Dark Tidings: An Imperial Agent's Story

[James T. Skywalker]

SUMMARY OF DARK TIDINGS (through Chapter 4):

Cal Fannen begins his journey in the middle of a heated firefight. Cal had been infiltrating the headquarters of the Galactic Banking Clan to uncover Rebel accounts forged by Imperial traitors. While searching around, the traitors and the building security guards begin fighting.

Making his way out of the main room, Cal finds himself assaulted by a Bothan. The two fight in the dark for several minutes, neither gaining a distinct advantage. However, Cal's quick thinking and intelligence resources allow him to put his adversary down.

Once the mess is cleared up, Cal returns to his apartment to find that Ysanne Isard, Director of Intelligence, wishes to meet with him. The following day, Cal heads to the Imperial Palace for that meeting, only to see the Bothan he arrested the night before. Following the intruder, Cal finds his way to an audience with Grand Admiral Zaarin, who has plans for the ISB officer. Druging Cal, Zaarin plans to use Cal for his own nefarious purposes...

When Cal wakes up, he finds himself with the Bothan, Bail Arak'ratai, in a place that is obviously not Coruscant. The drug given to Cal also seems to have been a neural agent by which Bail can control Cal's responses with a device. The Bothan leads Cal into a world where humans are definitely the minority, and where Cal has little hope to escape. Another agent of Zaarin's, heavily disguised, appears and informs Cal that he's a wanted man. Cal's final words (or rather, word) of the chapter is:

"No."

~James T. Skywalker

[James T. Skywalker]

Chapter 1—Shootout

This day was not going well for Cal.

As more shrapnel exploded around him, Calien Fannen slipped his blaster around the wall, aiming in the direction of the oncoming enemy fire, and squeezed off a few shots, further depleting his last power pack.

Cal had been pinned down behind a desk inside the Galactic Banking Clan’s headquarters in Imperial City when the firefight had broken out. Initially, he had had no part in the shootout; what did he care if traitorous Imperial elements and private security guards sent each other to the afterlife? As a member of the Imperial Security Bureau, he did it with regularity anyway.

Unfortunately for the young intelligence operative, those rebel scum had spotted Cal behind the clerk counter and had mistaken him for one of the bank’s security officers. And now he was here, pinned down behind a durasteel desk which wouldn’t hold the continuous blaster fire for much longer, and with a holdout blaster whose charge was getting weaker and weaker with each shot.

This day wasn’t going well at all.

Deciding to get a bearing on his enemies, Cal moved closer to the side of the desk. Putting a cautious hand to the desk’s edge, he pulled back at the heat of the resilient metal. Obviously quite a few blaster bolts had been taken to the side of his cover.

Throwing caution to the wind, Cal whipped his head and his blaster around the side of the desk. Directly parallel to his position now were the private security guards hired by the GBC headquarters. The rebel agents had scattered to various areas of the front counter area, while the security personnel, eight that Calien could count as quickly as he did, were themselves pinned down behind two service tables.

Sliding his holdout blaster back into it’s holster, Calien slipped out from behind his previous cover and darted to a similar station from which he could better view the raging battle between security and rebels.

A shot of blaster fire zipped past his previous position, and Cal slumped back against the side of this new hiding spot. His matte black tunic clung to his body as perspiration dripped from his forehead. Wiping the sweat from his face, Cal hazarded another glance out from his perch.

One of the building security officers lay sprawled across the floor, a neat blaster hole punched through his stomach. Another of the security personnel jumped out from his own cover, blaster firing erratically. One of the stray bolts whizzed a few meters from Cal’s shoulder, and he reflexively shrank back from that direction.

“Sergeant, get back!” came a voice muffled by the blaster fire. The warning came too late, as a blast clipped the guard in the shoulder, spinning him around. A second shot hit him straight in the back, while yet another burned a hole between his shoulder blades, collapsing the man over the top of his fallen comrade.

How did I get into this, Cal asked himself as he slipped his holdout back into his hand. Checking the power left in the small weapon, Cal looked over the counter of the desk to get a bearing of his enemies, whether they were the security or the rebels.

As another round of blaster fire began plowing in his direction, he was able to gather the positions that the traitorous elements had taken. Setting his hand scanner on the desk, inconspicuous enough that it wouldn’t be noticed by those trying to turn his face into a crater, he set it to emit a resonance pulse, a high-wave sonic disruption which would, through the use of sound waves, determine the locations of the other people present in the vicinity.

Timing a three second delay, he slid back down under the desk and put a set of earplugs into his ears. Just in time, too, as the resonance pulse emitted from the scanner, and sound wave vibrations became larger and larger. Across the room, nearly all the opposing forces dropped their weapons and tried, in vain, to cover their ears.

However, staggering from the bank president’s office, one of the rebels was screaming in agony. Hands to his ears, he shouted at the top of his lungs, and the shout was made nearly inaudible by the horrendous screeching noise.

The pulse continued for another few seconds, allowing the lone standing rebel enough time to bring his blaster to bear on the device he spotted on top of the desk across the spacious room. Taking aim, still shuddering from the noise, he tried to squeeze a bolt off in the sensor’s general direction. The shot fired wide, and the noise of the blaster drove the main even further over the edge.

And then the noise stopped.

One of the security officers recovered quickly enough to see the Imperial traitor, standing in the middle of everything, blaster raised, and made the logical decision.

The traitor dropped to the floor, hands still covering his ears.

Using that distraction to palm his sensor again, Calien moved again across the room, this time more sure of his positioning. Taking cover under the registrar’s counter, he was finally able to take himself out of the battle for a moment to check his sensor’s indicators.

As the blaster fire started to ease off, then ease back on, continuing it’s roundabout pattern of destruction, Cal inserted the datapack from his sensor unit into his concealed datapad. Smiling inwardly as the locator images scrolled before him, Cal drew his blaster from his holster and dropped his datapad back into his coat pocket.

Standing for the first time since the firefight started, Calien dove through the registrar tables and squeezed off two bolts of deadly energy toward the furthest desk, on the other side of the room. He could hear shouting from that direction, and he could detect a hint of desperation as he fired off another bolt, which caromed off of a glowpanel and dissipated behind that desk. He could hear a groan of some sort, hopefully one of the rebels taking the bolt in the arm.

He was more than pleasantly surprised when an arm slumped down the side of the desk, covered in blood. Knowing his position was compromised, and that his opponents knew that he knew their bearings now, Cal broke into a run past the registrar’s desk toward the back offices. He was clear of the firefight for a moment, finally out of trouble.

It was when the window broke, and a large humanoid jumped from the central president’s office, that Cal knew he was really in trouble.

*COMING SOON--CHAPTER TWO: BACKROOM BRAWL*

[James T. Skywalker]

Chapter 2—Backroom Brawl

Cal didn’t see the being coming. Knocked to the ground, the dazed undercover operative could only bring his head up for a moment as the large humanoid—he didn’t even know what species was attacking him—continued his assault. Blow after blow landed against Cal’s soft flesh, and the pain was almost unbearable.

However, ten years in a military intelligence unit meant you learned a few things about hand-to-hand combat. Even against an opponent who’s got you down on the ground.

The being’s fists—or claws, or hooves—continued their merciless assault. By now, the pain had turned into a cold rage at the beating he was receiving. With a fury he had not known, Cal reached around and grabbed his assailant by the wrist—which was most definitely a wrist, but much furrier than a human’s—and threw the nonhuman off of his own back. The being crashed into the doors that led to the back offices, and he smacked against them with a resounding crunch as glass shattered, but stayed in place in the door’s frame.

Still on an adrenaline rush, Cal leaped back to his feet, not conscious of the pain he had endured just moments before. His opponent had also picked himself up, and Cal now had the opportunity to size up his adversary.

His attacker was a Bothan, and a very large one by comparison with those he had seen before. A bipedal race, the Bothans were distinguished by their multicolored fur and their elongated faces, which led many to assume they were an unassuming people. However, the Bothans were also well known for their political shrewdness and espionage skills, which often made their infamous spy net a valuable source of information for Imperial Intelligence.

This Bothan must have been recruited for his espionage capabilities, but his physical prowess was also hard to mistake. A well-toned muscular structure rippled beneath his red and gold colored fur. His violet eyes were those of a battle-hardened veteran, and his gait was that of a warrior.

Just what I need right now, Cal thought.

Cal assumed a fighting stance, but the Bothan had another idea. The Bothan whipped around, quicker than the unaware Cal could comprehend, and smashed the door open. With a startled Cal behind him, the Bothan jumped through the broken glass door. Cal composed himself enough to realize what had happened, and was able to glimpse the furred humanoid turn down a hallway just a few meters past the door.

Drawing his blaster again, wondering why he’d forgotten to draw it in the first place, Cal jumped past the shards of broken glass and into the hallway. While the main credit exchange center was only slightly illuminated, this new corridor was completely darkened. No problem for an experienced agent such as Cal, but it would make it easier for the Bothan assailant to get a jump on him if he wandered down a dead end corridor.

Looking back at the chaos of the firefight he had just left, Cal brought the butt of his holdout blaster up to his cheek. Hesitantly, he started forward.

In his time with Imperial Intelligence, Cal had often given assignments that forced him to work in darkness, but this darkness he faced now was one that chilled him to the bone. Cal was not an expert in Bothan physiology, but he knew enough to know that a Bothan’s eyesight was far superior to that of a human, especially in lowlight situations.

Avoiding the walls was Cal’s mission now. While the walls provided a sense of security, being backed up against one gave you only three corridors to escape if one was ambushed. Walking as straight as possible, he continued on. He could here and there make out the shadows of doors and windows to offices that were normally active and busy with credit claims officers, financial gains personnel, and an assortment of other GBC Corporation employees.

He stopped for a moment before one such door. This door was slightly more illuminated than the others, and he was able to see his own reflection. The interior of the office was darker than the hallway, and he was still on guard, so he made the decision to turn away from his window.

But not before he was able to make out the silhouette of his Bothan adversary behind him.

Throwing his blaster arm around, Cal tried to squeeze off a blast of the radiant energy, but the larger being knocked his small weapon away and it spun into the dark corridor he had just come from. The blow to the wrist spun Cal around slightly, but he used the full turn to regain his balance.

“So you wanna play like that,” Cal whispered to himself. I’m game.

Dropping one hand into his tunic’s pocket, he reached down and grabbed his portable glow panel. The Bothan, who hadn’t expected the human to respond so quickly, tried to swing out an arm and swipe it away as he had the first device. But Cal was able to switch it on and throw it to the floor.

Stepping back again toward the door, Cal was finally able to see his opponent again. The Bothan knew that Cal had shifted the odds with that little maneuver, but he also knew that he couldn’t make a move to break the glow panel, so he settled into an easy fighting stance.

Cal knew that the furry alien had a distinct weight advantage, so he shifted his weight to his right foot and assumed his own stance.

Make a move. Cal didn’t know whether he or the Bothan had willed that thought, possibly both, but they struck out at the same moment. Cal threw his weight back to his left foot and kicked off, throwing his right foot out toward the Bothan’s abdomen. The Bothan moved at the same moment, actually throwing himself in the direction of the kick, but shifting his weight to deliver a blow to Cal’s side. Cal reversed his posture again, regained composure after the tough blow to the ribs, and threw a hand into the waiting muzzle of his nonhuman opponent. The Bothan staggered a bit, but was still in the fight.

Cal faked a swing with his right fist, but the Bothan didn’t buy it, and returned with a full swipe of his large left palm, his long fingernails extended as if they were the claws of a large jungle predator. Scoring along Cal’s right cheek, the razor-sharp nails opened a few gashes along his face.

Cal came back with an uppercut to the big alien’s chin, and for once Cal actually connected with the furred being’s body. At that point, Cal thought the tide had turned.

The Bothan, however, didn’t seem to agree.

Looking as though he had lost his balance, the Bothan fell backwards, but in doing so, was able to roll across the floor and grab the personal glow panel. Cal could only watch and try to react, lashing forward toward his opponent. But the larger being smashed the panel, and the light to the corridor died.

Cal had lost control of the situation again, for what seemed to have been the umpteenth time this evening. He felt a fist connect with his stomach, and he doubled over. Another fist threw him against the wall, and he cringed as he tried to retaliate, but hit nothing but open space in front of him. Further away, he could hear the constant blaster fire from the main lobby of the bank’s headquarters. It only served as a distraction. To him, and by the same respect, and to the Bothan as well.

And suddenly, the distraction was gone, the noise of blaster fire was replaced by that of a man shouting loudly. Neither of them had consciously acknowledged the battle raging in the main room, but both started when the firefight came to an abrupt halt.

And Cal had his shot. He knew where the door to one of the offices was, and, lunging quickly, was in front of the door and kicked it in. He felt two strong hands on his shoulders as the door gave way, but Cal was able to get a hold on the frame of the door itself. His hands started to slip a bit as his adversary kept tugging on his shoulders, trying to pull him away from that suddenly open portal. The pressure became too much for even the undercover operative to bear. His right hand slipped from the door’s jamb.

And then Cal’s elbow was in the Bothan’s rib cage. The Bothan let out a gruff, exasperated grunt, and Cal watched him collapse to the floor as he flipped on the light in the office. Cal bent down and punched the Bothan in the face for reassurance of his unconsciousness.

From down the hall, Cal could hear muffled yells from someone. He knew from the pitch, and slight electronic resonance, that the voice was that of a stormtrooper.

Just what I need, military involvement, he thought to himself.

But the day was finally somewhat positive for Cal.

*COMING SOON--CHAPTER THREE: POLITICAL IMPLICATIONS*

[Jeianni]

It looks good! I really like the fight scene, it's pretty descriptive and I can actually visualize it!

[Blizzard]

Permission to bring attention to minor grammar slips, Sir.

Sorry, I can't read anything without editing it.

[James T. Skywalker]

Originally posted by Blizzard@Nov 11 2002, 10:05 AM
Permission to bring attention to minor grammar slips, Sir.

Sorry, I can't read anything without editing it.
Sure, I'm always looking to make the story more clear to those who read it. That's who I write for, those who read. style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/smile.gif

~JTS

[Blizzard]

I read the first chapter during lunch and it's great! You don't have to change these, they are very minor.

of the desk to get a bearing on his enemies

he shouted at the top of his lungs, but the shout was made nearly inaudible by the horrendous screeching noise.

drove the man even further over the edge.

btw, what is a registrar?

[James T. Skywalker]

Originally posted by Blizzard@Nov 11 2002, 11:31 AM
btw, what is a registrar?
Money-changer. (Or rather, credit-changer. style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/smile.gif)

And, thanks for the suggested corrections, I'll look into them, and I probably will change them at some point. Please feel free to make any such grammatical corrections that you see with the future chapters as well. style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/wink.gif

~JTS

[James T. Skywalker]

Next chapter will be available on Monday. I will also be making minor revisions to my previous two chapters tomorow.

EDIT: Well, it's a little later than expected, but I'll get working on this story again soon.

~JTS

[Luvinna.]

Great story, JTS! Jeianni is right. You did a great job describing the fighting. Are you still planning on finishing it?

[James T. Skywalker]

Originally posted by Luvinna@Dec 18 2002, 01:35 PM
Are you still planning on finishing it?
Yep. But the full document, with what I have done of chapter three, is on my mom's old computer, which she just replaced with a new Dell computer. She set it back up so we can still get our stuff off of it, but it'll take me another day or so after I save it to my new computer to finish up the next chapter. I left myself in a hole, so to speak.

~JTS

[Jeianni]

Dude, You're gettin' a Dell!

[Luvinna.]

Just a friendly reminder, JTS! Can't wait to read the rest of it!

[James T. Skywalker]

I know, I know! style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/smile.gif

~JTS

[James T. Skywalker]

Chapter 3—Political Implications

When Cal returned to his government apartment that night, there was little he could do to hide the exhaustion that had plagued him after the firefight, his own fight with the Rebel agent, and then having to answer too many questions asked by those single-minded stormtroopers. Throwing his identichip, comlink and credits onto his common room table, he slumped into the nearest chair he could find and released an exasperated sigh.

And then his comlink beeped.

No rest for the weary, Cal thought as his hand dropped to the plasteel table. Picking up the small transceiver, he activated the communications device.

“Fannen here,” the wearied officer responded to the comm query.

“Corporal Fannen, this is Lieutenant Tristen, aide to Director Isard,” the voice on the comm began.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” Cal had dealt with Isard’s aides before. Personally, he wasn’t too fond of the current director of Imperial Intelligence, and preferred her predecessor—who also happened to be her father—to her brutal tactics.

“Corporal, the director has asked me to relay to you her compliments for your actions in the capture of the dissident officers earlier this evening.”

Cal was almost taken aback, but not entirely surprised. It was a successful operation, despite complications. “Relay to the director my regards and thanks for her praise.”

“You can relay them yourself, Corporal Fannen,” Lt. Tristen responded. “The Director would like to meet with you tomorrow morning, to debrief the events of this evening.”

And now Cal was more than a little surprised. “Director Isard wishes to debrief me herself? I’m sure that my direct superiors would be more qualified—“

“Director Isard is more than qualified to debrief the actions of a field agent, Corporal Fannen,” the lieutenant replied with disdain evident. “You will report to the Director’s offices in the Imperial Palace at 0900 tomorrow morning.”

“Understood, sir,” Cal replied.

“Good evening, Corporal. Director’s Office, out.”

And to Cal, it seemed as though this night would never end.

***

Rumors always swirled about the high-ranking officers within the Imperial ranks. Stories ranging from the intrigue within Palpatine’s court to operations on the Outer Rim filled the holonetworks with gossip and paparazzi, which disgusted most members of the Imperial ranks. Seeing superiors make fools of themselves throughout the Core was not thought of highly among the lower ranking officers.

However, to an intelligence agent, smear tactics were commonplace, and such stories could often help one in the subverting some overachieving admiral with dreams of leadership. And Cal was quite adept in such means of manipulation.

Cal had often heard stories about Intelligence Director Ysanne Isard, also known in most circles as ‘Iceheart’ because of the unusual coloration of her eyes—one an icy blue and the other a fiery red. The more notorious stories dealt with her possible romantic involvement with the Emperor himself, and her hand in the demise of her own father to take the reigns of Imperial Intelligence. Other horror stories often surfaced, but these two rumors, if true, meant that Isard’s power was more expansive than the simple intelligence agent would be able to comprehend anytime soon.

And he now approached the Imperial Palace, the largest structure on Imperial Center, knowing with certainty that this meeting with one of the most powerful figures in the Empire would be anything but ordinary.

The hovercab was halted by security patrols about a half-mile from the Palace, and Cal was asked to present his identichip. The patrol officer scanned the chip and then allowed the hovercab to proceed to one of the hundreds of docking areas that the Palace housed. The vehicle arrived at the assigned destination, and Cal threw a the credit tab into the cab droid’s credit changer, unlocking the jamb and allowing Cal to finally enter the Palace vicinity.

Cal had seen holos of the Emperor’s magnificent architectural masterpiece, but had never been on Imperial Center long enough to visit the Palace, let alone actually seen the Palace in person. He was more than impressed by the structure, which had to reach more than two kilometers into the planet’s atmosphere.

It took the operative the better part of ten minutes to find the entrance to the interior of the monolithic structure. The view from the inside was no less impressive than that of the exterior façade. Finding a vertical lift tube, Cal ascended to the palace’s Grand Corridor, where he was even more awed than before. The Grand Corridor was decadent, almost to the point of garish, and housed relics and antiquities in display cases lined along either side of the corridor. Plants from any host of worlds made up an atrium that added to the splendor of the corridor, the most prominent of the flora being the slender ch’hala trees of Cularin. One of the gardener droids approached it, and extended a prodding device that barely brushed against the surface of the tree. As it did, the leafage of the ch’hala began to radically shift colors along the visible spectrum. It was one of the most dazzling displays Cal had seen in a very long time.

Glancing around the Grand Corridor, Cal could note any variety of species that lived within the Empire; a Bothan contingent, followed by a group of Ishi Tib reporters, stalked toward one of the meeting rooms; a pair of flighty-winged Vors swirled above the atrium, watering some of the tallest foliage; and any number of other species congregated. However, the human population was the obviously dominant force in the Imperial Palace.

Cal made his way down the corridor toward another set of lift tubes that would take him to the director’s office when he saw something—or rather, someone—who wasn’t supposed to be in the Imperial Palace.

Someone who wasn’t supposed to be free at all, for that matter.

One of the Bothans in the diplomatic contingent broke off from the group and slipped into a side hallway, but was evidently trying to keep out of sight. How unfortunate that his demeanor—and the bandaging around his chest—made him a very noticeable figure. Especially to the person who had jabbed him in those ribs the night before.

Cal knew his appointment with the director wasn’t for another twenty minutes, so he decided to pursue his dance partner from the previous evening. The hallway the Bothan had slipped into was not all that difficult to get to from the other side of the Corridor despite the distance from one end to the other. When Cal reached the hallway’s entrance, he was able to see the furred figure slip around another corner at the end of the hall. Like something out of some cheesy holo novel, Cal thought, but followed the shadowy figure anyway.

Rounding around the corner he had seen the Bothan turn, Cal was surprised to find himself in a hall that had just one door at the end. The door was particularly large, and was quite regal, even for the Imperial Palace. The frame was inlaid with gold in a pattern that was reminiscent of the Old Corellian style. There was no receptionist to check those entering, no guards outside the door, but the doors themselves were so elaborate that Cal could only figure that someone important worked out of this space.

But that lent to the question of why the Bothan would try to escape down this hallway if it ended in the office of some high-ranking commander. Cal wanted—no, he needed to know what the hell was going on.

Taking the handle of the door, he pushed it aside. The door was heavy, and Cal theorized that whoever worked here had been clever enough to use the elaborate decoration as a throwback to conceal a blast door in case of emergency. Though, why one would need such security precautions within the most guarded structure in all the Empire was beyond the young man.

So what the hell is this room doing here? Stepping through the threshold, Cal was determined to understand what was going on. So many questions filled his head, not the least among them was why a being he had locked away only the evening before would be roaming around the most secure installation in the whole of the Empire. Cal was determined to understand that, if that was the only thing he was to understand.

“Don’t move.”

And this is what happens when you don’t stay focused, Cal resolved. A blaster carbine clicked less than a millimeter from his temple, a furred hand keeping a firm grip on the heavy-duty laser weapon. Once again, a hopeless situation.

“Is this some bad holovid opera or something? Is this just another one of those damn reality holoshows, because I’ll be really pissed if I’m some unwitting victim of some trashy newsreel.” The Bothan snorted at the evident sarcasm.

Motioning forward, the Bothan pushed Cal toward the front of the room, which was, in many respects, one of the grandest rooms Cal had ever seen. Not that he expected to be seeing any other richly furnished Imperial Palace ballrooms anytime in his future, seeing as how his future was probably going to be past very quickly.

“No, Corporal Fannen, unfortunately for you, this isn’t some reality holoshow.”

Cal looked around and he laughed. Other than the Bothan and himself, there was no one in the too-large-for-two room.

“A voice coming from nowhere and you expect me to believe that?” Cal laughed, if not because of the actual humor of the situation then to dispel the dread he now felt as the gun-toting alien marched him into the center of the hall.

The unseen voice spoke again, “Perhaps it won’t be so unfortunate, Corporal.” As the Bothan motioned for the intel operative to stop, a holographic projection sprung from the floor a few meters in front of him. The figure at the other end of the transmission was a stocky man, broad, with inquisitive features that spoke to a keen intellect. The distinctive white uniform and gold braids of an Imperial grand admiral only sharpened these features, and bringing the unwitting young officer to an uncomfortable pause.

“Allow me to introduce myself, Corporal. I am Grand Admiral Zaarin.”

Cal could only stand at an uneasy attention, one that had been drilled into his consciousness since early adulthood. Grinding his teeth at the dilemma before him, Cal could only stand there. I’ve really done it now…

Zaarin could only smile—a cruel smile, altogether—at the awkward position this young man faced. “I am sorry that I can’t be there in person; I’ve always been partial of making subordinates sweat in person. Unfortunately, other… concerns occupy my time.”

“So sorry to hear that… sir,” Cal strained as he gritted the words to one of the twelve highest-ranking officers in the whole of Galactic Empire. By the Force, subservience is for civilians! What the hell am I doing here?

Behind him, a heavy door closed. Reflexively turning to see who had entered, he was more surprised to note that his Bothan captor had left. Zaarin’s hologram, however, was still present.

“I’ve taken a look at your service record, Corporal,” the hologram said as Cal turned back to face the only other person still ‘present’ in the expansive chamber. From Cal’s experience, he was not at all surprised that the admiral had researched his record in the approximately twenty-four hours since he had sent his lackey to an Imperial holding cell. “Very commendable, Calien Fannen. Recruited from Chandrila eight years ago, spent two years at the Academy at Raithal, during which you were transferred directly to an Intelligence detail on Coruscant, where you completed your Academy instruction. You hold a level four Intel security clearance, and have been involved in undercover operations against the Rebellion on more than one occasion, including an operation that led to the discovery of one of the Rebel bases following the Yavin debacle.”

“Thanks for recounting the life I’ve already lived, sir,” Cal responded with more than a little sarcasm.

“It’s called a stalling tactic, Fannen, I’m sure you’ve done it yourself to get out of a jam more than a few times.”

“More than a few, yes.”

Grinning maliciously again, Zaarin looked straight at the young operative. “A record that also noted a lack of response to chain of command in highly sensitive situations.” Cal saw now that Zaarin’s tactic had never been for him to be uncomfortable, but to learn his place.

Zaarin’s hologram grew in size, nearly double that of before, making his figure just slightly larger than life—and now quite larger than Calien. “I cannot stress, Corporal, that the information I plan to release to you is highly sensitive. To be kept in the strictest of confidences.”

Cal nearly laughed aloud. “You’re trusting me, of all people, to handle the classified information of a grand admiral? Obviously you haven’t read your reports carefully enough, sir.”

Zaarin did laugh at this comment. “You misunderstand me, Corporal Fannen. You see, I don’t trust you. I don’t trust any of Ysanne Isard’s little pets.”

That sentence irked Cal the most. He was never, nor ever would be, one of Ysanne Isard’s “pets.”

Zaarin continued, “I don’t trust you to work for me—alone, that is. Which is why Arak’ratai—who, coincidentally, I believe you’ve met before—will be working with you.” The Bothan reentered the room then, with a hypo and his high-powered blaster still in hand.

Cal sneered at the hologram. “Desperate enough to have an alien do your dirty work, sir.” The Bothan, Arak’ratai, responded by striking Cal in the side with the blaster.

“Not desperate, I just know when to use the assets available. Unlike our esteemed Emperor.” Even wincing through the pain of the blaster’s jab, Cal noted a hint of disdain at the mention of the ruler of the known galaxy. Perhaps that was a card he could play later in the game.

While still doubled over, Arak’ratai injected the contents of the hypo into Cal’s neck, the long needle piercing through to his spine and delivering its agent. Cal shrieked in pain, keeling full onto the floor, his Bothan captor moving away from the writhing human. “What have you done to me?”

Zaarin shrugged. “Just given you a neurotoxin that will give my hireling here the ability to kill you at a moment’s notice. The initial pain will subside in moments.” Giving the young man time to overcome the searing pain, Zaarin stared at his hardened features. “You won’t be meeting with Ysanne Isard this morning. In fact, I’m afraid you won’t be seeing much of Coruscant anytime soon.” Calien tried to stand again, but failed and dropped to one knee, wincing as the toxin moved through his body. “And you really didn't think I was actually going to tell you now what my plans are for you? In due time...”

The pain was becoming too much for Cal to bear, and he finally let his body collapse to the floor. Still conscious, he tried to force his head to look at the admiral who now towered above him. The hologram, responding to the movements of the powerful figure somewhere across the galaxy, kneeled down to appear to come closer to the hobbled agent.

“Corporal, you could not begin to imagine the political implications of your little stunt in the banking clan headquarters last night, the ripples it would send through the Empire should it ever come to light.” Zaarin paused, more for effect than for a need to collect his thoughts. Cal knew that Zaarin must have planned this meeting in his mind hours before, down to the very last detail.

“You’re a new man, starting today Fannen.”

Grinning that malicious smile once again, the last thing that Cal saw before he blacked out due to the pain, Zaarin spoke again.

“One that works for me. And only me.”

*COMING SOON--CHAPTER 4: REVIVAL AND REFUSAL*

~James T. Skywalker, hero of two galaxies

[Luvinna.]

What!? You can't stop there!! style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/butbut.gif

Very good, JTS! style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/bigsmile.gif

Feedback? I would like to see more description of how the various rooms and hallways look that Cal goes through in the Imperial Palace. Helps me picture it better in my mind. Calling that final room a ballroom kind of brought to mind the ballroom from the movie The Sound of Music. Not sure that fits in the SW universe though. style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/eh.gif

When do you think the next chapter will be up?

[James T. Skywalker]

Hey Luvinna, thanks for the comments. Just remember that this is a character driven piece, the settings are secondary.

Well, not so secondary. Each of the locations is meant to portray the characters that are being introduced. The dark hallway for Arak'ratai, which will make sense in the next chapter when his underground, offworld contacts come into play; the grand "ballroom" in the Palace that is concealed and ultimately serves a double purpose for Zaarin, which shows his outward face and his inward treachery; and then, and this may not have been all that noticable, but Cal's apartment is spartan, secluded and not given to detail--much like our protagonist. Look for these comparisons even more throughout the story, as the other major figures are introduced.

And Chapter 4 should be done by ... I'd say tomorrow, but that's pushing it. Give me at least a week or so.

~JTS

[Flight]

Wow JTS... style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/biggrin.gif

It's great. Your writing is seriously awesome. Great imagery, description, plotting, pacing...

[Luvinna.]

Originally posted by JamesTSkywalker@Feb 17 2003, 11:11 AM
And Chapter 4 should be done by ... I'd say tomorrow, but that's pushing it. Give me at least a week or so.

~JTS
And that was... how many weeks ago? style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/wink.gif

Can you tell I'm impatient? style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/tongue.gif

[James T. Skywalker]

I think I understand that now. style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/wink.gif

Um, I don't want to have to mention my little Lenten "fast" of Star Wars... single Sundays are a little hard to work with here! style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/biggrin.gif

I'll work on the next chapter at some point. BE PATIENT! style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/wink.gif

(Notes that he hasn't even had time to get through parts of Tatooine Ghost, which he bought the day before Lent started!)

~JTS

[Luvinna.]

style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/huh.gif Any time now... :look:

[James T. Skywalker]

How about I post what I've got of Chapter 4 ... tomorrow?

~JTS

[Luvinna.]

*Luvinna bites her tounge and tries... not... to... say... it... style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/tongue.gif

[James T. Skywalker]

I'm close to finishing school right now, so once I graduate on Saturday, I'll have plenty of time to finish up the fourth chapter. And the fifth. And the sixth, and the seventh...

Patience. For the Jedi, it is time to graduate as well! style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/wink.gif

~JTS

[James T. Skywalker]

Chapter 4—Revival and Refusal

“Wake up, human!”

The young man jolted upward with a start, and nearly knocked himself right back out in the process. Above his head, a low-hanging duracrete ceiling was far too close to the top of Cal’s head for his satisfaction. Shaking himself a bit, Cal realized almost immediately that he was no longer on Coruscant. Breathing in the air, the damp and musty taste of the enclosed room that he now resided in, he realized that this air was far too clean—and altogether too natural—to be that of the galactic capitals’.

Letting his vision clear for a moment, he looked around. The small, cramped room he was in was sparse, and dimly lit. Other than himself, one other occupant—the one who had told him to wake up—stood motionlessly less than a meter away.

“Stay still, little man. That paralytic is wearing off, but you’re still not going anywhere.”

Cal did not recognize the voice and his vision was still too blurred to make out the figure, but there was something all too familiar with the menacing tone and disrespectful sneers. Letting his vision settle for another moment, he was finally able to identify his captor.

“You…” he breathed. Arak’ratai stood nearby with a heavy repeating blaster in his hand, trained on Cal’s position on what he could now call a sleeping mat. The Bothan just sneered, and hunched down to meet eyes with his captive, blaster still trained on the young man’s chest.

“What, you expected some Rebel scum?” the Bothan jested. “No, you get me. I’m here to make sure that you do what you’re told.”

Coughing again, Cal tried now to stand up, still aware of the weapon of death pointed straight at his midsection. He guessed that if he were going to have been killed, the burly Bothan would have done so at the earliest opportunity, so he ventured to figure out why exactly he had been taken captive.

“And who will be telling me what to do, big guy?” Cal pressed. “Obviously you’re just a pawn in the scheme of things.” Great idea, moron, get him angry! That’s one quick road to oblivion…

Cal expected to be smacked around a bit, but the Bothan just sat there, his fur rippling slightly, but otherwise remaining calm. Cal figured himself lucky, but he needed more information, and he knew now that taunting the being with the gun wouldn’t work.

“So why are we waiting here, big fella? Nothing big is going to happen in a small little room such as this, and I’d really like to see the sights here.”

The Bothan snorted. “I’m sure you would, Fannen.” Vacating his chair for the first time, with his blaster still trained on Cal, Arak’ratai moved to retrieve a device on duraplast table near the only visible exit to the room. Picking up the object, the large alien said, “And we’ll be getting out, but you won’t be going very far. From me, that is.”

Activating the device, Cal suddenly felt pain jolt through his entire body. A flash of agony screamed through his synapses, every electrical nerve in his body firing at once. Never in his life had he felt a pain so sharp and clearly as he did now. In seemed as though the device was playing with his nervous system for hours on end.

The pain stopped suddenly, and Cal dropped to his knees. It had been only a matter of seconds since the Bothan had used the device, but Cal still cringed in pain as he held himself off of the cold floor.

Coming to stand directly over his captive, Arak’ratai gave him a toothy smile. “That was the low setting. See what happens if you try to escape.” Forcing Cal onto his feet, Arak’ratai shoved the barrel of the blaster carbine into Cal’s midsection. “Let’s go for a walk, shall we?”

Cal nodded, his body still aching from the neural shunt device that Arak’ratai had used. Let’s not try that again, shall we? Cal thought as the Bothan finally opened the door to the room. Whether or not he meant mouthing off at the alien or letting him use that painful device again, Cal had yet to make a decision.

The room’s single exit led directly to a gravel street outside, the air even sweeter in the open than within the enclosed room. “In the open” was actually a misnomer, as the street was covered by a large cargo canopy that only allowed scant views of the sky above (a sky that, by all appearances, was a deep blue—something that Cal had never seen on the Imperial capital world in all his years in the service). The street, or rather the alley way, was narrow, only about two meters between the large buildings that shaded the space, yet was packed with vendors of all sorts of goods. Cal had no idea what Arak’ratai had been thinking bringing him to as busy a section of whatever town this was, but he realized quickly that it wouldn’t be as easy to escape as he would have hoped.

From only a casual glance around, Cal could not locate another human being in this marketplace. Imperial Center, the hubris of civilization, was believed to hold more than one trillion citizens, and it was approximated that 600 billion of those occupants were human. To be transplanted to a world in which humans were the minority was a definite disadvantage—and Arak’ratai was cleverer than Cal had originally given him credit for.

A shove to the back brought Cal back to his senses as the burly Bothan began moving him down the street. Around him, the mixture of dozens of alien species cast him shadowy glances, and those were only briefly cast aside when they noticed his Bothan handler. Duros, Arcona, Bith, even Ithorians crowded the streets and were surprised by the presence of the outsider in this part of town, wherever this town was.

Slowing down a bit to stay a little closer to his captor, Cal decided to just ask where he was. It wasn’t like there was anything he could do about it at this point in time, and there was really no reason not to know.

The Bothan just laughed for a moment, then decided to take him a little more seriously. “We’re someplace where you will never leave my sight,” Arak’ratai replied smugly. That’s pretty obvious, what with the crowd of nonhumans and that damned neural shunt device. Cal didn’t like the idea of being led down an unfamiliar street with a less than savory host, but there was little he could do to alleviate his situation. Picking up his pace again, he decided to make things a little more difficult for his alien friend, from this point forward.

***

A little less than twenty standard minutes later, Cal and Arak’ratai stood in a deserted alleyway. Though it was seemed as though they had traveled a significant distance since leaving their previous abode, Cal figured that their little expedition had taken them only a few blocks away. Without using lift shafts, their journey had only taken them block-by-block a little over a half-kilometer way, and Cal guessed that there was probably a faster way to find their way to this section of the town than the one that Arak’ratai had guided him.

Impatience was wearing on Cal. He may have been a prisoner, but Cal knew above all else that he needed movement and purpose to help him concentrate. The first rule of Imperial captive procedures was to find a way to escape—at all costs; Cal needed more to work with if he was going to accomplish this mandate.

“So what can I call you?” he asked aloud.

The Bothan seemed taken aback, if only slightly. “What do you mean, human?”

Cal shook his head with exasperation. “Well, I know your surname, but what’s your other name? I was led to believe that Bothans were like humans in that respect; first name, last name, you know.” Hopefully conversation would work as movement.

Arak’ratai just stood there. Obviously something about that question bothered him, and Cal wanted to know why. “C’mon, it’s just a name. Can’t be that embarrassing.”

His captor seemed even more hesitant now. Cal latched on to this line, trying to gain information while simultaneously making the captor into the captive. “How can I know how to address you publicly if I don’t know what I should call you?”

Finally, the Bothan gave in to his line of questioning. “Bail. I am Bail Arak’ratai, Calien Fannen. Do not push me again.” The Bothan’s tone sent a twinge down Cal’s spine, but he was very interested in the origin of his captor’s name. Bail was a very Alderaanian name, and two previous Republic senators of Alderaan had born that name during their service, including the traitorous Bail Organa. The name Bail was, however, very uncommon outside of the Core, even more rare in the Outer Rim. Obviously this Bothan had not been born on the Bothan worlds, but had grown up in the human-centered Core Worlds. Relationships were being made much clearer by just the knowledge of a name, and Cal wondered now how this particular Bothan had found his employ with an Imperial grand admiral.

Those questions would have to wait, as Cal could now hear the distinct sound of Imperial standard issue stormtrooper boots clomping in their immediate direction. A stormtrooper battalion in the middle of an alien-dominated marketplace? Wherever I am, Cal thought, it’s definitely full of more surprises than I really want to handle in a day. The rhythmic sound of boot step against pavement became clearer and clearer each passing second. The Bothan, Bail, did not seem entirely concerned, as he leaned against a wall casually, waiting for whomever their contact was to arrive. Could these stormtroopers really be here for us?

At the northeast end of the alley, a solitary figure appeared. The being did not wear the signature white armor of the Empire’s fierce soldiers, but instead wore a dark brown cloak that shrouded his facial features and that made the character look vaguely like old holos he had seen of Jedi Knights during the days of the Republic. Bail left his spot on the wall to stand next to Cal, who was still standing in the very center of the alley.

“Let me handle this,” the Bothan said quietly. As the creature in the cloak moved closer to them, Bail held out his arms and clenched his fists together. The cloaked figure stopped and did likewise. Cal had studied various customs and rituals while at the Academy, but this greeting was entirely unfamiliar to him. The other figure continued forward and extended a gloved hand—or paw or claw or something—and Bail took it approvingly. Cal took a moment to look down at the ground—and noted that this man was wearing a pair of standard issue Imperial stormtrooper boots, with a unique device protruding from the sole. As the man took another step forward, Cal noted that the echoes of the footfall were being magnified several times, obviously to give the impression that a squad of stormtroopers was approaching.

Looking up again, Cal realized that the reason the being had taken a step forward was to extend his limb out to greet Cal in the standard human handshake. Cal hesitantly took the beings extended forearm, and could tell from the glove that he held in his grasp that this being was going to extreme measures to hide his identity, as all his grasp of the glove could make out was that there was indeed a limb which was being covered; what kind of limb, however, Cal was not able to ascertain.

When the being spoke, Cal recognized the voice scrambler being used to synthesize a false vocal imprint so as to conceal the figure’s true voiceprint. “We trust that you will cooperate with our efforts, Agent Fannen. The Admiral would be disappointed if you were to renege on your contract.”

Cal shrugged. “Hey, as long as he doesn’t use that neural shunt again, I’ll do whatever you want.”

He couldn’t see through the external facemask, but Cal could instinctively tell that his underworld associate was smiling—or whatever their species considered the equivalent of a smile. “Excellent. But, just to insure your loyalty, we’ve set up a few…how should I put this? A few incentives for your willing cooperation.” Reaching into the large cloak, the being retrieved a portable holo vidscreen. Pressing a button on the face, the holo sprang to life with the image of a holonet reporter.

“We’ve just received word from unidentified sources that just a few hours ago an incendiary device was detonated within one of the grand ballrooms of the Imperial Palace,” the female anchor reported. “It is unknown at this time what the extent of the damage was, as well as how the device was brought into the palace in the first place. A delegate of the Bothan embassy died as a result of severe burns, and several worker droids within the Grand Corridor were damaged beyond repair.”

Cal paused the holorecording for a moment. “Your admiral had his meeting room blown up; why?” Bail stopped him from speaking with a single glare, then himself started the recording again.

“Imperial Intelligence director Ysanne Isard has declared this a terrorist activity, and has identified former Imp Intel agent Calien Fanner, ident number 0-5991-170-1365-9, as the perpetrator of this crime. If you have any information as to the—”

Cal hit the stop button and the holopad went dead. Admiral Zaarin’s unidentified agent returned the pad to his interior pocket. Bail stood silently, gauging the response of his human charge. For a moment, the three beings stood in absolute stillness, the two henchmen of Grand Admiral Zaarin allowing Cal to understand what he had witnessed, and Cal allowing himself to digest what exactly this meant for him.

Finally, Cal straightened his body and willed himself to speak.

“No.”

*COMING SOON--CHAPTER FIVE: INITIATION*

~James T. Skywalker, hero of two galaxies

[James T. Skywalker]

Huh. I thought that chapter seemed longer than three...

Oh well. Comments are welcome.

~JTS

[James T. Skywalker]

Any comments? None in two months?

style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/sad.gif style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/crying.gif

~JTS

[Luvinna.]

Sorry, JTS! I've been really pokey on reading fan fic that people send me lately. One of my friends sent me some stuff almost four months ago, and I still haven't read it. :look: style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/blush.gif I will read it, I promise! Hmm... if it's not that long, maybe I'll read it now.