the already seared and highly sensitive blaster wound.
“Go..to..hell.” Dunkirk spat again, his soldiers resolve and training under Mejas easily evident. Marick would have to take a different, much darker route if he wanted to get anything useful out of this one. The Hapan didn’t very much enjoy what he was about to do, but it had to be done.
Reaching into the folds of his robes, he pulled free an unnecessarily long needle with a florescent green liquid stored in the reservoir. Flicking the tip, he slowly stalked forward. As the Hapan advanced, dark, puppet-like figures sprouted from his shoulders, dancing and cackling demonically. Marick didn’t seem to notice them, but they where definitely there, Nathaniel was sure of it.
“I know you don’t know me, and my name is irrelevant. What you should know, is that my master is none other than Timeros Entar. The name ring a bell?”
Dunkirk’s face made a visible twist as he swallowed slowly. “You...trained under him?.”
“Not only that, but he actually works under me now. With that in mind, you know that ‘having ways of making you talk’ hardly scratches the surface of what I’m capable of, no?” Marick circled around to Nathaniel’s side, hovering the needle ominously.
The shadowy apparitions continued to cackle and hiss from their perches on the Interrogator's shoulders. They danced wildly and screeched as more seemed to form all around the room. And this was without any drugs? Or had he been drugged the whole time? He wasn’t even sure what to think anymore.
The needle poked against Nathaniel's skin. The apparitions cackled and danced. Nathan let out a bone-shrilling scream as the needle plunged into his skin and any icy numbness washed over him.
Marick’s deep blue eyes opened very slowly. Sitting anxiously in his chair a few feet away, Talos d’Tana straightened his slacked posture to immediate attention, watching his Captain closely. He had heard everything that the Hapan had been saying, but nothing of how Dunkirk reacted. From the observational perspective, the captive had been restrained down to the table the whole time, muscles relaxed but unmoving.
“Where you able to get anything out of him?”
Pulling his hand away from Dunkirk’s head, Marick turned his head to his protege and offered a knowing grin.
“‘Please.” The Hapan noble replied dismissively.
Talos hid a sigh of relief knowing that their missions had been successful. He wasn’t sure exactly what had gone inside their target’s mind, but he was pretty sure he didn’t want to know.
“Let’s get out of this dunghole,” Marick exclaimed, dusting off his robes. Talos was more than happy to oblige, and set a demolition charge that would destroy any evidence of them ever having been their.
As he let Talos go about his work, Marick mused over what he had extracted from his captive. The smuggling information wasn’t what was on his mind though. In his prying, he had uncovered something much more disturbing about Dunkirks “dismissal” from the Clan. There was only one person to ask though, the Hapan knew.
Arena Master’s Office
Sure enough, Sashar had made himself at home in the Arena Master’s office. His feet where up on the desk that was now littered with his once carefully organized data-files, chit’s and pads. He was reading something.
“Ah, just the man I was looking for.” The former Consul greeted.
Marick looked unamused. Talos stood at attention off to the side. Marick flicked his wrist, sending a small data pad at the Mandalorian.
“Locations, meeting spots, safe houses, everything you need to know is on their.” The Hapan explained curtly.
“Excellent, you two did well.”
“Talos, a moment alone please?” Marick spoke softly without turning to face his subordinate.
“Yes, sir.” Talos said with little resistance, bowing slightly to his former Consul before exiting.
“You know I’m a married man, don’t you?” Sashar said with a wink.
Marick ignored the quip, his face as stoic as could be. He waited until he could no longer sense Talos' presence. “I want to know more about Project Black Arrow.”
Sashar seemed to be expecting this, and did little but raise his eyebrows sightly. Marick could easily read most people, but the Mandalorian was the best at what he did, after all.
“Above your pay grade, kid. I’ll tell you if you make Aedile.” Sashar grinned easily and moved to stand up.
“No, don’t give me that. If it’s a threat to the entire system, the BTLs deserve to know.” The Hapan insisted, standing directly between the Adept and the only door.
He suddenly realised what a horrifically stupid move that was.
Sashar’s eyes flashed dangerously, but his relaxed posture, feet up on the desk, did not waver. “Some leftover detritus from Operation Vitriol. The best person to ask would be Timeros. He spear-headed the program.”
Realising he was committed, and if the Elder was going to kill him, the moment had passed, Marick pushed for more. “I’d rather yet your side of things.”
The Mandalorian sighed and vaulted over the desk, landing on his feet mere inches from Marick. “Pushy little di’kut, aren’t you? It was originally a joint venture between Tarentum and Arcona stationed on Ereboros, a lab called ‘The Project.’ The reason we had Great Hunts were to get live Terentatek specamins. We got four all in all. Then….we messed about with them. During the Vong occupation, the lab got trashed, the scientists killed. Each of those rogue mutated Terentateks on Ereboros is referred to as a Black Arrow.”
Marick blinked, then stepped to one side.
“Any reason you haven’t killed them yet?” He asked Sashar, who was just passing through the door.
Sashar smirked diabolically. “We just need to find a way to contain the shab’ike. Why kill years of research?”
The Arena Contract Bureau’s first dual-mission was completed, and I gotta say it went well.
As per the contract request, You both discovered the source of the leak and dealt with it accordingly.
Missions Grade: "Satisfactory"
Technical – Talos, you were on the ball with this one in terms of grammar and spelling. There’s been a huge improvement since you joined the DB, and you keep improving. I see great things for you. Wally, you’re usually brilliant. College was a huge boon to you. Here, you spell like Cethgus. It’s rookie mistakes here like not using apostrophise properly, or misspelling ‘there’, [Expletive Deleted] like that. You’re better than this Wally and it let you down. Re-read your post before putting it up to avoid this crap in the future.
Story – I liked it. It was fiddly, but I’m all about the details. Frankly, I couldn’t find much wrong with it apart from quibbles, and quibbles they are, but here we go nonetheless:
First, Don't kill DDF officers who aren't crooked; we have a finite supply of them and it sends the wrong message to the troops. If they think all that awaits them at the hands of their commanders is death, whilst their enemies will accept their surrender graciously...yeah. No killing the cannon fodder
Second, We don't have 20000 troops at Giletta Spaceport as of the ground forces reset a couple of vendettas back. Unfortunately, Giletta's wiki page isn't up to date, but the military possessions record is. However, there would still be troops stationed there, so it's a minor detail easily overlooked.
The rubber anti-Force things...no. Servos do not negate the Force. But, there are other methods of keeping a Force user at bay. For future reference, I've got a poison that's SW canon that'd do the job just as well:
location - Cadannia jungles
effects - paralysis while victim is kept conscious, also affects concentration, effectively rendering the victim unable to use the force whilst afflicted
immunity - unknown
method of delivery - injection/interaction with bloodstream
For more details, have a look on wookieepedia.
Style – Very militant meets Sam Fisher. This gets me hard. I liked the collaborative style. Talos did a good job of handling the lion’s share and Wally put a bow on it nicely, but in future dual missions, I think I’d prefer to see a more equal disposition of the workload.
Nice work guys.