| abstract
| - The cross-shaped starfighter hung in the pitch-black emptiness of space. Emblazoned with the insignia of the Rebel Alliance, its external appearances belied the true allegiance of its pilot. At least, what those allegiances were supposed to be. As it turned out, they were growing increasingly complicated with every passing nanosecond. Hasla exhaled heavily as she slowly grasped the lever that would accelerate her B-wing into hyperspace on the final leg of the jump. She stared at the glowing numbers that her navicomputer had spit out, coordinates that would take her to a location in deep space commonly used by the Yanibar Guard for discreet rendezvous. That was the destination prescribed by her mission, the end to her infiltration of the Rebel Alliance. However, she could not bring herself to pull the lever. Her comrades in Ice Squadron would need her skills. She could not just abandon them-they were counting on her for their very lives. The more she thought about it, the more conflicted she became. The faces of her squadmates in Ice Squadron flashed through her mind, filling her with doubt and uncertainty. They would be going on to Abridon for the raid on the Imperial shipyards there. They would be expecting her to be there, would be surprised when she didn’t revert from hyperspace with them. Would it throw them off rhythm? Would it cause the deaths of some of them? The nagging questions filled Hasla’s mind, and she was suddenly much less certain about pulling that lever. This was the first time she had seriously contemplated disobeying a direct order from Yanibar Guard Intelligence, but now, here she was. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind of the distractions, but to no avail. She tried opening her mind to the Force, immersing herself into its currents for guidance, but no immediate revelation was forthcoming. She was startled out of her introspection by the crackling of her comm unit, snapping her back to reality. “Ice Eight, are you going to jump or not?” drawled Ice Leader, a Corellian male. “You’re the last one left.” “Uh, yes, sir,” she said, caught off guard and scrambling for an excuse. “I was just double-checking the coordinates.” “Okay, Eight,” Leader replied, chuckling. “Just making sure you were awake.” Hasla stared guiltily at her navicomputer, hesitating for a second, and then dialed in the other set of coordinates she’d been sent by Ice Leader. She knew that the Rebels would need her skills in battle. Intelligence could wait. She could explain away her failure to make the rendezvous, placate them by sending a secure transmission containing the B-wing plans and manufacturing information on a solo flight away from the base. Maybe even an update on the latest Rebel activities. The important thing was, she wasn’t going to the meeting point. She was going to Abridon, with her squadron. “Yes, sir,” she answered Leader, doing her best to keep her voice even. “Jumping in three, two, one . . .” The starlines elongated and then resolved themselves into a whirling tunnel of light as Hasla’s B-wing achieved superluminal velocities, bound for Abridon with the rest of Ice Squadron. Obroa-skai “Come along, dear, we haven’t got all day,” Milya said with just the right amount of haughtiness. “Yes, madam,” Selu replied with the longsuffering expected of his role. For once, he was thankful for the heavy costume he was wearing, long heavy robes in shades of red and purple, along with a sizable collar and a towering hat that Selu had immediately pronounced as utterly ridiculous. Lugging two sizable pieces of luggage in either hand, he had effected a dull expression befitting his role. Milya, on the other hand, seemed to delight in being the center of attention, clad in form-fitting cream-colored leggings and a matching expensive-looking jacket decorated with spangles and trimmed with fur-and featuring a plunging neckline. She strode confidently down one of Obroa-skai’s streets, heading towards one of their information centers, her matching cream-colored boots clacking on the walkway as she walked. Their personas were just as disparate from their actual personalities as their clothes were from their daily attire on Yanibar. Milya, supposedly a member of Kuat’s ruling merchant class, had become insufferably haughty, the very pinnacle of spoiled behavior and impatience. She treated Selu like he was an uncooperative pack animal, barely tolerating his presence. For his part, Selu played the role of a telbun, expected to defer to his mistress constantly and put up with her mannerisms. In Kuati society, telbun were considered barely human, a means to allow the aristocracy to further their own bloodlines. As such, Milya had no problems with verbally abusing him at every occasion, which elicited winces and looks of sympathy for Selu from onlookers, as well as maintaining a healthy distance from him, as if his very presence was distasteful. After a while, though, she noticed her erstwhile companion had fallen behind. “I said come along,” she snapped, whirling on Selu with eyes blazing from irritation. “I’m sorry, madam,” Selu replied dutifully. “I’m coming.” “Well, do it faster,” she shot back. “You wouldn’t want me to get cold, would you? If I get cold, I’ll sulk, and that wouldn’t be fun, would it?” “No, madam,” Selu said, shuffling along a little faster. “I’m coming, see?” “I suppose so,” she sniffed. They made their way through the chilly streets of the Obroan city, and Milya’s sharp tongue drew several looks of pity from passersby for Selu. The wind was funneled through the streets in between the buildings, blasting pedestrians with icy gusts and providing another excuse for Milya, alias Delanna Siostrenn, to vent her spleen on the hapless Selu. “Look what your slowness has caused,” she berated him sharply, showing him her shivering hands. “I told you we should have called for a speeder.” “Yes, madam,” Selu replied humbly. “I’m sorry, madam. You were right.” “And next time, make sure there’s some warmer clothing laid out for me,” she added, completely ignoring him. “I won’t be caught dead walking around this place without my nerf-leather gloves.” “As you wish, madam.” And so it went, up until they reached the information center, where an elderly librarian urged Milya to be quieter, a request that she reluctantly acceded to. Even after they were settled into their secluded research alcove, sealed off by privacy screens, they maintained the charade. There was no place, other than the Hawk-bat, that they trusted to be secure enough to allow them to drop their assumed identities and speak to each other without the façade. Neither of them had lived this long by being less than cautious nearly to the point of paranoia. Long hours were spent in the claustrophobia of the information center, running queries through massive databases in search of the mysterious species that Milya had seen in her vision. However, as they had pessimistically predicted, there was little to go off of. For one, Milya’s vision had been rather vague, and they had no names of worlds or species to use as search parameters. For another, they had to conduct their search without setting off any alarms. Selu more than once devoutly wished that he had access to the Jedi Archives of decades earlier, as he would have had far more access and the aid of Jedi librarians to help with his search. In this case, though, it was just the two of them. Eventually, though, bleary-eyed from staring at the screens and projections, they called it a day. Milya needed very little effort to affect a grouchy attitude, while Selu too was exhausted. Slowly, they made their ridicule-filled way back to the hotel-the finest on Obroa-skai. Entering their suite, Milya conducted a thorough sweep for listening devices and thankfully, found none. Apparently, a Kuati noblewoman and her telbun were not objects for Imperial curiosity. Still, there were other forms of listening devices that were not so easily detected, so Selu and Milya maintained their charade. “Well, that was certainly interesting,” Milya said drily as she bit into the ribenes they had ordered from room service. “Long boring hours spent in an information center enduring your company.” “I’m sorry your search did not turn out as well as you were hoping, madam,” Selu answered dolefully. “No matter. We’ll try again tomorrow,” she sniffed. “Do try and get it finished, though. I would like to be off this unsightly planet as soon as possible.” “Yes, madam,” he replied. The meal was largely eaten in silence, though, with an occasional comment or sharp remark from Milya. Once they had finished, though, Selu brought out a small cylindrical device and set it on the table. “Is that what I think it is?” Milya asked him. “Yes, madam,” he replied, flicking a switch on it. “How thoughtful of you,” she said in her normal voice. “A dead zone generator. One of YGI’s favorite toys.” Dead zone generators were a technology developed by Kraechar Arms and based off of a Bakuran field generator that prevented eavesdropping. Dead zone generators went a step further, scrambling signals and sound waves in a five meter radius. In all of YGI’s experiences with the devices, nobody had yet to penetrate the scrambling of the dead zone generator. “That’s right, my love,” Selu said without any trace of the telbun’s dullness in his voice. “I would have showed you that earlier, but I wanted to keep any eavesdroppers placated with mindless conversation.” “Of course,” Milya agreed. “And what did you have in mind now that we’re afforded our privacy?” “Well,” Selu said, gently clasping her hand in his and pulling her close to him. “This is a very nice hotel room. Rather reminds me of our honeymoon on Bespin. I thought we might relive some of those experiences.” “As long as you don’t mean fighting Dark Jedi,” Milya said, kissing him lightly. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind,” Selu said with a smile, reaching for the clasps on the front of her jacket. “Allow me to demonstrate.” Tierfon Base Hasla Almani filed into the briefing room with a vaguely perplexed look on her face, in the midst of the other ten pilots of Ice Squadron-Neezl had been lost over Abridon. Other pilots from other squadrons were there also, at least two others, and she caught sight of the Rogue pilots she had met the other day. Janson waved and tossed her a smile as she walked in and sat down. The briefing call was rather unexpected, though, given that it was occurring only a few hours after they had gotten back from Abridon. They’d already been debriefed on return and already they’d been called in to discuss the next mission? Something was up. She knew it. To her surprise, the officer conducting the briefing was none other than General Madine, one of the Rebellion’s most celebrated heroes. She hadn’t even known he was on Abridon, and his presence meant that their mission was of grave importance. The stern, bearded man had once been an Imperial storm commando, despite his nondescript appearance and rather smallish stature. Upon his defection to the Rebellion, he had proved himself again and again, earning his title as a high-level officer and an expert in covert operations. “Welcome,” he said. “I’m General Crix Madine, and I’m here to tell you that you all are at the spearhead of . . . well, some crucial times for the Rebellion. I know you’re tired from your raid on Abridon. Good work, there, but we have a number of new priorities. I’ll spare you the niceties. It’s going to be dangerous, hard missions from now until I say so. But know that what you’re doing is critical to the Rebellion’s war effort.” A wave of murmuring swept through the assembled pilots, but Madine swiftly cut it off. “These missions you’ll be undertaking are of such importance that we’ll be taking a number of unconventional security precautions. You’ll be moving out shortly, boarding ships that will take you to your strike zones. All shore leaves and off-base passes are canceled and any and all transmissions you send will be monitored. Surprise is crucial to our efforts, and we’ll need to be absolutely certain the Empire doesn’t catch on to what we’re doing. Now, our first strike will be against the planet of Bespin. After they took it over, the Empire placed a garrison there, but it was recently hit by Black Sun mercenaries, so it’s been fortified. Our job is to guard a number of cargo ships in to the Tibanna gas storage tanks . . .” Hasla sat through the rest of the briefing paying only minor attention to Madine. She would catch up on the rest of the details with her squadron. She was more concerned about figuring out what the Rebellion was doing and how to get that information to YGI. If something important was in the works, they would want to know, expect her to report on their doings. However, Madine’s security precautions would make it difficult for her to get off a transmission, and her disappearance now would surely make the Rebels suspect that she was a traitor, jeopardizing their plans. Since those plans almost certainly included striking some major Imperial target, she was even more reluctant to abandon the Rebels now. Not to mention that they could certainly use her skills behind the controls of a B-wing. “Hey, you okay?” a voice asked her. Startled out of her introspection, she looked up to see a brown-haired human of average stature standing in front of her. Somehow, he looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite place him in her startled state. Glancing around, she realized that the other pilots were filing out of the briefing room; she was the only one still sitting. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just thinking about the mission.” “Little tired too,” he suggested. “Don’t worry. We all are after Abridon.” “Yeah,” she agreed. “I could use a hot shower and eight hours of sleep.” “You and me both,” the pilot agreed. “By the way, I’m Commander Wedge Antilles. Rogue Squadron.” Seirla Trasani, sir. Ice Eight,” she said, offering her hand. He shook it and fell into step beside her as she walked out of the briefing room, annoyed at her failure to recognize one of the Rebellion’s most famous starfighter pilots. “No décor; don’t worry about the “sir”. Some of my pilots tell me that you’re pretty good in a starfighter,” he said casually, the use of “no décor” indicating that they could dispense with the typical military formalities. “I’m all right,” she said. “Not anything like you.” Watching holos of the Rogues in action, she’d been dazzled by the precision of their maneuvers, the finesse they brought to the art of flying snubfighters. There was a beauty in the way they wove their craft through space and hostile fire. “You’re too kind,” he said smiling. “They suggested I see if you’re interested in joining Rogue Squadron.” “Me? In Rogue Squadron?” she said, feigning surprise. “This is a joke, right? One of Janson’s schemes?” “Not this time,” Antilles said ruefully. “I’ve seen the holos of you in action, though. You’re certainly good enough.” “Thank you,” she said. “It’s sounds all very well, but . . .” “But what?” he asked. She sighed. “I’m flattered. I really am. But I’d feel like I was abandoning my squadmates. They’re counting on me. I can’t just leave them now.” Antilles nodded. “Janson said you’d say that.” “I’m sorry,” she said with some measure of sincere regret. “I have to decline your offer.” “I understand,” he said. “Thank you for your time.” He turned to walk off, but hesitated for just a moment, betraying a subtle indication that there was something else. “Was there anything else?” she asked, knowing full well that there was. “Actually . . . there was,” he said. “General Madine has allowed us one last bit of leave before we get shipped out. Some of the Rogues are going out to a nice restaurant on the town. Wes mentioned something about inviting you.” “Is that an invitation from Janson?” she asked. “Yes,” he said wryly. “It is.” “I’ll consider it,” she replied. “What’s the attire?” “Anything but these,” he said, tugging at his sweat-soaked orange flight suit. “Sounds good,” she said, laughing. “I’ll meet you and your pilots at the speeder garage in an hour.” “See you there,” he said. An hour later, Hasla felt fairly presentable, having cleaned herself up from the sweat and grime of the mission. Given a choice between a nice but fairly utilitarian look in pants and a blouse or a fancier dress, she had indulged in the dress, even coiffing her hair into something more attractive than a ponytail. The dress, pale green shimmersilk, clung to her body, the halter top fitting snugly against the back of her neck to leave her upper back bare, while a long slit allowed flashes of her silvery legs to show in between layers of green silk as she walked. It was the one nice dress she had brought with her, and she hadn’t worn it yet. While it had originally been provided in case she needed to infiltrate a formal occasion, she figured it wouldn’t hurt to show it off a little, if only just to wow the hotshot fighter pilots of Rogue Squadron. Walking into the speeder garage, she saw a small cluster of four men in civilian dress standing around a landspeeder. She strode confidently up to them, flashing a smile towards them. “Hey, she came through after all,” Hobbie commented. “And looking great, too,” Wes remarked with a low whistle. “Glad you could make it.” “Me too, I think,” she said with a wink at the dark-haired handsome pilot. “So, where are we off to?” “Our mission is as follows,” Janson said stiffly. “We are to head into town and find a nice restaurant. Our expectations are wining and dining. Hopefully lots of it.” “Do all your mission briefings sound like that?” Hasla teased. “Only the ones Wes conducts,” Tycho said with a small shake of his head. “Well, what are we waiting for?” Hobbie asked, and the others concurred. The five of them piled into the landspeeder and sped off through the cool evening of Abridon into town, eager to enjoy the evening. The wind gently rustled the leaves of the trees as the speeder wove its way towards the cluster of light nestled into a valley that represented a brief reprieve from the galactic struggle between rebellion and empire, a time of solace for their war-weary hearts. Magrody Institute, Corulag The halls of the university were impressive-high vaulted ceilings with soaring arches mixed with stained-glassine windows colored with the blue, white, and orange themes favored by the university. The mid-morning sun streamed through the windows, augmenting the glowpanels lining the walls and ensuring that the halls were brightly lit. Branching off from the main halls were classrooms of various sizes, some of them expansive auditoriums and lecture halls, others smaller study nooks and cramped laboratories filled with the latest gear. The air was thick with the smell of learning, which according to Sarth smelled like old datacards, tinged by faint traces of the floor cleanser used by the maintenance droids. Students quietly milled through the corridors, clumped in knots around a conversation, talking on their personal comlinks, walking from one class to another. Most of them were Human, which was unsurprising given Corulag’s prominence as a model Imperial world and its largely Human populace. Sarth and Cassi, both in their thirties and generally too young to be faculty, too well-dressed to be one of the few organic custodians, and too old to be students, made their way through the halls. They were given plenty of room to move by the others-their purposeful strides marked them as people moving towards a clear objective and their upper-crust clothing indicated that they were used to money, and therefore, used to having their way. They had managed to reach Corulag without a hitch, thanks to the identities provided to them by YGI, which had a number of formerly unsavory characters in its employ for this sort of work. Upon landing, they had taken a speeder to the Magrody Institute of Programmable Intelligence, where Nasdra Magrody held a number of important positions. The institution had done its best to collect as many of the galaxy’s best and brightest students that it could who were interested in any number of technical fields, particularly those related to programming. Sarth had attended classes there, earning an advanced degree in droid programming, and he was once more absorbing the sights, sounds, and smells of the institution where he had truly come into his own, the place where his talents and genius had first been appreciated. Pausing in front of a brightly-lit directory panel which lit up various segments of the university with descriptive text boxes when the glowing panels representing various buildings were touched, Sarth looked at the map, looking for Magrody’s office. His stopping at a map came as a surprise to his wife, who was used to Sarth’s memory guiding him to the right location instinctively. “Don’t you remember where the office is, dear?” she asked, affecting a Corellian accent for the benefit of any listeners. “Not exactly,” he sniffed, having adopted an almost insufferably haughty tone as part of his persona. “A lot can change in a few years, and universities shuffle their offices around like a deck of sabacc cards.” “Yes, of course,” she said as Sarth returned to poring over the display. “Hey, you folks need some help?” Sarth and Cassi turned to see a young human male standing there, obviously a student, judging by the sizable backpack and datapad he was carrying. Frail of frame and light of build, with pale skin that marked him as someone who didn’t get much exposure to sunlight, his thin brown hair was unruly and sticking up, as if he’d just woken up. Still, he seemed friendly enough, though he appeared slightly dazed. “Yes, thank you,” Sarth said. “We are looking for the office of Nasdra Magrody and this map does not seem to have an efficient search function.” “Oh, sure,” the student replied. “I know where that is. You’re in the right building, but it’s two floors up, and down a . . . never mind. I can take you there.” “Once again, thank you,” Cassi said. “No problem,” he replied flippantly. “I’m Alris, by the way. Alris Stadest-Zornberger. You can just call me Alris.” “I can see why. I’m Skart Kraest, and this is Lady Kraest,” Sarth replied, gesturing towards the corridor. “After you.” Alris led them through a series of brightly-lit halls and up several wide flights of granite stairs, greeting various friends as he passed by, or pointing out attractions or points of interest on the campus as they walked by a wide gallery of upper-floor windows that offered a panoramic view of much of the institute. The young man was a never-ending fountain of conversation, and though Sarth and Cassi said little in return, he seemed to revel in filling any silences with speech, as if he rarely got the chance to talk to other people at length very often. Sarth, however, was content to let Alris talk and soak in the university. It had grown considerably since the last time he’d been here, and the upper floors had been decorated since his time here, painted in a soothing light color and decorated with real pieces of artwork, both actual paintings and sculptures, placed in recessed alcoves lining the wall and illuminated by various glowpanels that provided subtle lighting to enhance the artwork. There were pieces from a dozen worlds, all by different artists, and each with a history of its own. Sarth found it a relaxing atmosphere and even Cassi, who preferred the beauty of nature over the austere atmosphere of the university, found it pleasing to the eye. Finally, they arrived at Magrody’s office after walking past the department secretary at her desk. To Sarth’s disappointment, the door, a plain white affair with a hololabel that read “Magrody, Nasdra” was closed and locked. “Well, that’s not very much help,” Sarth remarked, disgruntled. “Hey, Prof Magrody’s been missing for awhile,” Alris replied. “Then why did you bring us here?” Sarth chided, the impatience of his role coming to the forefront. “You were the one who wanted to get to the office, right? You didn’t say anything about finding Magrody himself,” Alris answered with utter nonchalance. “Why else would we have come here?” Sarth asked with weariness that was only partially part of his assumed persona. “Skart-,” Cassi cautioned him gently. “Maybe Alris can tell us where Professor Magrody has gone.” “Perhaps,” Sarth muttered, somewhat mollified but still annoyed. “Do you know where he’s gone?” “Not quite sure,” Alris replied. “He went on extended leave about a month ago, and we haven’t heard from him since.” “Did you know him?” Cassi inquired. “I did,” Alris answered, a little hesitantly. “I met him a few times, and he seemed nice, brilliant for sure, but a little distractedly.” “That’s Magrody for you,” Sarth agreed. “But nobody’s been able to contact him for a month?” “No, not even via the ‘Net,” Alris answered. “Like I said, we haven’t heard from him at all. Messages sent to him are returned to the sender. It’s like he disappeared.” “Disappeared?” Sarth said. “I don’t like the sound of that.” A frown appeared on Alris’s face, accentuating the several red pimples dotting his face. For all his attempts at being permanently blasé about everything, the young man obviously had some concern for Magrody’s welfare. “Do you think something bad happened to him?” he asked. “It’s possible,” Sarth replied vaguely. “Depends-I might be able to figure something out, but I’ll need to acquire more data.” “Wait,” Alris replied. “Shouldn’t we go to the law for this?” “And tell them what?” Sarth said, scoffing at the idea. “That we have a faint hunch that a respected university professor on a leave of absence has actually been involved in foul play? You’d be laughed out of the station.” “So, what do we do?” Alris asked. Sarth paused, considering the matter. He had been improvising, but now he needed a moment to think about what he wanted to do next, what he needed to do in order to find Professor Magrody. Then, the answer came to him. Carefully, he looked around to make sure that nobody was listening, but the only person in earshot was the department secretary, who seemed to be thoroughly engrossed in her entertainment holozine “I need access to the university’s computer systems,” he said quietly. “Preferably somewhere secluded and that can be used for some outside-the-storage-cylinder techniques.” “What are you going to do?” “I’m not entirely sure yet. For the moment, just get me the terminal, and I’ll explain as I work.” “Okay,” Alris said with a shrug. “Follow me.” Sarth gave Cassi an exasperated look, reflecting his frustration with Alris. The young man reminded him all too much of his younger self, albeit an infinitely more irritating version of his younger self, but with with a significant lack of endearing personality traits. She merely smiled in reply, shook her head, causing her blond tresses to sway slightly, and made a gesture that indicated to Sarth that he need to calm down. For all that his haughty mannerisms as Skart Kraest were a ruse, she could tell that Alris really had managed to get under Sarth’s skin. Once more, they followed him through a dizzying maze of corridors, through milling groups of students of various species-although the vast majority were human, which was unsurprising on a Core World. Still, Alris knew where he was going and led them confidently to a rather unattractive single-level building, which unlike most of the Magrody Institute, had lower ceilings, giving the large room that occupied the entire building’s interior a rather cramped feeling. The ceiling was mosaic, with various abstract swirls and patterns of color stretching across the tiles, and the room was filled with rows upon rows of nondescript cubicles, each with privacy screens and computer terminals. Here and there, support columns holding the roof dotted the floorplan, most of them near intersections of the aisles that granted access to the rows of cubicle workstations. Aside from the mosaic, there was little decoration in the room, just the identical cubicles. Most of them were unoccupied, but the room seemed crowded, the air stale, as if the carpet, which was once deep blue but now more of a dark brownish-blue from stains, was badly in need of cleaning. None of that seemed to bother the effusive Alris, however, who quickly led them inside. “Well, here we are,” he said proudly. “The east terminal lab.” “This wasn’t around when I was here,” Sarth said. “It was under construction.” “I’m surprised there aren’t more people here,” Cassi commented. “Eh, you’d think so,” Alris said. “But it’s an older building, with older terminals.” “And definitely lacking in ambience,” Sarth said dryly. “I can’t imagine doing anything else but staring at a terminal in here.” “True,” Alris admitted. “That’s why most of the students use the west terminal lab-it’s even newer and was built with more aesthetics in mind. But you said you wanted secluded, so here we are. This place is great for when you want a quiet moment where there aren’t any other people, especially informers, around.” “Thank you,” Sarth said, slipping into an unoccupied cubicle. “Let’s get started, shall we?” Two hours later, Sarth, using an account provided to him by Alris, had quickly forged several dummy accounts and had sliced deep into the university records, bypassing firewalls and security measures with an ease that astounded Alris, who had watched Sarth, enrapt. For the first twenty minutes, the student, who had informed them of his interest in computing, had peppered Sarth with questions, until finally, he’d had enough and asked Alris as firmly as he could manage while still being polite to give him some peace and quiet to concentrate. That had subdued Alris somewhat, and he limited his questions and comments to a few terse sentences every five minutes or so, which Sarth found much more manageable. Cassi, having rapidly grown bored of watching lines of code scroll down a screen, had taken her leave, saying she would walk around the campus, explore a little bit, and meet them for lunch. Sarth, distracted by the challenge of slicing into a new system, had let her go with barely a moment’s pause, figuring she could take care of herself, and trusting that the Force would tell him if they were in any danger. So far, he’d sensed little that indicated immediate threats, but his limited Force senses were also unable to point him in the direction he needed to go in order to find Nasdra Magrody. Finally, though, Sarth’s reticence prompted Alris to pull out his datapad and amuse himself with something else besides watching Sarth work. This was much to Sarth’s relief, as he was able to get far more done without having to worry about Alris looking over his shoulder. There was also the possibility that, although most computer science students tended to slice into systems for the sheer enjoyment of it, Alris might report him for slicing into secure university systems. At any rate, Sarth was just happy to be working again, and doing something useful. Or rather, what he hoped would be useful. Despite cracking through all kinds of security with an ease that really was unexpected given that the university administrators had to know about a certain aforementioned predilection of brilliant computer scientists when it came to secure systems, Sarth had yet to find anything that gave him a clue as to where Nasdra Magrody had gone, and why. It wasn’t for lack of trying either-Sarth had been his usual meticulous self when it came to slicing and searching for data. Disappointed and hungry, he erased his electronic tracks, making sure that he couldn’t be traced back to the station, and closed down the terminal in order to meet Cassi for lunch. Having downloaded a map of the institution to his datapad, he walked to the nearest on-campus dining facility, where they had agreed to meet for sake of time and convenience, rather than out of any particularly fond memories of the campus food. He found his wife waiting for him by the entrance in a sea of students, and she smiled brightly as he approached. “There you are,” she said. “I was afraid you’d lost track of time.” “Sorry about that,” Sarth answered apologetically. “I got a little distracted.” “It’s okay,” Cassi said understandingly, as this was far from the first time her husband had been distracted by his work. “Let’s just eat.” They entered the dining facility, grabbing pre-prepared lunch trays from the dispensers. The room was packed and decorated in garish colors of the ubiquitous blue, white, and orange. Sarth remembered the tile walls well-that particular material had been chosen because of its ease of cleaning in case of food fights or other messes. The two said little as they carried their trays over to one of several cashier stations located at various locations through the facility, mostly because of the cacophony around them. Sarth paid the droid cashier for the unappetizing-looking meal and then navigated through a crowded maze of students standing around, students eating meals of their own, students talking to other students, heading towards the back of the facility. Finding an occupied table that was relatively secluded in the packed and noisy cafeteria, he pulled the chair out for Cassi, then took his own seat. Peeling off the plastifilm wrapper from the lunch tray, he looked resignedly at the food inside it, then began poking at it with his fork. Cassi was a little more straightforward, taking a bite out of the main course, but her shocked and horrified facial expression upon tasting the food was enough to make Sarth chuckle. “Sorry, I should have warned you. Cafeteria fare isn’t exactly the same as a home-cooked meal,” he said. “Euwgh, no,” Cassi said, grimacing at the taste. “What is that?” Sarth looked at the label on her package. “It’s supposed to be gukked egg,” he said. “I never liked that one.” “You used to eat these?” Sarth shrugged. “My palate wasn’t quite as refined during my years as a student.” “It’s a wonder you survived.” “Let’s just say that I’m glad you introduced me to real cooking,” he said, smiling at her. “Something I’ll be happy to get back to,” she quipped. “Never mind the lunch, though. What did you find?” Sarth dropped his gaze, the gesture laden with disappointment. “Not much of anything, really. I scoured the systems, but I couldn’t seem to find anything at all indicating the whereabouts of Nasdra Magrody. Not in the central university database, not in his communication logs, nowhere. There’s no electronic trail at all telling where’s he gone, and that concerns me.” “Nothing at all?” “No,” he said heavily. “And it gives me a really bad feeling about this.” “Would it make you feel any better if I told I had a possible lead?” Cassi asked slyly. “You do?” Sarth replied, clearly curious and more than a little impressed. “What did you find?” “While you were digging around in the computers, I figured I’d talk to some of the other professors; pose as a journalist and see if they knew anything about where Professor Magrody had gone, in the interests of interviewing him.” “And?” “I talked to a nice old man who happened to be a colleague of Nasdra Magrody’s. His name was Dr. Benzep-Naes, a professor of applied mathematics. He said to come back after lunch, and he’d tell us what he knew.” “Good work,” Sarth said gratefully. “Thanks,” she replied lightly, shrugging off the compliment. “No, I mean it,” he persisted, looking deeply into her light blue eyes. “Your helping with this really does mean a lot to me, Cassi. Thank you.” “I know,” she said simply as he leaned in for a quick kiss. “You’re welcome, Sarth.” Soon enough, they managed to get through at least part of their meals-Cassi found that the jellied fruit included as a side was edible, while Sarth struggled through his main course, some kind of meat stew laden with grease. After having gratefully discarded the lunch trays and exited the noisy, claustrophobic dining facility, Sarth followed Cassi across a wide grassy lawn that provided some level of openness to the campus, heading for Dr. Benzep-Naes’s office, which was in another building similar to the hall where Magrody’s office was located. Upon arriving, Cassi gently knocked on the door. “Come in,” came the reply. Cassi gingerly opened the door and walked through, into a smallish office filled largely with movable holoboards that had calculations scribbled all over them, with a few chairs here and there. The walls were covered with holoposters pertaining to mathematics and award plaques, marking this as someone of considerable academic import and accomplishment. There was a sense of organized chaos about the room-there was no obvious pattern to the objects strewn about the office, but yet somehow everything seemed to have its place. Seated behind a sizable desk that occupied much of the room and cluttered with datapads, datacards, and other various technical gadgetry was an older man, dressed in formal Alderaanian fashion, with a sweeping cloak over a solid-tone gray tunic, neatly pressed. The light from the room’s lone window shone on his graying hair, but his blue eyes were bright, his expression amiable. The man’s face was aged and weathered, filled with intelligence but world-weary. Cassi’s Force senses didn’t detect anything dishonest emanating from him, which was a small relief. “Hello, Dr. Benzep-Naes, it’s me-Cassi Kraest. We talked earlier.” “Yes, please, come in, have a seat,” he replied, standing as they entered. As the man spoke, Sarth detected a fairly heavy Alderaanian accent, which was unsurprising given his clothing and the holo of the Castle Lands, an Alderaanian landmark, on his desk. “Thank you,” Cassi said. “By the way, this is my husband, Skart Kraest, of Kraechar Arms.” “Pleased to meet you both,” he said. “Now, you said you were wondering about Nasdra Magrody, is that right?” “That’s correct,” Sarth answered. “My wife had hoped to interview him, while I was an acquaintance of his, back when I went to school here. I’d hoped to catch up with him.” “Well, Nasdra and I were fairly good friends,” Benzep-Naes replied. “I’ve missed him since he’s been gone.” “Do you know why he left?” Sarth asked. “I’m not sure for certain,” Benzep-Naes started, only to be interrupted by a beeping sound on his datapad. “Ah, if you’ll excuse me. One of my student researchers has brought me something of interest. Do you mind if he interrupts for a minute?” “Not at all,” Sarth answered congenially. “Come in,” Benzep-Naes said to the door, which slid open to reveal Alris. “Fancy seeing you here again,” Alris said, closing the door behind him with a slight glower at Sarth. “A pleasant surprise indeed,” Sarth answered somewhat insincerely. “What is it, Alris?” Dr. Benzep-Naes asked. “I’m in the middle of something here.” “I can see that, sir,” Alris replied. “And I suggest you not say another word to them.” “And why not? Because they’re not who they claim to be,” he answered confidently. Sarth and Cassi reflexively stiffened. “Preposterous,” Sarth sniffed, slipping fully back into the stuffiness of the Skart Kraest identity. “There’d better be a good explanation for this.” “I might say the same to you,” Alris said darkly, the talkative student of earlier replaced by a fiercely protective figure with much more edge in his voice. “Alris, what proof do you have? Justify your accusation,” Benzep-Naes said, and Sarth somehow suspected he was using the exact same tone he would have employed in a lecture hall after being shown a solution to a math problem by a student. “Mr. Kraest over there said that he was around when the east terminal lab was under construction, before it opened. That narrowed down the possibilities of when he was here, since he had to have graduated before it opened, based on what he said. I then searched the list of enrolled students at those times, looking for a Skart Kraest.” “And you’ll find my name on the list of students,” Sarth said dismissively. “I don’t see anything suspicious about that.” “Of course not,” Alris replied. “It’s not impossible to slice into and alter that sort of record by inserting a believable name and individual in there. There are just a couple problems. First, the accounting office has no record of any funds being transferred to or from Skart Kraest’s account, and they keep records of all funds transfers back to the opening of the Institute. Second, I went into the records of several professors who Skart Kraest had, according to his transcript, and none of them have him in any of their documents aside from their final gradebooks.” “I see,” Sarth said. “That does seem to be rather telling evidence,” Benzep-Naes replied mildly. “Do you have anything to say in your defense?” “Only that you people seem to have done your work rather well,” he answered mildly. “I can’t really argue with the thoroughness of your researcher’s argument.” “And it only took me two hours to come up with,” Alris boasted. “Well, if you’re not Skart and Cassi Kraest, then who are you?” asked the professor. “Quite simply, I am Skart Kraest, and this is Cassi Kraest,” Sarth said firmly. “We are who we say we are. However, early on in my career, my lack of an educational pedigree was cause for several sizable firms to reject my application for employment. In order to forestall any further such instances, I made myself a student here at the Magrody Institute, but never actually attended any classes. I did study under Nasdra Magrody, but it was private tutelage-something my employers didn’t believe until I made my fake student account there.” He sighed heavily. “I certainly didn’t imagine it would come back to me now.” “I see,” replied Benzep-Naes with the same mild manner. “Wait, just a minute,” Alris demanded. “How do we know that they’re not lying now?” “If you’ll excuse me, we came here to discuss the disappearance of Nasdra Magrody,” Cassi replied. “If you’re not going to tell us anything, well, I suppose we’ll be on our way.” “Not so fast,” Alris said hotly. “Hold it, Alris,” Benzep-Naes interjected quickly. “She’s right.” “But we can’t just let these impostors escape. They’ll want—people deserve to know the truth. They owe it to us,” Alris said, fumbling for words. “Not all data is relevant,” Benzep-Naes corrected. “There’s no reason to make a commotion about it.” Sarth studied their interaction intently, observing as passively as possible. Something was not quite right-some variable was still unknown to him and Cassi. A piece was clearly missing. However, he let his face betray none of this knowledge; instead, he drew upon the Force to analyze the situation, to seek out what the professor and Alris were concealing. “What if there is?” Alris persisted, his eyes darting to something in Benzep-Naes’s desk drawer. “If there is, then your talking is only making things worse!” Benzep-Naes said forcefully. Alris stood quietly, subdued by the professor’s firm tone and the resulting silence was injected with a sudden tension. However, the abrupt halt to the conversation had given Sarth enough time to finish formulating what he believed was a pretty accurate deduction of the missing piece. “Let me see if I can help clear matters up,” he said conversationally. “I’m guessing that you two are members of a Rebel cell and you’re trying to decide whether to report us to your superiors.” “The Rebel Alliance, here? That’s absurd,” Alris responded indignantly. “Sure, of course, it is,” Sarth replied in the same tone. “Then why are thinking so hard about the blaster in the desk?” “What blaster?” Alris said, but with less vehemence. Sarth shrugged dismissively. “Go ahead and pull it out. Or, if you want, I can examine the drawer. I surmise there’s a false back inside that conceals the weapon.” “Justify your claim,” put in Benzep-Naes, who still hadn’t twitched from behind his desk, or so much as flinched in response to Sarth’s accusation. “It’s fairly obvious you’re not Imperial,” Sarth said. “There aren’t too many Alderaanians supportive of the Empire at the moment, and your friend here was a little too familiar with slicing into the database and a trifle too unguarded with his tongue. He practically gave it away. Plus, you two lack the edge that one would expect from the Empire. Not enough menace, perhaps.” “And the blaster in the drawer?” Benzep-Naes asked. “Are you saying there’s not one in there?” Sarth answered. “No,” Alris muttered, pulling open the drawer and activating some sort of control that released a panel. Reaching into a hidden compartment, he withdrew a small holdout blaster, pointing it at Sarth. “See?” Sarth replied. “There it is.” “Who are you to be asking questions, anyway?” Alris asked. “I’m the one with the blaster.” “I can assure you that we’re not Imperials,” Sarth answered calmly. “If we were Imperial Intelligence, this situation would have unfolded far differently. Their methods are distinctly less genteel.” “So then who are you?” Alris demanded. “We’re concerned friends of Nasdra Magrody,” Cassi spoke up. “We want to find him, but we need your help to do so.” “And don’t worry,” Sarth added. “Your secret’s safe with us. We have no love for the Empire either.” “I don’t believe you,” Alris snapped back. “We mean well,” Cassi said, addressing Benzep-Naes. “We didn’t want any trouble-we just want to find Professor Magrody. That’s why I talked to you in the first place.” “I don’t know about this,” Alris said. “I don’t like it.” Sarth sighed, frustrated by the young man’s stubbornness. “Please, Alris. I know what it’s like to be a student like you, and I comprehend how difficult it is for you to trust us. But we’re trying to help Nasdra Magrody, and if you would like to see him back safely, kindly cease the theatrics.” “Skart,” Cassi reproved. “You might be more convincing if you were a little less confrontational.” “I apologize,” Sarth said, realizing that he might have pushed the young man too far with his words. “Look,” Cassi said, as sincerely as she could. “I know it sounds like a lot to swallow, and that you don’t really know us. If I were in your shoes, I’d be skeptical too. But Skart is right in that we won’t reveal your secret, and we can help find Professor Magrody-if you can point us in the right direction.” She watched Dr. Benzep-Naes’s response to her argument, knew that her words had made an impact. But how much? Would the professor be swayed by her gentle tone and sincerity? To her, he seemed like someone who would prefer to see a mathematical proof of their innocence, or at least harmlessness, rather than hear a persuasive speech. Still, she could tell that he at least wanted to believe them, unlike Alris, who, his dignity wounded by Sarth’s badgering, appeared to be sulking-with a blaster in hand. “All right,” the professor said at last. “One thing, though: I know damned little about you, and you know precious little about me, and let’s keep it that way. We’re all suspicious coots in here; let’s stipulate that and move on. I’m not entirely sure if I believe everything you’ve told me, but Nasdra was a friend of mine. I’d go to great lengths to see him back again.” “Fine by me,” Cassi said. Benzep-Naes looked pointedly at Alris, who scowled and put the blaster back in the drawer. “Now, what did you want to know?” Benzep-Naes asked. “When was the last time you saw him?” Sarth asked. “It was about a month ago,” Benzep-Naes said. “Nasdra came in early one morning. Seemed awfully distracted and agitated. Said he had some files to retrieve.” “Did he mention anything unusual or something that was troubling?” Cassi inquired. “Not really,” Benzep-Naes said, frowning as he tried to recollect the events of that day. “He did stop and tell me that he was going away for awhile. Had this haunted, faraway sorta look in his eyes.” “Did he say where he was going?” Cassi asked. “No, he didn’t,” Benzep-Naes answered. “Was there anything else?” Sarth questioned. “I’m afraid not,” the professor said sadly. “I wish there was something else.” “Professor Magrody had a family,” Sarth recalled. “Do you know where they lived?” “Eh, I think I have it in my records,” replied Benzep-Naes. “It’s against policy to give that out, though.” “Is that a problem?” Sarth asked. “Not at all,” Benzep-Naes agreed, taking the remark lightly. “Here you go. They lived locally, not too far away. I should have thought to check on them, see how they are.” “We’ll take a look,” Sarth said. “Thank you for your help,” Cassi said gratefully. “Now we have somewhere to start, at least.” Benzep-Naes nodded in reply and the two took their leave of the professor and a somewhat sullen Alris. Relieved and still slightly in shock from the strange turn of events they had just witnessed, they cautiously made their way back to the Silent Surprise, taking extra care to insure they weren’t being followed. They said little-both were deep in thought even as they walked. Alris and Benzep-Naes hadn’t fit either of their ideas of what a Rebel cell member might look like, and it was a stark reminder of just how heated the conflict between Rebellion and Empire was becoming. On Yanibar, in the isolated world they lived on, the conflict was an item in the newsfeeds, something that was mentioned in passing and which occurred on faraway worlds. Here, inside the Empire, it was very real and a matter of life-and-death. Those two, one barely into manhood and the other far past his prime, were playing with forces beyond their control. For her part, Cassi at least feared that something bad would eventually befall them-neither of them were particularly talented in the arts of hiding their true allegiances, and they would fare poorly if discovered, to say the least. It wasn’t in her to allow people to walk into danger unwarned, but she knew they would undoubtedly reject any attempts she made at discouraging them from trying to openly aid the Rebellion. She was pretty sure she liked Dr. Benzep-Naes; despite his seemingly cut-and-dry nature, he was an understanding, wise man-she was sure of it. She also naturally felt sorry for Alris and didn’t understand why Sarth was so hard on him. Though he hid it, Sarth too believed that the student and professor were out of their league. He also felt some kind of kinship with Alris, despite their verbal sparring. The young man did remind him of himself, though Sarth told himself that he was never that clumsy and at least a bit more charming. Certainly never that talkative, or annoying. However, Sarth knew what it felt like to be a lonely genius, involved in things that were beyond his comprehension. That was possibly why Alris got to him so. And part of his disguise had meant assuming a rather abrasive personality, one which Alris apparently did not take to. Still, there was little they could do for either Alris or Benzep-Naes, as there was no chance of evacuating them or dissuading them from actively aiding the Rebellion. It was out of their hands, so they returned to the Surprise for the evening-spending nights on the ship was easier, safer, and aroused less suspicion. In the morning, they planned on investigating the Magrody residence, but for now, the startling events of their day had worn them out, and sleep came quickly to both of them.
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)