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| - A large, comfortable room creates the main part of Plaxton City's infamous Sandbar, survivor of no less than three rounds of destruction, once more back on its feet. Refurbished to much the same state it had enjoyed prior to the invasion of Caspar at Imperial hands, the place boasts dark wood panelling on its walls, and myriad booths and tables of occasionally battered but sturdy lighter wood, and a number of both old and brand new holoposters hung here and there on the walls. Several deep blue glass windows allow light in from outside, while keeping the ambient light level fairly low. The marble bar that survived the recent war still remains, more battered than before, but once again serving as the domain of Ariani; the loft, too, has been restored, providing yet more seating and an excellent view of the low stage towards the back of the room, where the local band called the Womprats play each night. Wondering what led him to this place on this evening, Jamon stares at the drink menu and tries to decide what to order. He sighs as the waiter arrives and settles on an aged Corellian whiskey. Start off with the good stuff until he starts to get hammered. Since he doesn't have his sidearm on his he can drink as much as he wants. He sits quietly as he waits for the small glass to arrive. She's been at the corner of the bar for awhile, now, nursing mixed drinks interspersed with nonalcoholic, looking at new arrivals and occasionally politely turning down offers of company or refreshment paid. When the military man enters, she checks him out as well, then goes back to her drink. She waits until his orders been filled and placed before him before moving, lithely slipping off the seat she's been occupying and picking up her own glass to move around the bar. Without asking, she appropriates a new seat beside the officer and turns her attention back to her beverage. The man turns slightly and eyes the woman very briefly. He turns away and smiles as he does so. His drink arrives and he shifts on his stool and turns more toward the woman. "Hello." He places a pleasant smile on his face. "I like an observant man." By the time she's turned her head, the woman is smiling. "Hello to you, too." She inclines her head toward the glass on the bar in front of the officer. "Neat, hmm? Drinking to forget, to remember, or because it's time to have a few?" A slightly broader smile crosses his face. "Well it's just that time I suppose. Got some time off and thought a drink would be nice." He examines her long hair and Saar spots and then down. "Though now I'm very glad that I did." Her smile is genuine, her flush is as well. No matter what the species, a woman dresses to be seen then acts self-conscious when males look. The laugh is slightly throaty. "I'm flattered. Which, judging from your expression, is right where you want me to be, is it not?" Sipping from her glass she eyes the man she's addressing over the rim. "Navy. I've heard tales of Navy men." He nods his head. "Yes Navy Men and tails go hand in hand often." Her flush deepens, threatening to overwhelm a few of the spots behind her cheeks and down her neck, gut even so, her smile widens. "And do you have a tale to share, or are you looking for to share my tail?" Her glass lifts and she sips again, never quite looking away from this fascinating fellow she's discovered. Jamon laughs. "Nice one." He also takes a drink of his well made whiskey. "Let's start with the former and see what happens." Her laugh matches the naval officer's and she holds up her glass in mock-toast. "So let's. Shall we begin with names? I'm Breecia Corana. And you are..." Leaning forward, Breecia cocks her head to the side to look at the name tag on the jacket. She shakes her head. "Sideways. Guess you'll have to tell me." &;nbsp; "Jamon Grendine." He extends his hand for an introductory shake. "Nice to meet you." Once the impending shake is completed, he sips on his drink and asks, "You from Plaxton?" "Jamon Grendine," Breecia repeats, nodding thoughtfully for just a moment before her smile returns. "Caspar naval officer." She reaches out to touch the shoulder patch with the fighter on it. "Pilot?" Jamon smiles and nods. "Yep. Best is the fleet." he winks at her playfully. "Got myself the callsign, Bullseye because of it too. And not six weeks after going active." He takes yet another sip of his drink. Breecia laughs softly, appreciatively. "I'll bet it's a high-stress job. All that protecting and everything." Her finger's still tracing the outline of the Centurion on the patch lightly. "We appreciate it, though." She reaches for her own drink and sips, looking at the pilot over the rim of her glass. Jamon turns and looks at the counter. A knowing smile crossing his face. "Well it's not all that glamorous. Mostly just stopping incoming ships and running scans for contraband and illegal weapons and the like. Nothing fancy." Not revealing any classified information, that's the name of the game. "Of course. Nothing glamorous." She finally stops playing with the patch, using two hands to hold her glass while she supports it to drink the last of the liquid therein. Putting it down on the bar, Breecia raises a finger to the bartender then indicates the newly empty container with a swirling motion. Her eyes slide to the notably smaller glass beside her companion. "Buy you another?" Jamon drains his glass and nods. "Sure, but let me buy." He drops some credits on the counter. Then benefits of an officer. Good pay and no bills. Smiling, the Sarian woman nods. "If you insist, of course. I'd never argue with an authority figure." Breecia pushes her glass forward to be taken away with a smile of thanks to the bartender, then turns her attention back to the true item of interest at the bar. "From what I've heard, you military folks are big on nicknames. Bullseye, hmmm? Have a special name for your ship?" The pilot shakes his head. "No. No names. Of course that usually comes when you get a permanent assignment. I'm in a holding pattern right now. I'm due for a promotion. I'll have my own squadron soon and then I might if the mood strikes me." Stay vague, but give enough to impress the girl... "Your own squadron?" Breecia does sound impressed. "Which one are you with now?" Her drink arrives and she wastes no time reaching for it and taking the first sip. "I've heard about some units on the news, but it's always so quick and then on to something else." "I'm with the Hydras." He picks up the newly arrived drinks and hands the woman hers before sipping on his. Breecia cocks her head. "Hydras. Yes, I've heard of that one. In fact, wasn't it in the news just recently?" Her smile is sly. "And here you said there was no excitement!" Jamon just shrugs. He seems genuinely modest. He takes a larger gulp of his drink and says, "So what about you? What do you do for a living?" Breecia gives a low chuckle. "Modest, are you, Bullseye?" Her smile grows. "I like that. Do you mind if I call you Bullseye?" Pushing a stray hair that's escaped the barrette back behind her ear, she shrugs lightly. "Nothing so glamorous as piloting. I'm a processing clerk at Union Starport. Freighters come in, their flight plans are concluded, I log them. They send a new one, I log it. Mostly I just sit there hitting the enter key all day." Jamon turns back to her with interest. "So do you confirm that the flightplans are legitimate too?" His curiosity is piqued. "Only when it's called for specifically. Mostly my job is filing the information. Rarely, when something's in question, my supervisor or I get to pull up the records and contact the originating or destination point authorities and compare notes." Breecia shrugs offhandedly. "It's about as routine as you can get, really." Jamon eyes the woman slightly. "I understand. I got stuck doing paperwork for my first six months of service. It stinks." He takes a sip. "So that can't be what you want to do forever. What's your goal?" Breecia shrugs lightly. "I don't know yet. It involves the opportunity to travel and to meet new sentients. And be in charge of something. But other than that, I've not worked out the details." She takes a generous portion of the contents of her glass in a singe drink. "Yours is command?" The pilot nods. "For now. I'll retire eventually. Start a family. Maybe be a farmer." He smiles and seems sincere. "For now I do my part and do the best I can with the talents I've been given." He takes another drink, draining the new glass. With a smile, Breecia matches the drink and finishes most of her drink in a second try and then puts it down on the bartop. She turns her green eyes onto the man next to her and curls her lips into a smile that parts them slightly. "I'm bored. Do you really want to just sit here and drink all night?" Jamon grins at her again. He shrugs and says, "What did you have in mind?" She meets his eyes and her smile doesn't change at all. "When I came in here the night was just cool enough with just the right breeze and smelled just enough of treeflowers and early fruit to be a very pleasant environment for a walk." The Lieutenant laughs and stands from the bar. He steps out a single step and bows deeply before extending a hand. "It would be a pleasure to take a walk with you." Breecia slides off the stool with characteristic grace then looks around for a moment. "Oh, I changed seats. Would you mind getting my cloak? I left it over there." One hand indicates a dark blue cloak on the seat next to the one she'd vacated to move in next to the navy man. Jamon nods formally. "Of course." He steps over and gently plucks up the cloak and turns to open it and hold it for her to put on. It's a heavy cloak for the mild night, but Breecia backs into it with an over-the-shoulder smile and a murmured, "Thank you," reaching up to settle the wide fur collar into place across the back of her neck. "So, do you have anywhere in particular you'd like to walk?" As she speaks she extends a hand back to Jamon, leading him toward the door. Jamon shakes his head. "I lived in the country. I actually don't know Plaxton City very well. You pick." "Let's head toward the beach, then. It's too far to walk the whole way but we can perhaps grab a robohack if we want to go the whole way, and starting off in the Square means lots of trees." Breecia's tugging, now, obviously impatient to get out of the Sandbar and under the moons. Jamon leads the woman in the direction of the water. he is ...familiar... with the beach area. So he turns and heads that way. The Sarian takes the pilot on a tour of the park, telling him about the types of trees found within and the edibility, or not, or their fruits. And then she's headed westward with her arm linking his and smiling and chatting animatedly as she guides him through the streets of nighttime Plaxton. Jamon smiles. He just met this woman. He knows nothing about her, but she has a love of plants. This strikes a chord in his heart. His family are very natural and love Caspar and all it's organic beauty. He watches her as she chatters away. Breecia knows Plaxton and knows it well. She sets a somewhat irregular route seaward, all the while pointing out not only the flora of the city, but also prominent buildings and historic places. She seems to know some of the less-travelled routes as well, and prefers them because of less artificial lighting, she says, and eventually is indicating a little nook between two buildings which are amazingly tall for caspar. "Between those we should be able to see at least three moons and some stars." The woman's eyes are glittering slightly in the street illumination as she smiles her parted-lips smile and puts her cheek against the pilot's shoulder for just a moment. An invitation? "Shall we?" An alley? Jamon isn't stupid. He looks at her with sudden suspicion. "What do you mean? We'd barely be able to even see the sky from in there. Let alone the moons and stars." The smile turns into something of a pout and Breecia puts her cheek against his shoulder once again while she reaches up right-handed to shift some hair free of her fur cloak collar, it having been caught when her head tilted. "Maybe we don't need to be looking...up." Long lashes touch cheeks as she blinks once, then opens her eyes to look intently at the pilot she still entwines arms with. "We could just look at one another." No, Breecia is not particularly subtle as she tilts her head back against her hand and lightly licks her lower lip. Jamon looks at her for a moment. He's not stupid, but he's no prude either. He looks up and around. Nobody anywhere near them. That could be good, could be bad. He decides to risk it. The city is fairly safe. He just smiles at her and heads for the alley. Like liquid poured into a tunic and leggings, Breecia sort of flows toward the alleyway, still curling her left arm around Jamon's right. She gives her hair one last flip and brushes her cheek against his shoulder one more time, which is a mistake. An irregular spot on the pavement catches her toe and the woman's having to clutch the entwined arm as her weight shifts suddenly away from the man. Breecia yelps as her cloak flips forward and envelopes her right hand as she tries to use it for balance. Jamon, having the quick reflexes of a pilot, deftly reaches out and keeps her from falling completely. He smiles as he helps her to her feet. Breecia doesn't go far, but the stumble put her enough off balance that the pilot's grab ended up with her all but falling against him. As she's caught, the woman smiles, but the come-hither is gone and the object in her right hand presses against the pilot's ribs. She angles her fingers to show off the little blaster, not large but large enough, while her fingers re-tighten on his arm. "Thank you. Something told me I could count on your gallantry when the time was right. Shall we continue down the alley?" Her voice is still soft, but has gained an edge to it as she prods lightly to get him moving. Jamon looks at the weapon and then the woman's face. His heart sinks. He quickly catches himself. Now is not the time to deal with the emotional consequences. His eyes narrow in anger and frustration. "What do you want?" "You." She prods again. "Come on, then, let's move this out of public so things don't have to get unpleasant." Breecia smiles again. "Oh, don't take it personally. I do like you, I just need you for this more than I need to neck in the dark." Her grip's not too tight, as she has no intention on making this a physical altercation, it's just strong enough to give him a push down the direction she's been trying to lure him already. Were it not for the blaster in her hand he could probably have taken care of this quickly. Instead he decides to play along for now. "What is it you need me for? Where are we going?" He asks questions he was trained to ask in the military should he be captured. Just in case someone friendly might happen to be listening. Keeping the muzzle of her weapon down between herself and her victim and mostly covered by her disproportionately heavy cloak, the Sarian moves them into the darkness between the buildings without haste nor hesitation. "We're going for a ride, Lieutenant. Don't worry, I have no intention of hurting you." Breecia flashes teeth. "But make no mistake, it's not set on stun. I bring you back tonight or I try for someone else tomorrow and if I have to I make sure you can't tell anyone I tried tonight." The alley is unlit, but as eyes adjust to the darkness the bulk of a speeder can be seen waiting for them. "What is this all about? You don't seem to be the sort that would think of this all on your own. Who are you working for?" He continues to speak softly and follow the directions given to him. As they approach the vehicle, the door swings open. "Should I be insulted by that?" She doesn't seem to be. "You really don't need to know much. Just that if you behave and are a good boy, you'll go home to your nice military life fairly soon. After we get what we want, of course." As they draw abreast of the open door Breecia stops and nods toward it. "Get in." Jamon pauses for a moment. "No, I meant you are too nice to be this sort of person." His eyes linger on her for another moment and then he does as commanded. Breecia's soft laugh follows him into the speeder, just before the woman herself does. It's a six-seater with someone in the driver's seat and another entity in the back, seated facing the door. This one's Human, probably tallish, and male. His hair picks up the miniscule light of the speeder's controls behind him and reflects them pale green. He nods toward the opposite seat then raises a blaster he held against his thigh until the pilot was inside. "Have a seat." Turning to Breecia he speaks softly, "You couldn't do better than a lieutenant?" She's pulling the door closed behind herself and snorts. "He's a pilot, an officer, and says he's with Hydra Squadron. He'll do." Then she moves to sit beside her captive. Jamon's face remains passive as he loudly curses himself in his mind. He says nothing further, letting these events play out as they will. As soon as everyone's seated, the speeder engine hums to life and the vehicle pulls out of the alley and into traffic. Breecia allows her companion to cover their prisoner while she slips her small blaster back under the fur collar of her cloak, then slides out of the garment and carefully puts it on her far side, away from the pilot. "Now, it's all hush-hush from now on, of course, so you're going to have to be blindfolded." Producing same from the small console beside the door she motions for Jamon to turn his head so she can put the thing into place. Jamon nods and starts to turn his body. As he does, he pauses for a moment, then twists as quickly as he can to bring an elbow to Breecia's cheek, then he dives at the other man, hoping to get them by surprise. Caught by surprise, the women sort of squeaks as she jerks back reflexively and she ends up striking her head on the brace next to her after being hit by the elbow. Her blaster might not be set on stun, but her companion's is and the blue flash is blinding in the small space, but also highly accurate, there being little margin of error at this range. Slowly consciousness returns to the pilot. His eyes creep open to his utter dismay. once the dim light strikes his retinas, the throbbing in his head becomes clear and far more intense. "Wow," He thinks to himself. "Another wild evening out." He groans audibly and raises a hand to his face. He rubs his forehead and temples and helps the headache, but only a little. He then tries once more to open his eyes. He opens them slowly not wanting a repeat performance from before. Once he has them all the way open he blinks a few times. Not from grogginess, but from lack of recognition. "What the..." He says. He sort of jerks up from the bunk and receives another lightning bolt of pain from his skull. He closes his eyes and decides to move more slowly. A small, square space which was obviously initially intended as a refresher. The floor and walls are of solid duracrete save for the drain in the middle of the room. Indirect lighting panels recessed into the ceiling provide illumination. Everything save the sink and commode has been removed, but a fiberplast cot has been added and bolted down solidly across from the facilities. It touches the wall on either end and is covered with a flex-foam mattress and two blankets, no sheets. The walls are featureless save for mounted fixtures and and a few screw holes, and the door has been stripped of any method by which to operate it from inside. The door clicks softly then cracks. Breecia sticks her head in and looks around carefully, then slips inside when she sees her prisoner moving. Behind her enters the man from the speeder, who really is a pale blonde. He slips past the doorframe then leans against the wall silently. Strapped to his hip is his blaster and one hand rests on it lightly. The Sarian's carrying a glass in one hand and a paper funnel in the other. "Headache?" She offers both. "These'll help. You didn't have to get stunned, you know." Shaking her head slightly she clicks her tongue. Jamon slaps the materials from the woman's hand and says, "Yeah well you didn't need to stun me, so I guess we're even." Stepping back quickly when the water goes flying, Breecia plants her hands on her hips and her eyes go hard. "Don't make this difficult on yourself Grendine. Just cooperate and be a good boy and you'll come out of it okay." She glances over her shoulder to where her companion stands, still passively watching with eyes the color of glacial ice. Looking back, the woman frowns. "You don't need to get hurt for us to get what we want." Getting very frustrated now, the pilot says, "Then just tell me what the frak you want." Turning her head so that the man on the bunk has a good view of the line of spots running down the side of her head, Breecia says, "He's going to be difficult." The blond man nods. "I'm not going to like it if he does, am I?" He shakes his head. The woman sighs and turns back to Jamon. "All right, I'll tell you. Two things: The name of your commanding officer and a little monologue from you on holo telling him or her to cooperate with us because you don't want us to kill you." She moves her arms from hands on hips to crossed as she looks down at the pilot. Jamon eyes the two of them. "And what exactly would I be asking them to cooperate to?" "That's none of your business. You just tell your CO to give us what we want." Breecia glances at the blond man, who shakes his head slightly when they make eye contact. She sighs and looks back. "Because if he doesn't, you get hurt. A lot. Like fatally." She lifts a hand to push hair off her neck. "But let's start with the easy stuff. Who's your CO?" Jamon sighs. "Alright. My new commander is Rodney Asscrack. Admiral of the CMS Gofuckyerself." He smiles a bit but eyes them with contempt. "You can all go to hell. Kill me if you must, but I'm not telling you shit." Breecia sighs again as the blond starts moving into the room. He reaches into a pocket left-handed and extends a cylinder for the female to take. She looks at it dubiously. "Skirtopanol?" He shakes his head. "Bavo Six." The Sarian's eyes go wide, then just a bit scared. Turning to look at the pilot again, Breecia shakes her head slowly. "Just tell us, please. You don't want this stuff in you. You really don't." Jamon stands and says, "If you think you got what it takes to get that shit in me, then bring it on." He raises his fists, despite the fact that his muscles are still sluggish after the stun blast. Breecia looks upset. "Look, just..." She doesn't have time to finish her statement. The blond pulls his blaster and aims it between Jamon's eyes. He just stands there for a few moments, eyelocking the pilot. "You really want to die over this? I can oblige." His voice is several degrees below freezing and the look on his face indicates he doesn't actually care either way. Breecia's stepped back and popped the cylinder and now stands holding the syringe and looking from one man to the other. Jamon stands there. His adrenaline pumping so that it causes his hands to shake. He doesn't move except to quietly say, "I don't know who you are. Terrorists, subversives, religious radicals, or whatever, but I'm not going to help you. Kill me if you need to, but I'm loyal to the Caspian government and military." He looks over at the woman now. "You should be ashamed of yourself. You a Sarian, of all people." He looks like he is going to say more, but the words don't come. He just looks at the blaster and then back at the man. "Do what you have to do." Indeed, Breecia is looking fairly upset still and her eyes shift away when directly confronted. The man stands immobile, weapon in hand and positioned. "You don't need to know about us. You just need to be less of a problem." His finger tightens across the firing stud and that's when Breecia kicks. Humanoid males ready to fight have a tendency to distribute their weight in a certain way, and most humanoid women learn very quickly what sorts of moves this makes them vulnerable to. The Sarian's foot comes up sharply, crossing the distance between herself and the pilot at speed. Jamon takes the foot to the jaw and spins away from it and hits the wall and then slides to the floor. After a moment he shakes his head and groans again. He rolls over onto his back and says, "Well I guess that settles it. I'm completely dissatisfies with the customer service of this establishment." He grins to himself at the joke. Then he rolls onto his side and stands up again to face the man and the pistol again. The Sarian moved forward as her target went down but the blasted pilot was tougher than she expected and pretty much came back up again too quickly for her to get to him before he was balanced. Her head shakes and she glances at her partner, who's reestablishing his aim, and then she moves again. This second kick is shorter, lower, and to something nowhere near as hard as a man's jaw. And she is accurate as well, aiming to debilitate Jamon with this shot, at least long enough to keep him from fighting back for awhile. The pilot loses all the air in his lungs as the foot impacts with his 'vital organ'. He drops to his knees and tries desperately to breathe. After a few moments, he coughs and says, "Well you fulfilled your end of the bargain, Breecia. You touched my genitals. Just not in the way I had hoped." He does not get up this time despite his humor. This time Breecia's dropping with the lieutenant, not bothering to roll his sleeve up as she jams the needle home in his arm and slams the plunger down. She's moving back before he's recovered, capping the syringe and slipping it back into its tube. "Isn't a bullseye the sort of thing you're supposed to target?" Reaching over with the capped tube, the Sarian raps the muzzle of her partner's blaster. "Put it away." The man complies. Breecia's shaking her head slowly. "It could have been easy, you know. You had a choice." She sounds genuinely sad. Jamon is angry now. Pumping him full of that shit. He looks up at her with rage in his eyes. "So do you, bitch." The pain in his groin starting to subside, but it simply moves to his stomach and he gets rather nauseous. He rolls back and puts his head between his knees. He looks up again and says, "You may get what you want, but just remember it wasn't me who told you." He then waits for the drugs to kick in. Still sad-eyed, Breecia looks at the man who came in with her. "Better get the holo equipment." She holds out the tube, "And get this away from me." He nods and takes it, slipping out of the room and closing the door behind himself. There's a click as it locks, leaving the Sarian with the pilot. She kneels, puts a hand on his shoulder. "Look, Bullseye, it's not really that bad. You just give us the name, that's it. Nothing we couldn't find out easily elsewhere. No real secrets, I promise you. It's not really the milit..." she breaks off as the door clicks unlocked and scuttles back a meter, but remains on the floor, watching. Jamon doesn't care about her in the slightest anymore. He doesn't make another move toward her, but he looks at her with pure hatred. "That's the last time you touch me." The blond man comes in carrying a recording apparatus. "Get him up onto the bunk." He starts setting it up. Breecia moves closer and extends a hand. "You really don't want that stuff to hit you while you're down here," she speaks persuasively. "Come on, I'll help you." The Sarian still looks sad and ignores her partner as he hooks up the holocam to a power feed he trailed in with him. Jamon looks at the hand. The same one that gently traced the outline of the fighter patch on his uniform. the same hand that wrapped around his arm and caressed him gently, the same hand that injected him with an experimental truth serum and the same hand that now offers to help him again. He looks on it with disgust. "I said don't touch me." He manages to get himself up again and sits on the bunk. Edges of his vision start to blur a little and he feels a bit woozy. The drug is starting to take effect. Breecia stands by, just in case, but doesn't appear surprised that her assistance is spurned. Now on her feet she moves to stand over the drugged captive, and her voice takes on a lecture tone. "Who's your commanding officer, Bullseye? Name and rank. Can you remember who it is?" Jamon stares at the recording device. "Just like I told you before. Commander Adam Arsecrack." A stupid grin on his face and his eyes wander a bit. The drugs are really kicking in now. He looks back at the camera and it seems to have gotten closer to his face. He waves his hand in front of him about a half-meter as if there were a fly or insect buzzing around. "Can you move the camera back a bit?" His speech is a bit slurred. "It's not recording anything yet." Breecia shakes her head, hoping they can get this done before the worst of the drugs kick in. She hates to hear them scream. "Your commanding officer, Bullseye. What's his name and rank?" She steps forward, then back, a movement to distract the man. "What's his name, Bullseye? Who is your commanding officer, lieutenant?" Jamon jerks his head around to look at the woman who now seems to be leaning forward and then back, closer and further away from him. "What? Like I said, Admiral Rodney Shadow...burg" He adds the last syllable after a brief pause. He squints a bit and grimaces. "It's kind of hot in here isn't it?" his left hand, resting in his lap, twitches uncontrollably. He doesn't seem to notice. The kidnappers look at one another and the male nods. Breecia pulls herself upright and puts authority into her tone this time. "Lieutenant Grendine, name your commanding officer, now." It's a lousy attempt at 'sounding military' but it does have force behind it. Still, the holorecorder has not been turned on and sits dormant, awaiting its time for use. The drugs have done their job. The powerful agent disorienting the pilot enough to cause his military instincts to kick in when commanded. "Sir, Commander Adam Shadow is my commanding officer." His head wobbles a little and he swats at the camera again, though it's far too far away for him to reach it. He acts like it's right in his face. He then turns back toward Breecia. "Who are you? Why do you want to know so much?" He pauses and his eyes grow to saucers. "Dad? Is that you?" His face turns to fear. "No, please. I didn't mean to. Please. Please." He jerks his arms up to cover his face like he was threatened with harm. He pulls his legs up and draws himself into a fetal type position. there he just keeps saying please over and over again. Breecia's triumphant expression fades as the revelation of the name is overshadowed with the fact that the man is too far gone to be coherent. With a sigh, she kneels by the bunk and extends a tentative hand, making her voice gentle. "Jamon, it's me. It's all right, Jamon. Take my hand, it'll be all right." Shooting an accusing look at the man lounging behind the recorder she hisses between her teeth, "You overdosed him!" She goes back to cooing at the pilot, trying to coax him to uncurl. "Nope, it was exactly the right amount for his species and size. And we needed that name more than we need this recording." The statement earns him an icy look, which he shrugs off and goes back to wall-leaning, watching the antics of the prisoner bemusedly. The drugged man whimpers like a beaten child. The soft words eventually lure him out of his 'hiding place'. he looks at her and says, "Mom, is he gone?" his eyes glazed and nearly unseeing. The man sits up a bit more and swats at the camera again. He grabs Breecia's shoulders and looks wide-eyed at her. "Mom, listen to me. There are people here trying to get me to talk to them, but I can't I'm not supposed to. Can you help me get out of here?" A hand comes up to cup the pilot's shoulder gently and Breecia nods. "It's all right, Jamon. I can get you out of here. I can get you back to Commander Shadow. You can, too. You just need to tell him to do what he's told and then I'll take you to him. Can you do that for me? Look at the recorder and tell the Commander to do what he's told. That's all you have to do." Carefully the sarian tries to coax the drugged man to turn so that he's facing toward the pickup. "It'll be easy, then you can go home. All right?" She hisses between her teeth at the blond who's started aiming the holorecorder, "You better be able to cut me out of the final!" Then she's back to her soft voice. "Tell him to do what he's told, Jamon." The pilot furrows his brow. His voice just a whisper. "But he won't do that. He's not supposed to." He sighs though and turns toward the camera. "Commander Shadow. These people say to do what they tell you to do. Then I can leave. But if you don't that's ok too." He turns back to his 'mother' and asks, "Can I go now? Let's go." He stands up like it's already settled and heads for the door. Breecia looks pained. "No, it is not okay if he doesn't. You need to sit back down and tell him that." Her voice is firm but she's controlling it. "Tell him he has to do what he's told. It's really important that he understands that. Come on, try again." She's reached to grasp Jamon's wrist and guide him back to the cot. Jamon sighs and says, "I have to go. They need me back at the base." He does not resist though. He sits on the cot and tries once more. "Commander Shadow, they told me to tell you that you have to do whatever they tell you to do. If you don't they'll kill me." He pauses and then says, "There. Now can I go?" Breecia nods once and the blond turns off the recorder and starts breaking it down. Then she turns to the drugged pilot and nods again, this time in agreement. "Yes, you can go. I'll take you, come on." Reaching out a hand she prepares for it to be taken and braces her feet... The man stands and sighs. As he passes the camera he swats at it again, this time making contact. Not enough to damage it, but maybe to knock it over. He follows his mother out. He does pull her in to him at once point and hugs her tightly. "I love you mom." The swatted recorder tilts and the blond man swears as he dives to catch it. Breecia lets Jamon get a couple of steps before jerking his arm and bringing him around in an arc. It's sloppy, as she's outweighed, but she's braced and all she really needs top do is disorient him just enough so that he confuses in and out. As she's gathered into the hug she actually seems to welcome it, returning it in a manner few mothers would. "You're a good boy, Jamon. I'm proud of you." She tries to disengage with him pointed back into the room while her partner retreats with the recording equipment. Jamon staggers and accidentally lets go of her hand. "Mom, where am I? I can't stand up straight. I... I... need your help to get out." He stumbles near the toilet and trips, landing hard on the ground. "Mom... mom... I need help." His voice quiet, but desperate. "Come on," the voice from just outside the door is impatient. "He'll be fine." Breecia stands torn, looking from the door to the pilot and back again. Then she makes a decision and crosses to the man on the floor and reaches down. "Come on, let's get you to bed. Into your bunk, Bullseye, and sleep it off. you know better than to go out drinking with half your pay in your pocket. And you sure know better than to try to go drink for drink with the Marines. Now come on, get in the bunk, there's a good boy." It was with regret that Breecia finally left the makeshift cell, after finally having coaxed the drugged pilot onto the cot. Now, an indeterminate amount of time later, but long enough for the drugs to have worn off, the door clicks unlocked again and opens slightly enough for her to peer in. The light level has remained constant, there being no way to adjust it from within, and so time is more relative than real in the room. Jamon is laying on the floor with his head and shoulder against the wall. He is turned so that he does not face the door. As the click sounds though he stirs slightly. A groan escapes his lips. Other than that he does not move. Sighing softly, Breecia steps into the room and balances the tray she's carrying so she can close the door behind herself. Then she places it on the sink and crouches down to reach for Jamon's shoulder. "Hey. You'd better get up or you'll catch a chill. Come on..." He groans again. "Mom, wha..." He's not drugged anymore. "His eyes shoot open and he looks around. His muscles ache, but he's pretty mobile. It's clear another moment is needed to bring on the memory of what has happened. His eyes fall on the woman. He snarls at her and says, "You bitch." He then dives for her again, but he overestimates his maneuverability and falls flat on his face when his feet don't move properly. "After another moment he props himself up on his elbows and sighs. "I hate you." Now flattened against the wall by the sink where she retreated when it looked like she was about to be attacked, Breecia nods. "So you've said. Get your ass up on the cot. We don't need to dehydrated and undernourished." She puts a hand on the tray preparatory to picking it up. "Don't worry, I'm not going to touch you." Jamon manages to crawl over to the cot and get up on it. he sighs again from effort. Apparently the drug was enough to cause some muscle spasms in his legs and damage them a little. He looks at her again with hatred. "How long do you plan on keeping me here? And there's no need to lie this time." "Just until we get what we want for you." She picks up the tray and takes the four steps it takes to cross the room, setting the duraplast items containing a small meal down on the cot near the man. "Sorry about the drugs, but we really needed that name." "And what exactly is it you really want from me?" He looks at the food with a mixture of hunger and nausea. "We both know you didn't need that name from me. You even said you could have gotten it from anywhere." He looks back up at her. "Tell me." "We could find out who commanded the Hydras, sure, but we needed to know specifically who your CO is. What we want from you, we're getting. The pleasure of your company for awhile until your CO comes through with what we'll be asking for. And when we get that," Breecia smiles, "you can go home." Sh indicates the carton on the try. "Drink so you don't dehydrate." Jamon laughs. "Home huh? Well little lady, unless you've scuttled me off to some distant planet," His voice raises to a near yelling volume, "This is my home. And your home too you ungrateful bitch!" He then leans back and grabs the juice. If they are going to drug him there's no stooping them now. "Nobody's going to hear you so yell all you want." Leaning against the wall, Breecia watches the pilot reach for the carton and smiles. "And I'm not going to tell you where we are, so no use trying to find out. I meant back to your precious military installations, though." Jamon doesn't respond. He just leans his head back and occasionally sips on the nutrient rich liquid provided for him. Breecia nods. "Good boy. And eat. There's no way I'll be accused of mistreating you while you were here." She reaches forward to turn the tray to present the plate. "Had the same myself for..." she catches herself before naming the meal, "when I ate." Jamon looks at the food. "I'll eat when I'm ready." He then stares at the door opposite him. "I'd have more of an appetite if you hadn't drugged me." "And we wouldn't have drugged you if you'd cooperated. Jamon, look. All you have to do now is behave yourself while Commander Shadow...burg," she smirks, "figures out you're more important to him and his precious navy than what we want for your return. Nothing else. So eat, will you?" - Jamon looks over at Breecia again. "What is it that you want? Tell me and maybe I'll be sympathetic. Is it political? Is it environmental? Has the military polluted your homeland? What?" He doesn't really wait for an answer. "I bet I know. The same old why that always comes up. Money. Probably some restricted technology or some stupid shit like that." He shakes his head. "You are all the same. Once I get out of here, I'm going to find you again. Trust me." Still leaning against the wall, Breecia shakes her head. "You wouldn't understand and right now you don't need to know. I'm getting paid, sure, but it's more than that. Again, though, nothing I should be explaining to you." Green eyes blink once. "And I doubt you'd be sympathetic." Jamon laughs at this. In fact some of his juice gets sprayed on the floor. He looks at her with a humorous expression and awe. "You don't know do you?" He laughs more. One eyebrow raises. "Know what?" Breecia's looking down with half-concern, half annoyance. "Are you still feeling the drugs? I can get you a stim..." She crouches just slightly to take a better look at the captive pilot. "Do you need medical attention?" Her head tilts to one side. "You really don't know why I'm here any more than I do, do you?" He leans back again and smiles with lots of humor. She straightens up. "I know. I just can't tell you. Not until the time's right." A hand gestures at the stripped uniform. "Figure it out for yourself, Bullseye. But until the time's right, I'm not telling you anything." Jamon shrugs. "Doesn't really matter. They'll know that I didn't cooperate of my own free will. They'll find you, and they will either kill you, if you struggle, or imprison you for life as a terrorist. Which you are of course." He looks at her again. "Just a really bad one." He furrows his brow suddenly as if thinking as he stares at her. He doesn't say anything though. "Terrorist is such a harsh word. And I'm not, really. I'd like to think of myself more as an exchanger of gifts." Breecia flashes that smile again. "Shadow gives us something, we give him you." She shrugs with the shoulder not leaning against the wall. "It's not like we milked you for military secrets when we had you drugged or anything." Jamon finally smiles. "I understand now. It is money. Typically a political or environmental fanatic would be more then happy to share their source of zeal. That's fine. And actually I commend you in a way." The juice must have settled his stomach, or perhaps he's just feeling better. He takes a bite and talks with his mouth full. No need to stand on niceties in this situation. "At least I don't have to listen to your raving." "I'm hardly the raving type." Breecia regards the pilot for a moment. "You're thinking about something. If it's something like jumping me and trying to escape, forget it. My partner's out there with a stun rifle and will shoot us both if you try. If it's something else, we'll say it or keep it to yourself. Your choice." She gives an offhanded shrug, as though she truly doesn't care what he does. Jamon laughs. "As fascinating as this is, I'd prefer to eat my meal in peace. If you don't mind." He turns away from her and digs into his meal. Whatever meal that may be. "I've got to watch." Breecia stands upright now and brushes her hair back from her face, using one hand to unclip the barrette, the other to gather hair, and the first to reclip it into place. "No hunger strikes allowed in here." Jamon chuckles with his mouth full and after a swallow he says, "Do you see me eating?" He says this like a man might say it to his wife of many years. "I see. I'm just going to stay here until you're through. Sorry for the lack of privacy," Breecia looks around the room then back, "but it's necessary." There was a bit of hair not contained in the reclipping process and she reaches to push it back behind one ear. The pilot grins as he chews. "You keep apologizing for things that are easy for you to rectify. Either stop it, or stop apologizing. It's meaningless to me now anyway." She smiles slightly. "I fell like I should apologize for something." Breecia moves to lean against the wall again. "I'm not apologizing for kidnapping you, nor for our purpose in doing so. But I can apologize for the lack of comfort." Jamon looks over at her and says, "Well save it. I don't need it or want it at this point. Just... shut up and let me eat." He turns back to continue his meal. "Suit yourself." And so Breecia just leans, arms crossed, watching to make sure the food goes down the pilot and not the flusher. She doesn't speak again, though once or twice 'watching' might be construed as 'staring. The food does, indeed, go down the pilot, though the flusher may be involved later. He stands finally feeling much better and looks like he's gained his strength back somewhat. Jamon grabs up the tray and all the parts and pieces that may go with it and moves over to hand them to Breecia. He seems to smile weakly at her despite his obvious anger. "Here." he states quietly. He hands her the tray and turns to go back to his cot. She's taken aback by the action, and indeed, stiffens when he first approaches her. Breecia ends up looking at the tray a bit dumbly for a moment, then she nods as she recoups herself. "Thank you." Turning toward the door, she sort of smiles back over her shoulder. "I'll be back in four hours with more food. You might want to try sleeping for real to get rid of any aftereffects." She taps on the door with a boot toe as she speaks. The pilot says nothing. He just lays back on the cot facing upward with a somewhat dejected look on his face. The lock clicks and the door opens slightly. Breecia hooks it with her foot. "You need anything, knock. Someone's outside all the time." And whether that's a threat or simple statement of fact is up in the air as she slips through and out. Jamon stares at the ceiling wondering how long he'll be in this room. He figures for a long time. ============================================================== Shadow A package arrives in normal mail for 'Cmdr. A. Shadow'. It's a flimsplast box, the sort available at all manner of stores selling packaging and mailing materials. There is no return address and it was mailed from the closest possible location to Trinumvira Base. Within, rattling about loose, are four items: one Navy-issue compin with the power source removed one set of lieutenant's cason hawks from a flightsuit one name patch trimmed from a flight suit with the name: J. Grendine one slip of printed flimsy giving a time (night) and location (a cove at the beach that's underwater during high tide) and a one-word instruction: "Alone". It appears to be untraceable, of course. The sands are still damp from high tide and the waves lap both promontories flanking the little cove, but the water's receding and the space within curve of the cliff is appropriately dark and secluded for the night's activities. Only a few minutes before a swoop glided in from the sea itself, coming to rest even before the cove was approachable on the beach. The dark-cloaked figure turns the vehicle about, pointed due west, and let it rest, As she maneuvers, a red dot tracks along the swoop's length and the rider raises a hand in response. The dot winks out. The woman turns about, moves a few meters away, and reaches beneath her cloak for a boxy unit she had strapped to her side sets it up in a small tripod on the damp sand. A touch of controls and the self-diagnostics glow soft green for a moment. She moves forward, covering it with one voluminous side of her over-garment to hide it, turns her face southward as the likely direction of foot approach, and waits. Coming down the moonlit beach is a tall, thin human wearing a long black coat. He strides purposefully down the beach, long strides eating up ground. The moon casts his form in silhouette, and the crunch of sand under his boots is the only sound he makes as he approaches the appointed location. The breeze off the sea and his brisk pace cause the coat to billow out behind him. He stops about 10 feet from the other sentient on the beach, and waits silently. There's a pause, perhaps a test of patience, of just over a minute and then the woman pushes the hood back from her face. The wind tugs at her cloak and she doesn't bother to resist it as it pulls the concealing garment off one shoulder, though the tripod-supported box is still enfolded in cloth on the other side. "I'm glad you can follow instructions, Commander." She has to speak over the crash of waves and the hiss of wind against the cliff, but she still manages to make the words sound smooth and fluid. "Let's cut through the posturing, each assume the other's armed, and you can guess I'm probably not out here alone. And there's no need for verbal sparring, either. You have something I want, I have something you want. You have proof of that, or you wouldn't be here." The Commander waits patiently for the Sarian woman to speak. When she makes the crack about following orders, he grunts. "I'm not sure what I have that you might want, as I wasn't told to bring anything." His voice is tight with restrained anger, but the deep tones carry across the beach with no trouble. "You have my pilot. You will return my pilot, and I will let you leave." That's it. The shoulders are square, and his legs are planted firmly to anchor him in the wind. "I will return your pilot when I have what I want. He's not here, though. But he's fine." She flicks her cloak clear of the mounted box beside her. "You'll want proof of that - I brought it." But the Sarian woman makes no move toward the unit yet. "I didn't really think an unsecured package was the right place to outline my request, which is why you're here." Her chin raises. "Your military jail holds a certain Twi'lek. You will get her out and bring her to me, and I will exchange your pilot for her. It's as simple as that." The wind whips her cloak around her legs and against the item beside her but the woman doesn't reach for it and keeps her hands out of sight beneath the garment. "Show me." The command is terse, and obviously delivered by one who is used to being obeyed. The Commander has no intention of discussing deals until he gets proof that his pilot is all right. His posture remains still and straight as he examines the small unit next to the woman with his eyes. Turning his gaze back to the female, he waits for her to respond. Crouching slightly, she reaches over and touches a control on the box. A lens lights up and focuses on the sand a meter in front of the unit, the image being one Jamon Grendine, seated on what looks like it might be a cot of some sort, though the edges of the frame have been edited in tight to the figure of the man. His flight suit has been stripped of insignia and name patch. He seems a bit disoriented and peers toward the recording unit. Looking to one side for a moment, he half-raises his hand, then puts it back down, then speaks, "Commander Shadow, they told me to tell you that you have to do whatever they tell you to do. If you don't they'll kill me." He pauses and then says, "There. Now can I go?" The woman cuts off the recording and stands up straight. "He's not been harmed. He won't be, if you bring us the Twi'lek." A sudden gust kicks up sand around her for a moment but comes in from the side so she has to turn her head to shelter her face before finishing. "If not... Well, he was speaking truth as he knew it in the recording." Her voice is matter-of-fact despite the need for volume. "If one of your... people is imprisoned in CDU military prison, why come to me? Why kidnap a Navy pilot, when the military prisons are operated by Marines?" The Commander is genuinely curious. The sight of Jamon appearing to be physically ok, but obviously drugged, has eased Shadow's mind somewhat. The smart response delivered by Bullseye almost makes the Corellian chuckle, but all that appears on his face is a smirk, which the moonlight's silhouette hides from the female across from him. Now to see if he can dig some information out of this person. She smirks, which is probably equally indiscernible in the dark. "Marines aren't as easy to catch as Navy personnel." Statement of fact rather than a slam, probably. "Besides, you have a personal stake in her. You got her into custody, you can get her out. And I think you will, too, for the safety of your Bullseye." The woman pauses for a moment, letting the commentary blow away on the wind. "You bring Kora Liadin, we bring Jamon Grendine, we trade, it's done." The Commander is taken aback at the woman knowing Jamon's callsign, then writes it off. The kid gets mighty full of himself sometimes, and it's not a huge stretch to figure he popped off his callsign at some point. Figuring he's pretty much gotten everything he wanted out of the Twi'lek in the prison anyway, Shadow decides to honor the deal. But not without a bit of a show. Taking several slow steps forward, but not making any moves with his arms, he draws to within a foot of the Sarian female. Looking down at her, he smiles predatorily. "Hope I don't find you after this exchange. And hope I don't figure out who you're working for." Pausing a moment, he nods tightly. "I'll bring Mes Liadin here tomorrow evening. You bring Lt. Grendine." At a meter and a half the red dot appears and remains steady on the Commander's temple as he moves forward, but the woman doesn't move and no shot is taken. Her draw is unhurried and she keeps the blaster low, the muzzle lifting while the butt is rested against her thigh, but she doesn't retreat. She smiles. This one will be wondering what they got from the pilot, indeed. Her dropping of callsign was calculated to cause unease and certainly appears to have succeeded. 'Get them out before they spew vital information' is a policy she has no problem exploiting for the benefit of her own purpose. "Tomorrow night, ebb tide. You can bring up to two others besides Liadin, if they behave, but if I even suspect you'll try to block our leaving, Grendine won't enjoy being returned very much." Her eyes reflect the moons slightly as she meets the Commander's gaze levelly. Glaring down at the woman, Shadow nods. "Ebb tide. I'll have two with me down here. And don't worry. We're all professionals." The dark eyes glitter with reflected moonlight and anger. "Make sure you and yours are the same. I'd hate for there to be an accident down here on the lovely beaches of Caspar." Stepping back two paces, he gestures to the swoop behind the Sarian woman. "Go, take care of my pilot. Make sure he's in excellent shape when he comes back." He looks up at the cliffs above the beach. "And take your friends with you. CDC will be through here on a patrol very shortly, and they don't take well to loiterers after-hours." His gaze returns to the woman, and a sharp wind picks up, blowing the coat back enough that the heavy blaster held low to his leg in his left hand glitters with reflected moonlight. He smiles broadly, the wind's timing was perfect. "Professionals, yes." It's almost a purr. She lets her weapon's muzzle droop at the step-back but the targeting point remains. "Two and two and we only care that the Twi'lek can walk." Then the Sarian takes a couple of steps back herself and doesn't bother to look up at the bluff. Her eyes narrow slightly, though no comment is made on whether he's speculating or brought friends. She knows her backup's all right and that's all she needs right now. A quick calculation of the odds that he can fire from the thigh and hit, whether the blaster in his hand will breach her armorweave, and whether her backup can drop him before he tries anything overt is made, then the Sarian nods. "Goodnight, Commander." She turns, leaving the holoprojector nestled in the sand, and in two steps is astride the swoop, holstering as she mounts. Less than a second later the engine whines up to half-power and the swoop rockets seaward. Watching the swoop launch away, the Commander replaces his blaster in the interior pocket in which he had carried it down to the beach. Tapping his compin as he leaves the beach, he orders his assigned Ranger squad over their earpieces, "Make sure the spotters are removed from the beach by CDC. If they resist, deal with them harshly and detain them. Then set up in positions for tomorrow. You know what to do." He gets answering clicks in his own earpiece, and he nods tightly. Time to round up that Twi'lek, and give her one more grilling before tomorrow night. And time to figure out who's behind all this excitement for the Hydras. ============================================================== Kora --- Meals come, they go, each one observed to keep the prisoner from getting stupid ideas about not eating. Breecia spends as much time as she feels comfortable with Jamon, trying to elicit a smile occasionally. Much of the time she seems genuinely sorry about things, but she's always firm, and only hints to the ultimate plan. Then the time comes when the door opens to admit her without the usual tray of food, and followed by her blond friend. Another difference - this time she's got a blaster strapped to her thigh. "Time to go, Bullseye." The woman gestures, and under the watchful eye of her partner gets the pilot blindfolded, then leads him from the room for the first time since his arrival. It's a three-vehicle trip, from groundcar to sea skimmer and then finally somewhere well west of Plaxton, the blindfold is removed and swoops are mounted. Before mounting, Breecia unstraps her blaster and hands it to the blonde, and a third member of the group double-mounts with him on the second vehicle - a gray Shistavanen who folds himself impressively to manage the ride. A couple of kilometers of water pass beneath the powerful machines in a very short time, the moons reflecting off the waves, and then they're pulling up onshore, quite a ways further north than the last time Breecia came to this beach. She hovers, waiting for the Shista and blond to get situated first, not coincidentally giving them an advantage of being on solid ground and armed when the Sarian and pilot touch down. Coming up on the beach is a group of 4 individuals. In the lead is a tall thin human in a black long coat. Walking with him are two Rangers, who are armed with heavy blasters and are wearing camo suits that blend well with the beach terrain. The two Rangers are flanking a Twi'lek, who has her hands bound behind her. About 3 clicks from the appointed location, the human stops and turns back to the three others. With a nod, the two burly rangers force the Twi'lek to her knees in the sand. Crossing his arms across his chest, Adam Shadow leans in close to Kora and quietly says, "This is your last free chance. Who planned the attack on my ship?" His voice is intense, and his dark brown eyes burn with anger as the interrogative is put forth. Meanwhile, the two Rangers have turned their backs on the proceedings, one watching back the way the group had come from, the other proceeding past Shadow to watch further up the beach. This is it. She's surprised that military personnel would resort to something like this, but not surprised it's happening to her. Kora's adult life has skated her past situations like this and she usually figured it was only a matter of time before she couldn't skate any more. Her heart's pounding almost audibly, and she doesn't actually hear the surf. Eyes that absorb the night turn upward, regarding the man before her and she sees her death in his face. "I did." The truth, now, or at least the part she will speak. It doesn't matter anymore, though. "I planned it, hired the others, and failed." One lekku is so still it's stiff, the other is curled in a tight coil at the end. She keeps looking upward, body rigid. "If you're taking requests...from behind. Please." Her voice isn't quite steady, but it's fairly even, which also surprises her. "Why?" The word is barked out, the gaze unwavering and unbending. The dark coated human leans in towards the female, brows drawing down. "You had to know who you were going after. Why do it?" He begins to slowly circle around the bound Twi'lek, sand crunching under his boots. Arriving at a place behind her, with a soft scrape of plasteel on nerf-hide leather the heavy blaster pistol strapped to his leg is withdrawn from its holster. "You get a chance to save your life here. I've wasted enough time and resources on you as it is. You answer me, you disappear into the night, to wherever you can go. You don't..." A shrug can be sensed. The Commander's voice is nearly a whisper, but it carries over the sound of the surf and the ocean breeze to the Twi'lek's ears. In the far distance the call of a cason hawk on the hunt pierces the night air. Closing her eyes, Kora allows her head to bow, lekku shifting slightly and aligning themselves in parallel down her back. "For the credits. Isn't it always for the credits?" She still manages to speak strongly, but with a slightly frantic pitch threatening to overcome her words. She gambled, and she gambled big. And she failed. For all she knows those who she hired are already under the sand along here somewhere, or out to sea. Now it's her turn. Eyes close and she takes her lower lip between her teeth, biting hard enough to draw blood. She is what she is, and she should have been better. She will not plead. "I'm sorry..." Whomever she's apologizing to will never hear her words, whispered on a beach in the middle of the night. But Kora Liadin said them anyway. The whisper of weapon on holster is heard again. A strong hand grasps the Twi'lek by her arm and pulls her to her feet as Shadow comes around in front of her and looks Kora in the eyes for a moment. "How did you find out about me?" He asks, before turning around and heading north along the beach again. The Ranger in the lead slips back to his flanking position beside the Twi'lek, and the little group follows behind the Corellian, his coat billowing behind him. The shot that doesn't come has her frozen. What now? Then Kora's yanked to her feet and for the first time emits a short, sharp scream as she bites through her lip coupled with the shock of not being shot. Her eyes fly open and she looks into the face of her not-yet-killer. He's turned before she can answer and then she's yanked forward by flanking Rangers. "I got friends. They listen, then they talk. New ship off the line, pre-purchased. Didn't need anything more than that." It's lame, and she knows it. The Twi'lek licks at blood running down her chin. Up the beach the pilot is similarly flanked, but by the blond man and the Shistavanen, who produced a rifle from somewhere and manages to cradle it with the muzzle against the captive's ribs. Breecia made it plain as they dismounted. "We're trading you back to your Commander, but only if you behave. You don't behave and we just ambush your Commander and take what we want, and you get left in the sand for him to find later." And she probably was laughed at, but that didn't seem to bother the Shistavanen and his rifle, the blond who keeps his hand on his blaster at all times, or Breecia, who's gone suddenly cold. Now she stands still, staring southward, with the headset comlink held close to her ear with her left hand. The message was delivered, that was reported. And now they're taking their time. Fine. Let the waiting game commence. Jamon stands still and quiet. He watches southward for his Commander and friend to arrive and barter for his release. He's not too excited about the idea of losing whatever it is that Shadow must give up, but he's ready to be home. The Commander's compin vibrates softly, and a short message is delivered through his ear piece. Nodding to himself, he leads the group around an outcropping of stone, and finds his appointment waiting for him. Drawing to a stop, he assesses them. The group is a motley assortment, but Shadow is pleased to see that his pilot is relatively unharmed, barring the bare spots on his uniform where patches and rank insignia used to be. Pleased, he nevertheless keeps his face composed rigidly. The moon illuminates his features, and glints off the heavy blaster pistol holstered on his right leg. The Rangers with him have drawn blasters of their own. Between them stands the Twi'lek. Shadow waits patiently for the Sarian female to begin. Hand to her ear, Breecia nods as her own com delivers the message, then signals the others behind her to get ready. She's chosen a position where she'll not block the view of the pilot behind her, but is definitely in front. As the other side of the exchange comes into view, the Sarian's chin rises slightly and she gives them a minute to get a good look. She moves backward slowly, never turning, until she's abreast of the blond man holding Jamon's left arm. "All right, Bullseye. You do what you're told, everything's good. Go when I say go. Stop when I say stop, or we'll stop you. Got that?" Then she raises her voice to carry down the sand. Thanks to the military's tardiness the sound of the breakers has receded quite a bit. "Still following instructions, Commander. Very good. You're ready?" The Twi'lek peers through the darkness. She doesn't recognize the voice. She can't make out the others. Her head shakes minutely. She might not know ny of these beings. But she knows who sent them and has to deal with the conflicting emotions of relief and terror. Jamon simply nods to Breecia. With a chuckle that carries easily across the sand, the lanky Corellian smirks. "Yes. I'm a good little military boy. And I see you've managed not to screw up your part of the bargain either. This pleases me. I want my pilot." He's lightly provoking the opposition, and doesn't care. With a slight gesture, the Twi'lek is brought forward by one of the Rangers, while the other takes a flanking position on the other side of the Commander. Drawing back his coat, he rests his hands on his gunbelt, further clearing his sidearm to the light of the moon, but making no other moves towards it. "As we want our Twi'lek. You start yours, we'll start ours, everyone else stays put. We trade, leave, everybody's happy. Nothing up my sleeve, flyboy, how about you?" Breecia looks over toward the bluffs, then back. Her own hand is millimeters from her blaster, rested lightly on her hip. With her left she motions for Jamon to be brought up even with her. Her male companions comply. Kora almost stumbles, she'd been trying so hard to identify the others. She catches herself, draws herself upright. Whatever's over there, she chose it. She's ready. But she does find herself looking to the Ranger on her right for a moment, lekku swaying slightly. "So long as this exchange goes off without trouble on your part, you won't get any on mine." Lowering his voice, he turns his head slightly towards Kora. "You walk out there towards them when that pilot starts walking over here. If he stops, you stop. If you cause trouble, remember this; you are one of two unarmed people out here on this beach, and I'm sure by now you've figured out that there are more than just the 8 of us down here to worry about." His eyes are still sharply focused on the group before him, but he can see the female out of his peripheral vision. "You understand?" Jamon gets yanked by his arm and brought up next to Breecia, his would be lover turned captor. Sees movement and knows that it'll be his turn soon. He turns to the Sarian woman and says, "Remember this, bitch. We /will/ meet again." He leans in a little. "And I won't be a gentleman then." Nodding tersely, the Twi'lek keeps her voice down, too, out of reflex. "Yeah, I understand. Can I get my hands freed?" She doesn't expect it to happen, but it's worth a try, and since that side's more dangerous than this, she might need the edge. Of course she doesn't believe it, but Breecia nods anyway. She manages to flash a smile at the pilot, and even a wink. Her voice is a low purr, "Promise, Bullseye? Because I thought I'd never get you up that alley." The Shistavanen shorts loudly but the Sarian ignores him. She steps back so she's in a row with the others and nods again. "Let him go. Move off, Lieutenant, but don't rush. Nice and easy." Jamon does not smile. In fact it makes him hate her more. He just turns and starts down the beach moving slowly but steadily toward his shipmates. Shaking his head at the Twi'lek's request, the Commander verbalizes it. "No." Then he nods, and the Ranger next to the Twi'lek sends her out with a light push. As she takes her first step, Shadow follows with, "Remember, you're unarmed, and I'm angry." Then he falls silent and keeps his focus on the other party, watching as his friend slowly crosses the beach towards him. The muzzle of the Shistavanen's rifle remains aimed at a point two meters in front of him in the sand, but yellow eyes track the pilot as he progresses and the weapon stays balanced. Breecia and the blond are standing ready but, like the Commander across the way, as yet unarmed. "Nice pace, Bullseye." The unspoken encouragement to not change it seems unnecessary. The Twi'lek's lekku are touching, brushing against one another down her back, the tip of one curling around the other. Halfway to the passing point she finally gets a good look at the trio and knows one of them. She hesitates a step, but with a glance over her shoulder drags her foot through the sand and continues after the misstep. Her eyes don't stray from her path, not even to look at the man she's being exchanged for. Jamon continues his slow march across the beach. Ironically it's not that far form the place where his clothes were stolen. He drives this from his mind and concentrates on the here and now. He eyes Shadow when the light allows and then lands his eyes on an unknown Twi'lek woman. Obviously some other prisoner that is being exchanged for him. He grimaces and curses himself. But he keeps on walking. The Commander watches as the two beings pass each other at the half-way mark, and Jamon approaches. His professional demeanor keeps his face impassive as the exchange takes place, and his nerves are eased as the second sniper team reports that they are in position, even if they're a bit late. The two Rangers flanking him have spread their formation a bit, both to take Jamon out of their line of sight, and to make the group harder to hit in the event hostilities break out. They keep their sidearms still pointed at the sand, but it is obvious by their movements that they are prepared to raise them at any moment. Between them, Shadow takes his hands off his gunbelt and crosses them across his chest, his dark eyes still gazing placidly at the Sarian female and her group across the intervening 20 feet as Jamon approaches. "Get on your swoops and leave. And take your scouts with you." The Commander gestures up at the bluffs above them. It's the Human male who reaches for Kora, who flinches but has little choice but to allow her arm to be grabbed. The Shistavanen has taken two steps to his right and continues to watch the quartet as Kora steps backward toward her hovering vehicle. "You can have your teams pull out, as well, Commander. I think our business here is finished." The Sarian sounds...smug? The pairing has changed and it appears Kora's not getting her hands freed yet. The Human edges over to join Breecia as the tall canid bodily lifts the Twi'lek with an arm around her waist while keeping his rifle ready. She ends up astride a swoop while Kora's bringing hers around to point southward. They're ready, but they're waiting. Jamon hangs his head slightly as he passes Shadow and just starts heading away from the groups and the conflict. He's going to have a nice time being debriefed anyway so he just walks away. When Jamon completes the trip to his side, Shadow begins to slowly back away, with one of the Rangers turning to scout for them. As they round the stone outcropping that cuts the beach off from view, the Commander turns to his friend and squad mate. "Glad to have you back. Next time you go out, you take Indigo with you so you have a baby-sitter." He winks at the younger pilot, and claps a hand on his back as he turns to head back up to the city proper and eventually to the base. Dismissing the Rangers on the bluffs with a clipped command, he says, "We'll do your official debrief later. Let's just get you back to the base for a rest." As one the two swoop engines fire and they turn in tandem to race flat-out westward across the waves to the waiting seaskimmer. The Twi'lek is held securely against the Shistavanen's chest but the fact her bound hands are trapped between them does nothing for her sense of hope. Breecia calls the all-clear the moment the last Ranger disappears from line of sight and soon three other powerful little vehicles take off from the bluffs, each heading in a separate direction. Stage One accomplished.
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