Simple is not really a term that applies to either of them; if you go back to arc the first, she always had half an eye on Mirannon, and let herself enjoy teasing Dordd, amongst other possibilities.
Aleph-1 has to be a Fett clone; I don't see how the timing works for him having seen much of the clone wars and being anything else, there were other clone lines but enough of them, soon enough? There is a core similarity there, but the direction in which they are growing is different.
He's likely to, if he survives to be medically retired, (ignoring the collapse of Empire not that far away, let's be theoretical here) end up in something fairly closely related to soldiering, and he's a commander of scout troops and used to dealing with oddballs. Bodyguard? Police work? Private investigator seems more likely.
If she refuses to let herself grow- or make herself, which might be more like it- then yes, he couldn't do much better and she could do a lot worse. If she tries to integrate her masks, embrace the experiences and identities she's lived and make one unified whole out of it all, then yes, stretching herself out to her full potential she fits Jorian Lennart rather better.
Oh, and Fusion, when I saw I had half an excuse for that line I just couldn't resist it- Aldrith was actually saying it more along the lines of "we're family and you're not supposed to shoot your own family, so please don't kill me."
Actually, in next episode teritory, Fal Lev-Maslow owns an operates a tramp freighter, and is married to Alrika Lennart. He was also twitching as if he had rather a lot to hide.
Raffaella Lennart is in jail, for as yet non-Force related reasons, on another planet. Her father can't get her out by any remotely above board means, for fear of tipping the authorities off as to how important she is, and having her taken and used as a weapon against him in the political games he's playing at the moment.
It's been several hours, more than long enough for a spot of slicing work. Hmmm.
The only purpose in my still being here is the stories and the people who come to read them. About all else, I no longer care.
It's late, I've just finished typing this up...
Could have been ready a week ago, actually, but for that I thought the middle section was too melodramatic, so I deleted it and went with a different plot line instead. Then I got blocked on that, and put it back the way it was. It probably is too melodramatic, but it's done now.
Ch 11b;
It was probably a major mistake, but he had left Aleph-3 talking to his mother and father. The Galactic Spirit alone knew what was going to come out of that, and Jorian Lennart was afraid to speculate.
It was possible that she would murder them, making it necessary for him to kill her, in order that he should turn to the dark side. It wasn’t her style, but she was certainly quick-witted and cold blooded enough that the possibility would cross her mind.
His father the mad geneticist- biomechanic had too much potential usefulness for her to do that; at most she would threaten to. Which would probably be more efficient, anyway.
At the moment, he was looking for his sister and her husband, what was his name again, two short and a long- Fal Lev-Matrow, that was it. They had disappeared, so he had to search the place, trying not to look harder than necessary into any of the holes and corners, for embarrassment related reasons.
Most of the people who had homes to go to had gone already, meaning a lot of those left were his crew, and having your commanding officer “observe your mating rituals” could be an interestingly embarrassing experience for all concerned. Not that there weren’t men like that in the Starfleet, but he had always avoided them as far as possible.
There had been one ship, a tanker- no, it was a Venator converted to fast fleet tanker- where the crew had been running a snuff- porn studio out of one of the locked- down small craft bays. With, investigation had revealed, the executive officer’s connivance.
That had been during Lennart’s time on the beach, he had been the personnel officer responsible for figuring out who was and wasn’t tainted, who deserved reassignment to a prison ship and who was sufficiently clean to be given further meaningful appointment.
Partly, he now thought, he had been given that shit job because he himself had been under suspicion at the time. Looking at his own record, he could see why. He had been behaving increasingly wildly- a prime candidate for turning into the sort of disillusioned, disgruntled renegade-in-place liable to abuse their power and damage the fleet’s reputation.
Of course, that had been then, in the aftermath of the clone wars, with a generation of war- experienced men who had been trained in the standards of the Republic fleet. When it was still possible to describe themselves as defenders of civilisation and actually mean it.
By now, slave trading, smuggling, piracy- the very worst in the galaxy were probably the Starfleet. They had the access to all sorts of illegal places and the relative immunity to the law, speed and bulk payload capacity. There were more than enough failed- careerist officers with a grudge and lower deck scrounger-fixers without a conscience.
That filthy job had really helped him get it back together; he had sworn to himself that no matter how far down things got, how angry and miserable he became, he would not let himself degenerate to the level of that breed of subhuman scum.
I can’t do it, he realised. I cannot voluntarily bow before the dark side of the force.
The violence is not the problem; there are many good and just reasons for doing violence, and I’m probably a good enough faker to get away with making up acceptably sick reasons on a quotidian basis- or winging reasons to explain why I didn’t.
Ego isn’t really the issue either; everyone believes the galaxy revolves around them on some level, and I’m exceptionally unlikely to get into the position where it’s actually true- Palpatine has that job sewn up. I am important, but I think- I hope- I know the limits of my own importance.
The problem is the squalid depths of personal cruelty I saw Adannan descend to, and know there is worse out there; the sheer pointlessness of a life lived to avenge some imaginary, accidental pain on a galaxy full of innocent bystanders.
In that case, what the kriffing hell do I do? I’m an officer, clarification, a freewheeling maverick still operating on war emergency rules, in a force that has been getting steadily more coldly formal and politically correct, authority becoming heavier and heavier handed, less about protect and defend, more about do what the owners of the state tell you.
At what point did I stop believing that the empire is the lesser of the available evils? I didn’t. It is. Better than standing back and letting the galaxy tear itself apart in half a million pointless little wars. Better than trying to turn the clock back to the corrupt incompetence that bred them.
How much longer is it going to stay that way? I killed Adannan- no, had him killed- essentially in self defence. No, I wasn’t that selfish. I organised his death because he was a corrupt, devious, self- seeking monster who stood between me and a just solution to the problem. And also in self defence.
Not really an excuse the slime he was working for are going to respect, is it? I would probably have made a piss poor dark jedi anyway.
It was on a night like this, drunk, miserable, angry, out of step with everyone around me, when I decided to chuck the politics game and join the Starfleet. History really does repeat itself. What do I do? Where do I go?
The first thing that I need to do is political damage control- make sure no-one else gets hurt when I go off the rails. Denounce them all; condemn them for qualities the empire is going to appreciate, basically do whatever the opposite of damning with faint praise is.
Then take the blame on myself, and also take off for the far horizon- beyond the fringe, way to hell and gone out in the unknown regions. Hmph. Unknown. Ancient, dim old population II stars so energy and metal poor, whatever lives out there is likely using unusually robust fungi as a structural material.
Somewhere that it was never even worth sending a mapping expedition to in the hyperdrive age, where absolutely everything of interest could be deduced from a thousand light years away. They’re unknown because they promise to be desperately dull.
Bring a few dozen square kilometres of solar panel and a still- no, two, I might have a use for water from time to time- and I can sit there watching dim red sunsets and rotting my liver, and- and what? Kenobi went into exile, but for a purpose- he waited two decades for the rebel alliance to exist, and then he gave his life for it.
What would I be waiting for? I’d make an even worse follower of the theoretically light than I would of the darkness- I’m not going to the Alliance. Although, finding a barren rock somewhere doesn’t constitute moral cowardice all of a sudden?
I have always believed the Jedi were essentially guilty of sins of omission, he thought- of allowing trillions to die and quadrillions to descend into the pit, because of that never sufficiently damned detachment. They could have been the guardians of the Republic, but they chose the wrong road after Ruusan, and it led to this.
I can’t do that either. No wilderness minor planet for me. Which, given that I don’t have the moral courage to be a coward, only leaves the ‘take the bastards head on, and sell my life dearly’ option. That really ought not to make me feel better, but…
Was Adannan actually right? Would the Empire be better off without the Emperor? Considering that the cornerstone of my legal defence is that I caught him admitting to plotting regicide, I had better not be overheard too loudly thinking yes, but he had a point. Then there are all the lesser lords of darkness like Adannan himself.
Well then, Don Quixote, now that you have decided to cleanse the augean windmill- or whatever the hell the appropriate classical reference is- what are the appropriate tactical moves towards the strategic end? First step first. Rafaella.
Not wanting to intrude, he listened for Alrika- like noises, slightly hindered by having no idea what they were. He supposed he could look for resonance patterns in the force or some such, but knowing how to do that was beyond him. Somewhere down the far end away from the main ballroom, probably.
There was a moaning and muttering that sounded vaguely familiar, didn’t sound at all like pleasure; he pushed the door open to find some kind of conference room, the lights turned down low, a woman curled up on the table in a silver survival blanket, a man sitting on one of the chairs watching over her.
Lennart recognised them both- could hardly avoid doing so. They were two of his highest- scoring fighter pilots, and two of his biggest problems.
Aron stumbled to his feet, and made a vague approximation of a salute; Lennart waved it away. ‘I think we can reasonably assume that we’re all off duty- this is legitimate, consensual?’
‘I think so, Captain.’ Aron didn’t sound entirely certain. ‘She put her head in my lap and started crying, I tried to cheer her up- not easy, she did shoot me. Anyway, one thing sort of led to another. She’ll probably try to kill me again in the morning.’
‘Is this going to work?’ Lennart said, sceptically. ‘An onboard relationship isn’t necessarily wrong in itself, but the consequences- especially for you two. Are you going to make each other stronger, or just tear each other apart?’
Aron thought for a few seconds before admitting ‘I…don’t know. I can’t tell how much worse she’s going to get. Blasting someone’s a damn strange way of asking for help. She’s between nightmares at the moment.’
‘If I wasn’t already officially worried about her, I’d be worried about her.’ Lennart said. ‘She’s likely to be one of my co- defendants in the great big treason trial- bad times ahead. She needs to hold together, she has a much better chance of making it out alive if she goes in a veteran, elite fighter leader with test pilot experience instead of a fruitbat.
That means you need to help her hold herself together, right? Talk to her, prop her up. Make her feel loved and wanted, if that’s what it takes. Don’t let her shoot you, she’d only feel guilty about it, which wouldn’t help. I take it you did have the sense to hide her gun?’
‘Ah…no.’ Aron admitted.
‘Right,’ Lennart said, looking for which flight suit bundle was hers and extracting the sidearm, ‘I’ll borrow it for the time being. And have it limited to stun only before I give it back. Carry on, or is that superfluous?’
He closed the door and walked slowly down the corridor, listening out for the difference between young love and middle- aged argument, occasionally confused by young argument and middle aged love, until the fourth time turned out to be the charm.
His sister and her husband were in some kind of staff rest room, arguing. He could guess what about.
‘Ah, there you are. There was something I needed to talk to you both about, Mr Lev- Matrow, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try to kill me until we’re done, you too Alrika…I had my people take your ship’s datasphere apart, bit by bit. Unusually literally, in this case.’ Lennart grinned, hollowly. ‘Just how closely are the pair of you affiliated with the Alliance?’
‘What?’ Both of them said. ‘That uniform cap must be seriously constricting your brain.’ Lev- Matrow added.
Alrika topped that. ‘Jorian, whatever warped reason you have for wanting to get back at mum and dad, this is a pretty shabby way of doing it.’
‘Nice one, Alrika, I’ll get back to you in a moment-‘ he turned to the independent trader. ‘For you, the economics don’t add up. No-one in the independent trading game cuts that few corners, or keeps their nose even remotely that clean. You’re simply far too good to be true.
I can think of one reason why you might be trying so hard to keep a clean slate. So that the by the book halfwits in Customs never consider you one of the usual suspects, no-one looks at you for the really big crimes like aiding and abetting the Alliance. For kriff’s sake, your annual inspections are cleaner than mine.’
He watched his brother-in-law’s face carefully. He was definitely not reacting the way an honest man would, insufficent anger, insufficient surprise- either he had had enough false accusations levelled at him to become blasé, or he just wasn’t as good an actor as he thought he was.
‘And what about me, dear brother? I presume you have a similarly demented tale to tell of my allegiance to the Rebellion?’ Alrika- a rather better actress- challenged him. Families split down the middle, brother against brother, that was how it was supposed to be in a civil war, wasn’t it?
Rather melodramatic, but life at the moment was not short of melodrama, and this was a modern, equal rights civil war, brother against sister was good too. Father against daughter?
‘Haven’t had time to dismember the dataflow from Kor Vella Down yet- but think inherent probability. Tourist town, lots of loose money sloshing around anyway, people on the move- you could cover up all sorts of useful things. Money, freight, personnel above all- I wonder how many Alliance logistic personnel were once trainees at your port, and if it’s more than statistically expected?’
‘Is this some sort of warped incentive program? To move on, to get ahead in the Empire, you have to inform on a family member?’ She breathed acid at him.
‘Not in the fleet, although the Inquisitorius does have a bonus scheme- which is the only other credible option. You’re not secretly loyal, are you? Doing undercover work for ISB or CorSec?’ Obviously not the Ubiqtorate, they were rather better at blending in, although sometimes the very efficiency of their operations gave them away.
‘It is. It might be better for you if you had ties to the Alliance- you’d be safer. That credits for guns thing I scattershot out was due to that I blew a Dark Sun operation- with malice aforethought, I might add- they’ve crossed swords with the Alliance before and lost, the rebs aren’t overly held back by due process either…’ Lennart rambled.
‘In fact, if I was advising the rebel alliance- and I am, amn’t I?-‘ they did not rise to the bait, but they didn’t deny it either- ‘I’d recommend Xizor’s goons and the Hutt clans as prime target. Easier to knock over than Empire forces, in theory, more to steal on a day to day basis, and it could only be good for their image.
Are you really not prepared to admit to your own brother that you’re both logistics officers of the Alliance to Restore the Republic?’ He prodded again, openly. ‘You might notice I haven’t exactly come mob handed.’
‘No matter how often you invite me to commit suicide,’ Lev- Matrow said, ‘it isn’t going to start sounding like a good idea. Why am I listening to this?’
‘You’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.’ Lennart pointed out, noticing him tense himself and hoping it was going to be that simple. ‘You’ve heard this before- do you really think the Alliance is the only faction with competent slicers, that my crew didn’t find all your hidden vaults? Three hundred and seventeen-‘ and there was a flicker of doubt there; too many or too few?
‘- including a copy of Code Quasar, the rebel privateer recognition package. What sort of sting, what sort of twisted deal do I want to inflict on you- and what sort of leverage do you think we’re going to find when we take Kor Vella Down’s dataflow to bits?’
They glanced at each other, Alrika looked horrified, so her brother was already alert when Lev- Matrow seemed to decide that violence was an acceptable option.
He leapt over the table at his brother in law, tried to punch him- Lennart pushed the chair away and got to his feet, took the punch intended for his face on his shoulder, rolled with it.
He hadn’t got into a brawl like this in at least fifteen years, and had never been all that good to begin with, because ever since the playground, he could feel something lurking inside him, something beyond ego and will to win and normal anger, something that would eagerly and inevitably go far too far, and maim and kill in fiery pride.
In hindsight, of course, it was obvious it was the Dark Side flashing a fin. It chose to do so again now. He turned to face, flushing with anger at this short- sighted imbecile; saw another punch coming, lashed out with the edge of his hand and caught Lev-Matrow on the inside of the elbow.
Lev-Matrow was knocked briefly off balance, reeled back, recovered, dropped into some sort of martial arts stance- Burning Arsed Squirrel for all Lennart knew- and tried to kick his brother in law, not helped by that that was when the pain of the dislocated elbow hit.
He convulsed mid way through the strike, and an even less experienced fighter would have seen that as the chance to hit back. Lennart moved easily around the kick, was about to return the favour and smash his brother in law’s testes in when a flash of sanity or maybe just enlightened self interest reminded him he would like nephews and nieces someday.
He aimed slightly higher, for the stomach, and his brother in law flew back over the table, landing awkwardly on a chair, which collapsed to the floor and him with it. Lennart was knocked back himself by the surge of hate and fear coming from both of them.
Galactic Spirit, he thought, what have I done? The surge of anger was starting to leave him, which was just as well as Alrika chose that moment to jump him. She punched him in the chest, in the jaw, in the gut; he just took it, dazedly.
‘Do you mind not doing that?’ he said semi- coherently, after she had collapsed back on to the table in frustration. Lev- Matrow was twitching and showing signs of either coming back to life or leaving it, when the door was kicked in, and Mirannon filled the frame.
‘Skipper, you OK?’ he asked. Not as perceptive as usual, but under the circumstances, Lennart thought, I’d ask too.
‘Not really, but at least I haven’t killed him- I think.’ Lennart collapsed into one of the seats and put his head in his hands. ‘I was trying to do this on the quiet…Gethrim, this is my sister and her husband.’
Mirannon picked Lev-Matrow up, opened one of his eyelids, arranged him in the recovery position. ‘This looks worryingly like what the police call a domestic.’ He said, not sure- although suspecting- what that surge of bad feeling had been.
‘It is. Very. I’m probably going to need your help anyway. How is he?’ Lennart asked, sitting up, but before Mirannon could put his relatively limited first aid knowledge to use Alrika interrupted him.
‘Are you the heavy mob?’
‘Light mobs are obsolete,’ Mirannon pointed out, ‘and don’t get me started on the hopeless inefficiency of angst. Is this likely to involve whimpering in any way? The probability increases if you don’t get him to hospital, soon.’
‘Not so much whimpering as to be obvious,’ Lennart said, wondering where the kriff to take him, ‘although long sentences sometimes have that effect. I was trying to do something unofficial and my damned fool of a brother in law, and my sister who really ought to know better, thought I was trying to set them up.’
‘Something to do with your daughter, then?’ Mirannon asked.
‘If it’s that easy to work out, how come you didn’t manage it?’ Lennart asked Alrika, who was still half way between tears and rage.
‘You haven’t been paying attention to your in box.’ Mirannon stated, not even making it a question. ‘I told you about that, remember? Probes and feelers, questions being asked, the Inquisitorius sniffing around? They sent me a kriffing survey.’
‘And you-‘ Lennart started to ask.
‘Filled it in with a random word generator for half the questions and elaborately contrived duralumin-hat nonsense for the other half, of course.’ Mirannon said, matter of fact.
‘Brilliant. Do you have any medical contacts in the underworld, or someone else who won’t talk, his ship’s doctor maybe?’ Lennart asked Alrika. ‘If we do this officially, they’re only going to make him well enough that he can stand up against the wall when they shoot him.’
‘Only? If? Why, what are you- what do you mean?’
‘What I really mean is that it is about time you started giving me a reason to actually want to keep him alive.’ Lennart said, but as a statement of fact, not as a weapon.
To his old friend he said ‘You’re right, this is about Rafaella, and I am not going to see her left there, but I want to resort to official methods of saving her even less.’ To his sister he said ‘Alrika, I asked you for help, and you attacked me. I asked you for something unofficial, under the radar, that need involve no official persona, and you turned on me.
Get him to a hospital. Get a hoversled, push him there if you have to. Fake a car accident or something, I seem to recall you ran over your high school queen bitch when you were twelve and got away with it. The truth isn’t going to be good for anyone- least of all you. Go.’
As concidence would have it, there was a hovercart right there, piled with audiovisual equipment; Mirannon moved most of it off, draped the injured man over it, handed Alrika the remote, went back into the conference room propping the door up in the doorframe behind him, to find Lennart slumped over the table again.
‘I’m turning into a monster.’ He said. ‘I’ve just gone over that in my head again, realised what an utter cock I made of it. I don’t think I got around to explaining what it was that I wanted at all. I just bullied, imposed, told them they had to do things my way or else- but I never actually told them what it was.’
‘That’s not good. It’s also not you. Can you trace the root causes of this brain malfunction?’ Mirannon asked.
‘Keep that neural circuit tester away from me, I don’t care if it’s imaginary or not…the dark side, of course. Fear. Anger. Desperation. I want to protect her from this, prevent her from what I can feel the dark side trying to turn me into; how am I supposed to do that?’ Lennart said, with clearly shaky eqilibrium.
‘I remember you telling me, not that long ago, that the dark side covers a much larger share of what it usually means to be human.’ Mirannon pointed out.
‘Think carefully about how much of an endorsement that really is.’ Lennart replied.
‘Point. Have you considered resorting to perfectly normal bribery and corruption?’ Mirannon asked. It is the standard, most efficient, baseline option.’
‘The problem with that is-‘ Lennart began, and both of them finished the sentence, ‘the high risk options are the ones with the highest margin.’
‘That and paper trail.’ He added. ‘I’m up against the Empire’s best, the Ubiqtorate and the Inquisitorius; I’m damned if I can see, well, how I can avoid being damned, unless I can find someone with sufficient reason to do the job and give nothing away. Someone who I can morally blackmail.’
‘Dark side’s pretty good at cognitive dissonance too, isn’t it?’ Mirannon pointed out. He was living out the position “a pox on both your houses” and thought the whole question slightly ridiculous. Although beneath the surface, he was aware of just how much mental effort he was expending to retain that position.
‘Wha- oh, I see. From “Oh, woe is me, black damnation awaits” to “I must find someone I can terrorise and intimidate” in virtually the same breath. Yes, I think it is. The amount of time the Force wastes, forcing me to continually second- guess my own motives- and on the run, on the fly, making it up as I go along, I didn’t take that. Now my brother in law’s going to hospital.’
‘What was the leverage anyway, ties to the Rebel Alliance?’ Mirannon more than guessed.
Lennart’s long pause was enough to tell his chief engineer he was right, even before he essentially admitted it with ‘There are some days when I wish Inherent Probability had never been invented.’
‘The odds are that someone would have come up with it eventually.’ Mirannon said, casually. ‘If I can spot it, you can bet that an investigating officer, used to seeing rebels under every bush, is going to- whether it’s actually there or not. What’s the plan?’
‘The plan right now is to go back to the ship, nurse my wounded ego, stare at flowering plants a lot, and try to come up with a new plan.’ Lennart decided. ‘I’m too tired, I’m missing a lot, loose ends everywhere. Need rest. What are you going to do?’
‘I’ll crash here, I think, get a few hours rest and talk to the lads from Corellian Engineering in the morning.’ Mirannon decided.
‘Right, I’m definitely going back to the ship, I’ve heard you snore.’ Lennart said, the sheer continuity of bantering with his chief engineer cheering him up a bit. ‘You know, when I was a student, well, half the guests gave up, of those left half have been arrested, the other half screwing in the corridors- we’d have called this a great party.’
Half three in the morning on Coruscant prime meridian, oh- dark-thirty navy time, and there was someone waiting up for him. Couldn’t even sneak back on board his own ship.
‘Ah, there you are. I trust you managed not to completely embarrass yourself?’ The chiss rear- admiral greeted him, looking obscenely fresh and alert.
‘I think I could forgo promotion for the next couple of rounds.’ Lennart said, stifling a yawn. He was tired and fed up enough to shed the fine edge of his caution. ‘The loss of sleeping privileges might be more than it’s worth.’
‘Personally I find life more interesting with eyes open.’ Thrawn said, with questionable truth considering the amount of time he spent meditating, but Lennart didn’t pick up on it. No wonder, the chiss thought looking at the tired, drooping captain of the line. Despite the fact that he had murdered the man who had promoted him to that rank, he was still legally entitled to it. For now.
‘Learn to dream.’ Lennart said, partly in hopes of raising a reaction, and then checked himself. ‘No, wait, being functional at this hour means you could see all sorts of things, like tired, drunk men in a ripe state to let their tongues slip.’ He did yawn, that time. ‘Game never ends, does it?’
For a moment the chiss was tempted to ask, how do you know that I don’t? It was merely a passing fancy, an examined possibility. While striking a note of human- hah- contact and manipulating from there would be a fascinating exercise in intricate lies, it would be time consuming, awkward, and not greatly believable.
Also, he strongly suspected that Adannan had attempted something of the sort, and look where it had got him. Instead he chose to throw a more direct barb. ‘Did you successfully talk your brother in law into rescuing your daughter from jail?’
‘How did you come up with an idea like that?’ Lennart pretended- with only moderate success- to be surprised. ‘Audio bugs, file raiding, or did you deduce it through the power of geometric logic?’
Thrawn understood that barb, but would limit the pleasure of petty revenge for the moment. ‘The com traffic as you arrived in system, and your son in law’s sentence, are matters of public record. Such a move would be so obvious, direct and predictable, it almost wrong- footed me with it’s sheer simplicity.’
Lennart took a deep breath, and tried not to call on the strength of the force. He could use the help, but not at the price. ‘I suppose if I refuse to confirm or deny, you’ll arrest Lev-Matrow and have him hauled in for an ’enhanced interrogation’ that would leave him somewhat diminished? Fine, go ahead and torture the silly bastard.’
Thrawn- rightly- refused to believe Lennart’s implied denial. ‘I had expected better than that from you. You let him turn you down?’
‘Why should I tell you more about this than you obviously already know- it’s essentially a private matter, not a problem for the state or the Starfleet.’ Lennart said, wondering if angry truculence was his best bet- if he could bluster effectively enough to hide the numerous small tells he as sure he must be giving. Probably not.
‘Except insofar as it concerns your personal reliability.’ The rear admiral pointed out.
‘Ah. Crap. Point taken.’ Lennart admitted.
‘That and you’re favouring your left leg, you have a bruise starting to come up, and you’ve clearly received a dose of adrenalin and natural endorphins on top of the alcohol.’ The chiss rear- admiral pointed out.
‘From which you deduce that I was in some kind of fight that I didn’t use my official position to put a stop to, you’d have heard about that, therefore with an old friend or family member. Two leaps of logic there.’ Lennart said.
‘Really?’ the chiss raised an eyebrow.
‘It didn’t need to be him, it could have been any member of the family- my mother still throws a mean right hook, for instance- and second, that I really wouldn’t have had the silly bastard shot.’ Lennart said.
‘Confirming my suspicions.’ The chiss pointed out.
‘Which, yes, there’s a third assumption. That what I wanted him to do was actually illegal. There are any number of reasonable things he could do, be sent to do; hire lawyers, post bail, pay fines, donate to the police benevolent fund, compound damages- instead the damn fool made the same mistake, assumed I wanted him to organise a jailbreak.’
The rear- admiral could hardly avoid smiling at that. ‘The independent freighter pilot, not normally the most law abiding of creatures, assumes the Starfleet officer is operating beyond the pale, and swings for him? I am increasingly of the opinion that the Starfleet only lets you keep your job to prevent your becoming an asset to the rebellion.’
‘Do you really think,’ Lennart said, the drink or the dark side prompting an outburst he was too slow for his common sense to stop, ‘blood weighs nothing? That there is no past to be held to account, loyalty is infinitely transferable, there are no crimes and fealties? The command style of a mercenary.’
There were spectators by now, the overwhelming majority of them part of Lennart’s crew. They would require careful handling, the chiss rear- admiral thought. Handling? As if they were animals to be tamed- which was a good approximation of most Starfleet crews.
There were a number of answers to be made, but none of them would be sufficiently dismissive, none of them appropriate from a senior officer to a junior.
‘Command, and that is all that matters. You do not shed your responsibilities at midnight.’
‘Shame, I had always wanted to experience life as a pumpkin…wouldn’t that make you one of the ugly stepsisters?’ Lennart said, veering into total whimsy- partly as a diversionary tactic, the chiss realised, partly because his mind really does work that way.
‘Thing is, I don’t think you have much if anything to gain by pulling rank.’ He retuned to common sense, or as common as he was capable of at this hour of the morning. ‘It’s not as if your rep would actually suffer from driving me to rebellion, considering how much of it is rumours and shadows anyway, but the opportunity you would lose…’
The admiral did not want to do this outwith closed doors, did not like the idea of having to discuss, to debate, to justify himself in public. He has every instinct of the aristocrat, Lennart thought, almost too much so- arriviste? More Coruscant than the Coruscanti? Probably, and I’m not keen on it myself, too much chance of a missed word taken awry, but there’s another reason.
‘Have you noticed, rear- admiral, how remarkably little use straightforward military service is in advancing a man? Your career track makes almost as little sense as mine. Tracking down Kor Alric’s co-conspirators could be your ticket to fame, fortune and real power. You know, if I wasn’t directly involved, I’d almost feel sorry for you- having to deal with a scruffy maniac like me.’
‘Are you attempting to undermine your own authority, by describing yourself in front of your crew as unfit for command?’ Thrawn said- not because he really needed to ask the question, but he wanted to get this mad conversation onto some basis that could be steered out of the public eye.
‘Is that really the way you take that? They know me, and you know my record, better than that- walk with me for a moment.’ Lennart did it for him, shambled off into the bowels of the ship, heading for engineering.
‘Still too proud to ask a direct question?’ Lennart prodded him, a little later, when they had moved out of the stream of people, into one of the currently deserted working spaces of the ship- secondary power distribution control.
‘Why did you arrange that?’ The chiss asked him, red eyes piercing.
‘Didn’t, I took it on the bounce- but it was necessary, for your safety.’ Lennart said, leaning against the wall. His brain was working much more clearly now, it was catching a second wind; his legs couldn’t say the same.
In response to his superior officer’s raised eyebrow he said ‘I have around two hundred and fifty anonymous notes on my desk, from concerned parties, suggesting how your entirely regrettable, coincidental and accidental demise could be persuaded to come about…you are not popular, and if I’d left a public clash off much longer someone probably would try to murder you.’
The chiss rear- admiral was almost speechless at that. The interpersonal dynamic, the attitudes- they would seriously contemplate murdering a flag officer? ‘You encourage this behaviour, this cult of personality?’
‘And you don’t? Who got first crack at the ISB building?’ Lennart reminded him. ‘You know- I probably could take this crew renegade. In a heartbeat, in fact. My military family, I think they would follow me, do you know the main reason that I don’t? Apart from half the side of the ship hanging off, details, details.
It’s mainly about their families, their kith and kin that they would be leaving behind- I couldn’t do that to them. I would say that they are responsible for ensuring my loyalty, not the other way around. Who is there for you, rear- admiral Mithh’raw’nuruodo? Who is there who would follow you wherever you chose, into exile, into the jaws of hell if need be? Anyone?’
‘Impressive. Slicing?’ Thrawn cut straight to the chase. And avoided answering the question.
‘Worse. Positron tomography and magnetic resonance. Most of those two hundred and fifty suggestions on my desk wouldn’t work because the ship’s systems already have a special mode regarding you- you’ve been walking around inside a virtual brain imager. Oh, and slicing, of course. We have a complete mental model.’ Lennart said, confidently. ‘Now what do you think we could do with that?’
‘I think the most effective thing you might be able to do with such a thing would be to hold it hostage.’ Thrawn said, mind racing- and they would be recording that too, damn them. ‘I expect it will concur on this…are you suggesting an exchange of hostages? Is your daughter really that important to you, more important than achievement, than career?’
Lennart tried not to feel overly relieved that he hadn’t mentioned the crew. Whether he thinks that I’m just grandstanding, Lennart thought, or he genuinely does not believe in the possibility of mutuality- that is actually frighteningly possible. Primus inter pares is not a position that he would ever settle for.
The answer to the questions he had actually asked was, in balance, yes- not so much because of the girl he had never seen as because of the shadow of the force. If he had asked, Lennart thought, whether she is more important than my surrogate- no, real- family on board, the answer would probably have emerged from the various equivocations as ‘no’. That doesn’t mean unimportant.
‘Would I turn my back on my family to serve the state? Of course. I did. So did you, the starfleet knows that, if the “species; unknown” by your name in the navy list is any indication; I just happen to know who they were. Actually, it comes back to responsibility- this is one I will not evade, will take up whatever the cost- and as you said, it’s glaringly obvious.’
‘She is a clear and blatant vulnerability the conspirators are almost bound to attempt to exploit, once they become aware of it- I think it can be arranged to appear from the outside as if I were anticipating them.’ Thrawn said, clearly considering further possibilities.
‘To an outside observer, in fact, it would appear to be a masterstroke.’ Lennart said, not leaning too much stress on the idea that it had better only look that way.
The only purpose in my still being here is the stories and the people who come to read them. About all else, I no longer care.
You might call it Melodramatic, but I call it damn good reading.
Nitram, slightly high on cough syrup: Do you know you're beautiful?
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
Interesting, but I am less than convinced Thrawn would fold so quickly.
So did you, the starfleet knows that, if the “species; unknown” by your name in the navy list is any indication; I just happen to know who they were.
Wait a second, are you saying Lennart knows about the chiss? How?
Whoever says "education does not matter" can try ignorance
------------
A decision must be made in the life of every nation at the very moment when the grasp of the enemy is at its throat. Then, it seems that the only way to survive is to use the means of the enemy, to rest survival upon what is expedient, to look the other way. Well, the answer to that is 'survival as what'? A country isn't a rock. It's not an extension of one's self. It's what it stands for. It's what it stands for when standing for something is the most difficult! - Chief Judge Haywood
------------ My LPs
I am suffering from a severe lack of vitality at the moment- I look, and feel, like Arthur Dent.
The excised middle segment had Lev-Matrow have ties, not legitimately to the Alliance, but to that rarest of creatures, an effective ISB operation. It was a false front, a fake rebel resource cell, the money and materiel donated by unsuspecting people to the "rebels" actually going to feed the ISB operations on Corellia.
Which would have been an elegant sting, but too much of a can of worms, opening a plotline too many- and as for the recruits that the cell had transported, Matrow would have had to be responsible for punting a lot of people out of a lot of airlocks.
That and it let me get a few lines in I'm pleased with, light mobs, inherent probability. Always a good thing, and without that occasional lift it would have felt too dark to do all at once- this is essentially the tale of a man coming apart, after all.
Thanas, I think the line you're looking for is right at the start of that segment- "Game never ends, does it?" Look closely at who sacrificed what, to gain what. Lennart threw away one of his strongest pieces- the fact that he has been inside the rear-admiral's personal and private files, the fact that they have been monitoring his brain- for a purely personal objective. Thrawn sacrificed what? A little time, a little effort by his staff.
He didn't fold- appeared to, but what are appearances? He yielded, let his opponent overextend himself, accepted a tactical defeat as opening the way to a strategic victory. After a little thinking time, it is ging to occur to him to wonder why Lennart thinks this is a good trade.
The only purpose in my still being here is the stories and the people who come to read them. About all else, I no longer care.
Finally...this may be the last post from this particular computer, video card's dying, notherboard too old to be upgradeable, power supply iffy, reliability gone to smeg. Still, managed to get the chapter finished.
Although it was originally supposed to be a three page segment at the start of one mainly dealing with Rafaella Lennart and a jail break, but it mushroomed.
it's taken me this long to work up a mental model of the future Grand Admiral I'm happy with, and there were a few blunders on the way.
Oh, and I'm going to need a 'voulnteer'. Someone who was included in arc the first, for reasons that should be clear by the end of the chapter.
Hull 721 arc 2 ch 12
Then, much to the relief of everyone involved, time passed. For Captain of the Line and Rear- Admiral both, it was time to draw back from close contact, and think. They both also had private business to conduct.
For the rear-admiral, it was special operations’ unfinished dirty work. An individual job, really a minion’s job, but he would do it himself- which meant going undercover for a while. That would take him, his files, and his thoughts away from this den of obliquity and haven of the deranged, which would be no bad thing.
He had thought to disconcert them with his presence, rattle them into making mistakes, absorb them into his orbit- but instead their collective immune system had turned on him, with astonishing speed and ferocity.
That should not have happened, should not have been allowed to happen, but it had, and he wondered if Adannan had been caught the same way; expecting the evasion of the rules to come from the obvious source.
Magician’s work; watching the master and trying to penetrate the misdirection, focusing intently on the captain while his assistants in the crew set him up for his fall? It was a theory that would stand investigation- he had required the internal data logs, had received many of them, but trying to find the balance between what had actually survived and what had been hidden…
It would be a masterstroke to tell him all of a very incomplete set of facts, and let him waste time looking like an incompetent and a man with an agenda fumbling around trying to squeeze the rest out of them.
Of course he had an agenda, but there were more than one set of eyes on this business, and to be openly seen making a mess of it would not do. Still, he could always pretend afterwards that things had gone according to plan.
There had, of course, been more clashes between them, most importantly when, just to find out what he knew and where he stood, the rear-admiral had broached the subject of his own ethnic origin.
‘Legally, the Republic probably did lay claim to you,’ Lennart had pointed out, ‘but de facto and de jure- no-one really gave a damn about enforcement unless there was a private profit to be made.
I am surprised to hear, and I think most of the Republic would have been too, about so much life and activity out there in what are usually considered to be barren, empty stars…’Lennart decided to risk it. ‘Never thought of leading an Imperial battlefleet home to reclaim your inheritance?’
‘An interesting suggestion.’ The rear-admiral said, stony faced- the theory was, in and of itself, quite believable, and certainly he had occasionally used it as a diversionary tactic for his real intentions. ‘Raiding the files of a superior officer is, in itself, an offence.’
‘As opposed to crudities like sending an innumerate’s dozen of rank amateurs to rifle through my personal papers, looking for hints on what I was hiding?’ Lennart fired back. ‘They’re only cross trained, you know, not professional spies. I notice that you made them no actual promises, too.’
There were at least three lies in that statement; the turret crew had come to him, hadn’t tried to intrude at all, had openly told him about the deal the rear admiral had tried to force on them. And one of them was a professional spy. Well, it was a sufficiently dubious move that he felt entirely justified in this.
‘I could order you to release those files to me.’ The rear- admiral said.
‘Could, and should have.’ Lennart noted. ‘Lawful order, no practical choice but to obey, I should really do it anyway without being asked- but would you be entirely happy about it, knowing that subtlety had failed you, or entirely confident in the result? Let me make you a deal.’ He suggested.
‘In relation to Lieutenant Aldrem?’ The chiss assumed.
‘I’ll conduct his trial, he’s one of my officers anyway.’ Lennart suggested, ‘and do a full semimanual purge for file fragments, older versions, ghost images of moved data- basically feed the ship’s computers through the way back machine to look for traces of him.’
He could hardly avoid showing his surprise when the rear admiral completely missed the essential point, and asked ‘You were not intending to do that already?’
‘Are you kidding? It’s an all hands, well all keyboards, evolution.’ Lennart said, deciding on a hasty diversion into jargon.
‘Remember, Black Prince was a batch one Imperator, we got the old Republic DMS/SOA- a whole slew of legacy identification files and planetographic data and legal codes and practise guidelines and manuals, some of the individual program modules go back ten thousand years or more.
Add to that our own patches and workarounds, the standard upgrades to Starfleet integrated network standard and the artificial correct thinking system, pruned individual function modules- no, we were certainly not intending to trawl through that jungle, but do I get enough rope to hang myself, or not?’
The rear admiral thought about it for a second, no more. ‘Find him innocent and I’ll have you removed on psychiatric grounds.’
Lennart tried not to let his sheer astonishment show. He had played an extreme long shot, and had apparently had it come off. No, couldn’t possibly have, Thrawn had to be bluffing. Granted there were false pointers, but this was the most extreme case of missing the forest for the exotic small mites living under the feathers of the woodpecker he had ever seen, if he actually meant it.
He must be assuming, Lennart thought, that I’m trying some sort of move to get Lieutenant Aldrem out of trouble, and by how I sit in judgement of him that reveals my opinion, gives valuable data to work with- but it’s easy to see he never served within a million klicks of a judge advocate general’s office.
The simple fact that in order to sit in judgement on Aldrem, I become officially in his judgement a fit and proper person to do so- that alone blows a hole in any prosecution he chooses to bring against me so large you could fly a Death Star through it. Letting me do this doesn’t serve the case for my treason, it destroys it- or at least implicates him too.
I cannot believe he intends to let me get away with that, that he’s capable of missing something so elementary. Mind you, Lennart added to himself, I don’t exactly dare question him closely enough to find out…
‘You are correct about the unknown regions, though- there is a great deal more civilisation and activity among the supposedly empty stars than your Republic ever concerned itself with- but you knew that already from my files, did you not?’ The chiss continued, apparently unaware or unconcerned that Lennart considered he had missed a trick.
‘Apart from the genuinely important things, that you kept safe by keeping them in your own head.’ Which we’re still decoding, Lennart decided not to add.
‘One thing does fascinate me, as an ex nav officer- the extragalactic, deep star exploration the Republic was flirting with at the very end. It was always a compound of two problems, the simple logistic and the behaviour of the eleven- dimensional matrix in minimally curved fourspace/time.
I know that ‘Cockle’ Marren had tremendous problems with uncollapsed waveforms and fermented space above the galactic plane, he was one of my childhood heroes, that’s a challenge I’d love to meet sometime.’ Lennart said, half serious, half baiting.
‘There are species even there, out between the galaxies. Do you believe that any being or race of beings desperate or driven enough to make the great migration are going to be comfortable guests?
Are a species which has been evicted from it’s own galaxy- or that has come looking for new stars to conquer- deserving of being met with the hand of friendship?’ The rear admiral asked, weighting it in such a way that it was more than an empty question.
‘I’d be willing to bet that you don’t bring that up with most people, in case they start wondering if your logic also ought to apply to an individual separated from his species.’ Lennart pointed out.
‘As a serious astronavigational concern, though, the limitations imposed by the extragalactic requirement are ferocious.’ Lennart, the former fleet navigation coordinator, pointed out. ‘Logistically and structurally- mainly lateral fields and reactive stasis, the power required to counteract time-rate shear- I’d say crippling, in fact.
‘No ship capable of being an extragalactic explorer is going to make a credible combatant, or an efficient merchant in anything other than information- the requirements are just too divergent.’ Although, Lennart added to himself as the thought struck him, I wonder how Gree hypersails behave in that environment?
‘Of course, any extragalactic invader with the brains to manage it is going to be aware of the problems and trying to work around them, a tender/rider system might be effective; but I don’t see how an extragalactic conquest ship is going to be anything that a battle squadron and a tritium- painted giant space hamster couldn’t cope with.’
It was fascinating to watch the rear- admiral’s face as he listened to that; from comprehension and understanding, to a sour note of disagreement followed by an almost meditative look as he reasoned it through, followed by utter, stone- faced bewilderment.
He recovered very quickly, but there was a long pause as both naval officers looked at each other, Lennart daring the rear-admiral to ask the obvious question for once, Thrawn refusing to follow the mad captain of the line any further than he absolutely had to.
He wasn’t going to say it. Refused to actually ask out loud what sort of use there could conceivably be for a giant vacuum-breathing luminous rodent.
‘As an act of psychological warfare, it might possibly be of value.’ He conceded. ‘It could be possible to learn a great deal about a species through their reactions to such an absurdity.’
‘Also you could use the thing as a contact man, to extend the hand of friendship from in case the cosmic pessimists are wrong, although that would require an exceptionally well trained hamster.’ Lennart added, tongue still firmly in cheek.
‘Mention that to His Imperial Majesty, and there would be a new military occupational specialty instituted within the hour.’ The rear admiral, special operations, pointed out. That would definitely be a special operation, although possibly in the sense of ‘short bus’.
‘To serve the Department of Strategic Absurdity? That would be quite a line item on the CV.’ Lennart pointed out. ‘I’m not sure it actually exists within the Starfleet, although I have met lignyots who really ought to belong to such a thing.
Seriously,’ he added, not at all meaning it, ‘primitive land forces obviously use animals of many sorts, sea surface navies have used trained cetaceans for inshore work, why shouldn’t the star fleet domesticate and take advantage of the abilities of natural void-dwelling creatures?’
‘Is there really method to your madness, or just a functional madness successfully disguising itself as method?’ the rear- admiral asked.
‘Both, of course, the precise proportions varying according to time and place.’ Lennart pointed out. ‘Although I do have to wonder whether that’s simply a different heritage talking; some of the things that come naturally to you, and more importantly the pattern of the things that don’t, scare the crap out of me.’ Lennart admitted.
‘That may be the first thing that you have said that was exactly as it ought to be.’ The chiss rear- admiral stated.
‘And the fact that you hold to that view is one of the things that worries me the most.’ Lennart bounced back. ‘Family, for instance. There are as many years and a lot more parsecs between you and your kin as there were between me and mine, but no evidence at all that you ever looked back, tried to keep in touch or find out what was going on in your absence.’
‘Accusing me of having the command style of a mercenary was not merely the drunken whim of the night, then.’ The rear admiral challenged. He resented the intrusion on his privacy- but chiefly because it was his privacy. The logic was acceptable.
‘We are dealing with corruption at the highest levels.’ Lennart pointed out.
‘Your argument is that a being who has left behind everything that made him and shaped him, abandoned that core loyalty, could do it again? No cultural ties, no kinship ties- eminently open, in fact, to being bought.’ Thrawn stated, playing devil’s advocate against himself.
‘To which one obvious counterargument is that you already have been, by the highest possible bidder.’ Lennart suggested. ‘The owner of the galaxy, in fact, and any competent mercenary knows when and when not to change sides. Against the preponderance of force His Majesty possesses, that might not be for a long time yet.’
‘It is also a political truism, is it not, that the only people who can with any degree of safety take part in conspiracies are those sent to investigate them?’ The chiss said, as if offering a mere empty consideration.
‘Quoted by many people, including His Imperial Majesty with reference to Windu, which,’ a credit dropped. ‘As an extreme outsider, you’re a natural candidate for taking part in conspiracies against the throne and the New Order, and those fragments of your record that have leaked out, you’re His Majesty’s baited hook, aren’t you?
Except you missed this one, and this time you’re under investigation too, aren’t you? Sent to deal with me so that, by your handling of the business, you could prove that you were not involved- or implicate yourself, as appropriate.
I can guess at the stick, what was the carrot? No, a better question- how long would it have taken you to pull rank on me if you hadn’t also been under suspicion?’ Lennart decided to ask.
‘About three heartbeats.’ The chiss rear- admiral stated, dryly, noting that Lennart had either missed the possible implications of that or had already decided it would be safer and wiser not to say them. His logic was impressive, though.
‘Ah, I thought it might be something like that.’ Lennart said, apparently unruffled. ‘What was the carrot, the incentive for success? A rank, better yet a permanent command, commensurate with your reputation?’
‘As opposed to yourself, who broke the story and did most of the dirty work so far? If all you wanted was to rise in rank, a simple adherence to uniform regulations would probably have been enough.’ The rear admiral, impeccably dressed, suggested.
He can’t do it, Lennart thought. The simple, straightforward question- what do you want- is beneath him, he has to be a move ahead, won’t ask unless he’s already anticipated the answer. No, that’s not it either. Intellect like that doesn’t grow out of a closed mind.
Politics, primarily- given his position, an outsider half way up the ladder with absolutely nobody willing to forgive his mistakes, he can’t afford to be seen looking querulous or uncertain. Give him his due, he probably hates it- but he has the self discipline to make himself fit the mould, or appear to, and catch up on his own time.
Although there are only so many minutes in the day, only so much grey matter to go round- a wise man has to know his limitations. And I don’t believe that he does.
‘Perhaps I could have, possibly should, but I’m basically happy where I am in the ready reserve, with the occasional scratch squadron. I don’t think I’d like the person I’d turn into after playing the personal politics of high command for any length of time.’ Lennart said, fishing for a response.
‘Do you not owe it to the Imperial state to rise to the fullest extent of your ability?’ The rear- admiral challenged.
‘Oh, no more than you do…I’m reasonably certain you’re a professional cynic, too, but we both know how hard things are likely to go for anyone who-‘ Lennart stopped himself before he could say ‘admits’, substituted ‘professes that kind of attitude to the glories of the Imperial state and the New Order. Unless they happen to be very senior indeed.’
‘As in “disappointed optimist”? You have far too many fancies and cavils ever to make a successful mercenary.’ The chiss said.
‘In the dance of influence at court, it befits a senior officer to be a shade mercenary? Wasn’t that the case I was arguing?’ Lennart pointed out.
‘There is no place at the heart of things for one who does not possess a proper sense of self conceit.’ Thrawn cautioned him.
‘And then some- no, there are too many harsh things said and thought about the Court of Courts to bother repeating them. I suppose your next obvious question is going to be, if we were paranoid of you to the extent of, well, investigating you the way we did, we must have probed Kor Alric thoroughly- so what became of it all?’ Lennart changed the subject.
‘That would be a good question for you to be able to answer.’ The rear-admiral pointed out. ‘An equally good one would be, what conclusions did you draw from that presumable mass of data?’
‘Actually, mess is more like it. I’m afraid you are the “once bitten, twice shy;” we did a more thorough job on you than we ever did on him, chiefly because you came after him, and like you he kept most of his genuinely significant data in his head. A few autosaved scratchpad images in volatile memory are the most revealing fragments we have.’ Lennart explained.
‘And?’ One, icy, word.
‘No long, maudlin self- incriminating diary conversations, unfortunately. A fair bit of what amounts to code, private references, transposed initials, medical jargon. Only two essential facts emerge clear and plain, and one of them is that this latest conspiracy has picked up the pieces of several earlier, failed attempts.
‘Look.’ Lennart pulled out a datapad, keyed in a- meaningless- access code; the biometrics of fingers on keys, precise timing, the pattern of mistakes were the key.
There was a swarm of symbols, ‘Naturally he felt no compulsion to make it easy for anyone other than himself, but this reads very much like blood chemistry. What I think it means is the ‘health’ of his co- conspirators, how committed- or vulnerable- they are. Two obvious problems, one that they’re all identified purely by symbol; the other, well, he could be wrong.’
‘You failed to report this?’ Thrawn said angered.
‘You failed to inquire, until now.’ Lennart pointed out. ‘This is just the header, a fragment of text that a search program looked over; we’ll find the rest of the document, in time. Have you found anything?’
‘Your victim was a special assistant to a privy councillor; did he ever specify which one?’ Thrawn said, putting his anger aside for the moment- partly it was with himself, he realised, for failing to see the wood for the trees.
‘Off the top of my head, I can’t remember.’ Lennart said, not actually lying- there had been a name, but what? ‘He never tried to draw on anyone’s authority but his own, never represented himself as a front man; this was his deal.’
‘The alternative is to suspect the privy council. Even their names are classified, to the point of automatic trial in absentia and dispatch of assassins for trying to delve into the background of one of the Council. Adannan seems to have worked for a Privy Councillor named Gwellib Ap- Llewff.’ Thrawn stated.
‘What a superb cover for being extremely dubious.’ Lennart pointed out. ‘What’s the fashion in conspiracy theories at court these days, fourth, fifth order?’
‘First order would obviously be that as a Special Assistant he worked directly to the privy councillor, therefore any dirty work was the councillor’s dirty work. Second order- that given how obvious it would be, no-one in their senses would use their own agent for such a business.’ Thrawn started the ball rolling.
‘Third iteration, that precisely because of the very improbability of it, it could make sense- hiding in plain sight. Of course the councillor would have to be prepared to dismiss or destroy his assistant as a renegade.’ Lennart pointed out. ‘Fourth order, Adannan really was working to someone else’s tune, and his presence there was intended to discredit his superior if it became known.’
‘Fifth order would be, let me see, we have the picture upside down? Ap-Lewff is a loyal, faithful servant of the Emperor, whose trust was being abused by his warped, devious subordinate.’ Thrawn said.
‘And that is how real conspiracies are hidden. In the end, there’s always such a fog of confusion and counterconfusion, proposals and counterproposals,’ Lennart said,
‘That, in the end, everyone believes exactly what they were predisposed to believe, or more accurately preconditioned to believe- or find it safe and expedient to appear to believe, at this level.’ The rear- admiral finished the thought.
‘A factor I’ve made work for me a few times, and I’ll bet you have too. There is one thing- Adannan was a dark side force user. In order to be his superior, to retain place in the Council, Ap-Llewff has necessarily to be a more powerful force user.’
‘I had wondered if that was why you had to resort to a turbolaser- it was widely known on board?’ Thrawn asked. ‘And why necessarily?’
‘Is it really safe and expedient to pretend not to know the answer to that? You must have encountered a few of them during your time in spec ops. Wolves. The strongest of the pack is the leader- if he is not the strongest, he soon ceases to be leader.
Oh, deceptions and false leads, lies and long cons, strength of wit and character more than hand and eye, but it’s still rule by force.’ Lennart said, wondering how much further he could go before the subject of, oh, by the way, why was Adannan interested in you? came up.
‘Your first thought there was correct, it is not safe and expedient to admit to knowing the answer to that- because the answer to the final question, where does it all end…’ Thrawn, who knew full well, left that hanging.
‘Unfortunately, that’s at least half the key to the problem.’ Lennart pointed out. ‘This isn’t a military conspiracy, isn’t even criminal or a palace-servant coup. If Adannan’s staff, and his own rantings, are anything to go by, this is a religious conspiracy, and the religion is the dark side of the Force.’
‘Suddenly, I feel very much like a stalking horse again. The logic fits.’ Thrawn said, grudgingly.
‘If you were going to set a horse to catch a horse thief, who would you choose?’ Lennart pointed out. ‘Raw brainpower versus mystic gibberish- you haven’t denied dealing with the dark adepts as part of special operations, I had to cope with Jedi drivelling all over me, if anyone can cope…’
‘I would have thought that would be a counterfactor, militating against your recruitment to the conspiracy.’ The chiss rear- admiral challenged, and watched Lennart’s skin colour go a similar shade to his own.
‘My people saved me from that.’ The captain of the line managed, eventually. Wondering how barefaced a lie he could get away with. As soon as the rear-admiral interviewed Aleph-3, it would all be over. She wouldn’t exactly lie for him; certainly wouldn’t feel obliged to tell the whole truth, either, he thought.
She would try to do what was best, and if that meant prodding him into accepting and embracing the dark side, that was what she would report- and wasn’t it actually true, that Adannan had tried to recruit him? Somehow he doubted that the rear- admiral had the same scruples when it came to dealing with monsters.
‘I think I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time; he did try to co-opt me, but as a matter of expediency rather than choice, after I had already started to try to deal with the obvious issue.’ Lennart said, thinking of a lie he could explain away later.
‘Legally speaking, it was nearly irrelevant anyway; the word of a murderer against his victim? How much credence would any competent jurist place in that? I could have spun a million stories, but none of them would be of the slightest importance compared to the actual evidence.’
‘Which you were expecting me to start working through rather sooner than this?’ The chiss rear admiral raised an eyebrow. ‘By normal standards I did, of course, but I did not consider that I had done so until I could grasp what was written between the lines.’
‘At least, you did eventually, after the failure of your first attempt at a fool’s mate.’ Lennart pointed out.
‘Of course. On the basis of the initial report, it seemed worth attempting that shortcut to see just how much of a fool you were.’ The chiss rear-admiral pointed out, without a trace of embarrassment.
‘Doctor Oblivious.’ Lennart said, an obscure reference he didn’t expect the rear admiral to get. It was in fact to a character in a cartoon aimed at the preschool age group that had been popular with his fellow students. Partly because Caldor, for one, swore it described their Dean perfectly.
‘Professional tunnel vision?’ The chiss didn’t understand the reference, but grasped the principle. ‘Your record seems to have been tailored to give that impression. ‘Consistent with that, how should you proceed?’
‘Why, blunder on obliviously of course.’ Lennart said, wondering if the approach could be made to work- and realising the admiral was probably making a point by showing that it couldn’t. ‘Ask simple, direct questions of entirely the wrong people.’
‘Legally speaking it is extremely dangerous to attempt to inquire. His Imperial Majesty’s warrant should nullify all regulations and open all doors-‘ The rear admiral began, leaving Lennart to work out the rest.
‘Being clumsy enough to require that kind of brute force would not make the boss very happy at all, to say nothing of alerting everyone that an investigation is afoot. I can think of two major and a shoal of minor options as to how to proceed, from here. Three if you include the comedy option.’ Lennart suggested.
‘That being, attempting to have the Privy Councillor assigned as an investigating officer?’ Thrawn asked, wryly.
‘Having him in a position where we can measure and monitor his molecules would be enormously revealing, but the only conceivable reason for him to want to come here is to plug a leak.’ Lennart said, and both of them knew that would mean death.
‘The other options are principally, to investigate him via an external agency that isn’t under the same pressures and doesn’t really give a damn about security classification and the law.’ Lennart said.
‘Prince Xizor has his own thorough and well connected intelligence gathering apparatus, but he would inevitably attempt to involve himself in the business.’ The rear admiral pointed out.
‘Speaking of theories and countertheories- I suppose you’re still obliged to hold to the absurd pretence that he isn’t the head of Black Sun? I know, nothing ever proven in court, but I tripped over a Black Sun operation as part of this business, cost them a lot of credits and a fair slice of credibility.
There was a Falleen in charge of that, too. The only thing they would like to give me is a blaster bolt; if you can get an accurate answer out of them at a fair price, that’s more than I could.’
‘The chief alternative you’re proposing is to attempt to investigate him via the Rebel Alliance, and their terms may actually be worse.’ Thrawn pointed out. ‘Compromise, co-opt, and worst of all they would inevitably become aware of a great deal that they should not.’
‘Xizor wouldn’t? The same objection applies to going through any of the criminal fraternity, especially the Hutts. The plan B I actually had in mind- those who come late in life to the Force, from what general noodling around I’ve been able to do, trend disproportionately to the dark side.
If Ap-Llewff, and it’s not a name from any culture I’m familiar with, was a latecomer to the Force, he’ll have left a background somewhere that will be checkable. From before he became a dark jedi and a privy councillor. It could be possible to dive into the makings of the man- assuming that’s what he is.’
‘The distorting pressures of the Force are too great and more importantly too consciously applied for that to be very effective.’ Thrawn stated. ‘To work through a normal man from the foundations upwards is a good principle, but it reveals little about the elaborate mental architecture of the Dark Side of the Force.’
Meaning that at some point you’ve tried, Lennart thought- it was too obvious to be worth saying. ‘It’s the only shortcut round the security regulations I can think of at the moment. Anyone likely to rise to the heights of the privy council is not likely to have left no mark behind him, and we can look at that without falling foul of the regulations which protect the current affairs of the state.’
‘Well, you are the man with the ship full of devoted lunatics willing to serve your every whim.’ The chiss rear admiral gave way to a flash of humour. ‘A degree of control that the Dark Side would envy. The bureaucratic and computational resources to run that kind of trawl are yours.’
‘Something I could never have achieved using dark side methods.’ Lennart pointed out. ‘I think that might have been Adannan’s basic mistake- looking at that and deciding that I was some kind of hidden master of the force.’ Right, let’s see what sort of reaction that gets.
‘How possible would it be to perpetuate that error- lure the as yet unidentified “them” into believing that you have inherited Adannan’s place in the conspiracy, that you killed him specifically to take that place, and into trying to make contact with you?’ The rear admiral suggested, and after a couple of seconds added
‘Are you sure you aren’t from my part of the galaxy yourself? You do have a remarkable tendency to turn blue.’
Serve, return, Lennart thought. Ouch. ‘I’m sure, and I don’t see how I could pass for a Sith; when they ask me to demonstrate my abilities with the force, the game’s up. Although it would be worth setting a trap…’
‘What do you mean, setting?’ The rear admiral asked a sarcastic, rhetorical question.
‘Point. Setting holding and questioning facilities for after we’ve trapped them might be more appropriate. I still think we ought to try working via the Alliance, especially if they can be made to think it was all their own idea- a story carried by a fake defector, perhaps?’ Lennart suggested.
‘There’s no aftertouch to that plan, no points of control.’ The rear admiral objected. ‘It would essentially be a very long shot.’
‘With no fingerprints on it in the meantime, and who do you know that could do a better job of knowing things that the common or garden Imperial is not meant to know than our enemies in the Alliance? I mean, if it was possible to sell the Ubiqtorate on it as some kind of security penetration/defence exercise, perhaps, but-‘
‘Yes, yes, there are advantages to it. Alliance Intel may well be the only formed body in the galaxy who are both brilliantly devious enough to delve so deeply and stupid or idealistic enough to let themselves be persuaded to, but it still ends with the Alliance knowing far too much.
‘The defector would have to be the point of control.’ The rear- admiral continued on, to puzzle out something resembling a plan. ‘They would have to remain in touch with the rebel intel unit, it would have to be someone who could credibly do so, and the rescue operation would have to be instant and total.
There would have to be overwhelming force the instant they found something worth having to prevent dissemination, the rebel base shut down at once, there would need to be constant communication to pinpoint the moment…’ The rear- admiral’s words trailed off, in thought.
‘My ship’s going to be in dock for another seventy-seven days, and on shakedown for at least forty after that. I don’t think the conspirators are going to wait that long- this might be a job for special operations.’ Lennart suggested.
‘Trying to blind me with the promise of glory?’ The rear-admiral said sardonically. ‘One key question. Who?’
‘I could do the usual- draw up a shortlist of people with the talent for the job, then ask them if any of them want to volunteer. Most likely to be mostly com-scan, senior noncom and junior officers.’
‘Not your pet mad gunman and his coterie? They do, after all, seem to have reason to flee Imperial justice.’ The rear- admiral suggested.
Lennart took several seconds to think about it- his head said yes, they have the knowledge of the incident, the reasons to run and the abilities to make themselves valuable to the Alliance, but his gut said no, and it took a few moments to work out why.
‘I don’t think they’re capable of that depth of strategic lying.’ He said. ‘Playing the system is one thing, and custom immemorial really, pretending to be alliance operatives for an afternoon or a couple of days, they could probably manage that, but in prolonged close contact I think they would revert to type.’
‘Are you worried that they would not fit in to the rebel alliance, or that they would fit in rather too well?’ Thrawn probed, then added ‘Lieutenant Aldrem struck me as rather more likely material for the Alliance than the Empire, at least in that for all his talent he seems to require the support of his conscience.’
‘There are a number of answers to that, most of which are guaranteed to get the answerer into trouble. The official viewpoint of the republic was actually the same as that of the Empire; shut up and soldier, and deal with your moral objections on your own time. Unofficially, if you have to ignore your conscience to do your job…’ Lennart let that trail off.
‘Then perhaps you are in the wrong job? Who would you suggest to send?’
‘Something like that, yes… someone who knows part of the story, at least, and who could credibly have been appalled by it, enough to, ah, change jobs? Vineland sector, perhaps, someone from the pursuit squadron, who can lie for the Empire and pretend to have a conscience.’ Lennart suggested.
The only purpose in my still being here is the stories and the people who come to read them. About all else, I no longer care.
Hmmmm. Still not convinced about your Thrawn, mainly because he seems so very much out of control of his emotions, his facial movements and the whole game. I like your writing, but not your Thrawn.
Whoever says "education does not matter" can try ignorance
------------
A decision must be made in the life of every nation at the very moment when the grasp of the enemy is at its throat. Then, it seems that the only way to survive is to use the means of the enemy, to rest survival upon what is expedient, to look the other way. Well, the answer to that is 'survival as what'? A country isn't a rock. It's not an extension of one's self. It's what it stands for. It's what it stands for when standing for something is the most difficult! - Chief Judge Haywood
------------ My LPs
Seriously, I cannot reconcile the life experiences that are supposed to have formed, and informed, him, with the character traits he is stated as exhibiting, with the historical personalities he is supposedly based on. It just doesn't form a coherent whole.
In order to try to decode him and figure out what he will do, and say, and the two are not the same (you don't really think he let Aldrem off the hook, do you?), I tend to take the life experiences as primary, the informed attributes as secondary, and the historical models- none of which were sailors, at least one was categorically unfitted for organisation work, and several of which acted in ways directly contrary to Thrawn's life path- as barely relevant.
Unfortunately, that means he has to be, or to have been at any given turning point, a personality capable of taking those actions and making those decisions- with difficulty, perhas, but of carrying it through nonetheless.
There is no way round the fact that he first was adopted out of his existing family into the aristocracy, leaving them behind (to some degree- I really don't see him as nostalgic. He has too much 'now' to be getting on with. He may look back in rigour, for intellectual lessons learnt, but there's little attachment there. I think.) and later on leaving his entire civilisation behind.
Abandoning everything that he had known and that shaped him, on a promise from a dark lord that took several years to mature, leaving him stranded on a primitive world for that long. This is a detachment that would do a jedi credit- and coming from me that is really not a complement.
You could also use that to paint a pretty damning portrait, of a frigid- blooded mercenary sociopath with no loyalty higher than himself- despite his stated reasons, he walked out on friends, family, loyalty and duty- a severe inability to form social connections, and a pathological addiction to risk taking that overrode his judgement. Who then spent three or four years talking to himself.
I haven't gone that far, it isn't the portrait of him we're familiar with, but I do think he's not stainless- he definitely has personality and character flaws, including the big one which killed him in the end- failing to inquire into the Noghri. Why they were so loyal, what their story was. Failing to understand them. Now, that is so contary to his stated character I wouldn't dare write it that way.
Seriously, this is him part way through his climb to power. There are a lot of rapids in the way, and playing it stone- faced is not going to get him through them. The techniques of supreme command are simply not appropriate here; he knows that, and he's willing to adapt and overcome. If you were to take a series of stop- motion shots of a broadsword match, in how many of them would the combatants appear stable and balanced? Not all, and this is mid- rally. Don't despair yet.
The only purpose in my still being here is the stories and the people who come to read them. About all else, I no longer care.
All I can advise you to do is to read Outbound Flight.
Whoever says "education does not matter" can try ignorance
------------
A decision must be made in the life of every nation at the very moment when the grasp of the enemy is at its throat. Then, it seems that the only way to survive is to use the means of the enemy, to rest survival upon what is expedient, to look the other way. Well, the answer to that is 'survival as what'? A country isn't a rock. It's not an extension of one's self. It's what it stands for. It's what it stands for when standing for something is the most difficult! - Chief Judge Haywood
------------ My LPs
Hmmm, well it's not me that's going. I'm still in recovery/getting prepped for the next round of surgery. And I've got enough brain damage that I need to refer to my notes to remember where I grew up... oh yeah, that's where it was.
Anyways, look for someone else. We've got a couple of... hey, why not send the guy who tried to play spy already? Heheheh.
Commander of the MFS Darwinian Selection Method (sexual)
Well, so far there's one voulnteer... but seriously, is ti fair to send a man who this just happened to?
Hull 721 arc 2 ch 13 (scene one)
‘Good morning, Air Commodore.’ The voice permeated his consciousness; human, female, actually expecting an answer, or at least pretending to.
‘Mmph?’ He managed. ‘Where?’ Bits and pieces came back a shower of fragments of memory, failing to make a coherent picture. There had been an explosion. No, several- actually, make that many explosions.
Out of the cockpit, cursing the lack of heavy duty rad shielding in his flight suit and watching a wall of high yield warheads about to hit, that much came back clearly.
Numb? Not entirely, a distant woolly feeling though, pressure rather than pain. Squiggly feeling, as if bits of his body had been picked up and put back at slightly the wrong angles. Probably had. Couldn’t wriggle his toes. Probably still had them.
‘Oh, you’re conscious.’ The voice said, as if surprised to get a response.
More pieces of memory filtering into place; trying to pay attention to the fight, trying to call a rescue shuttle, curling up into a ball and trying, and failing, to ignore the pain as the radiation damage started to register.
Being scooped up and laid out on the floor of the shuttle, ‘it’s hot, get it off him’, ‘kriff, his skin’s peeling off’, ‘he isn’t going to make it’…they had to have been wrong about the last one.
What else was there? Bits and pieces after that. An explanation, someone had tried to explain something to him, in a funny smelling room flooded with a lot of dull light, something about needing to concentrate, something about holding on. Something about bone marrow, too.
‘Just cut his head off and treat that, kriffer’s going to need what adds up to a full body transplant anyway’, that had been it. Oh shit…
There were other fragments, bits and pieces after that, although they had probably been kidding. At least he hoped they had been kidding. Gallows humour wasn’t nearly as much fun when you were the one on the gallows.
‘Mr Deloun, he’s conscious.’ The female voice said; Konstantin Vehrec managed to open one eyeball, the other one didn’t seem to want to work. Sort it out later. Hopefully. At least one side of his head was still there.
Bluish- grey blur over everything; dizzying shift of perspective as the world came into focus, not unlike the spasm of confusion as the eye went from the corridors and bulkheads distance of normality to the projected infinity of the flight helmet optical displays.
Well, he had done that a million times before, at least it felt like it. Ever do it again? Ah, now he could feel things. Heart and lungs, at any rate- it seemed as if the entire bed was bouncing. No, it was just him. Heart rate.
Fight or flight. No wonder. ‘You’re an optimist.’ He said, vaguely, in the direction of the white blur that the voice had probably come from. Starting to clear up quickly, though. That was good. World making a little more sense. Hospital room, obviously- well, at least it wasn’t theatre.
Not that he couldn’t have filled it all in from memories of the last half dozen or so times this had happened to him, or the thousand or so times he had been standing by the bed. Being a senior instructor, in charge of a shoal of irresponsible young idiots, seemed to involve a kriff of a lot of visits to hospitals.
After the first hundred or so everything, even dealing with the grieving relatives of whoever had decided to turn themselves into an expensive pancake this week, got automatic. Surely not this automatic, though. Memory was still warming up.
‘Ah, Air Commodore.’ A deep male voice said, and a hulking thing stepped forward to beside the bed. No nametag, more or less civilian clothes, very expensive- a very senior medic indeed, and the beer and smashball type by the looks of it. Consultants got called ‘mister’ rather than ‘doctor’, didn’t they?
‘Who? How bad did it get out there, senior brass turning up in hospital beds- how did we lose?’ Air Commodore? Who the hell was an air commodore- that was a non- flying position marshalling up to four thousand odd fighters, the sort of job that made a man grow roots, no way someone that senior should have been in the firing line unless there was a genuine disaster.
‘That would be you.’ The senior surgeon said. ‘Your promotion came through while you were, hm, indisposed.’
‘Posthumously?’ Vehrec asked. It sort of felt that way. The white blur was coming into focus, dark haired, hazelnut complexion, thin determined face, serious looking.
His own voice sounded strange, like the fluid in his inner ear had curdled or something and was transmitting sound a couple of octaves lower. Didn’t sound mechanical, though, at least there was that.
‘Technically, yes.’ The consultant admitted. ‘You’ve been with us for a hundred and fifty hours, and spent a hundred and twelve of those in theatre. We had teams working on you in shifts.’
‘What happened? Aahow.’ There was a wash of pain, starting at the back of his head working forwards.
‘Radiation damage, to the tune of several hundred safe lifetime exposures.’ The consultant said, in a level, professional tone. That was probably a good sign. If he had tried being cheerful, Vehrec would have known he was dead.
‘Doesn’t matter then, don’t have safe life anyway.’ Some of that was numbness, mouth refusing to wrap itself around the smaller words, some of it was fog in the brain. Difficult to concentrate. ‘How…operate for radiation? Very very small scalpel?’
‘Partially, yes, stripping out activated molecules with scavenger dust; but primarily…your head was relatively well protected, the solid helmet, but the rest of your organs were shutting down. Transplants, excision of failing biosystems and tumours, grafting and integrating healthy tissue.
We had to build several houses of cards out of your body, patching one thing up or transplanting and flash- growing a replacement, trying to establish something that worked well enough to build on, staying just ahead of progressive multiple organ failures.’
‘That what you call heroic treatment? Why me? I’m not a hero.’ Actually, it was because the treatment alone would kill any normal person, or so the flagship’s medical teams had told him once, back in the day.
‘According to the news, you are.’
‘Old man once told me, that’s when old sweat pilots get killed. Stupid enough to believe their own rep, arrogant enough to make damn fool mistakes, splat. Why d’you need me conscious now, anyway? ‘ Then it dawned on him. ‘Oh, kriff…’
‘Correct.’ The female- she wasn’t a nurse, she was a junior doctor, specialty physiotherapy. ‘You’re no longer in danger of death, but now we have to get you back to actual health. The autonomic connections are as sound as they can be at this stage, but you’re an uncoordinated mess- and you have a great deal of muscle tone to recover.’
‘Augh.’ Vehrec groaned. ‘Too late to go for one of those brain hoverpods?’
‘Yes.’ She said. ‘You have a neural deficit that would be impossible to correct in a mechanical support framework. A mixture of directly radiation caused and secondary caused by the breakdown of your body.’
‘Badly enough…make me want to do an admin job?’ The senior consultant laughed at that, the young physiotherapist frowned.
‘Please, take these things seriously. There is a great deal of work ahead of you, physical and mental. Fortunately we have the case files from your rejuvenation treatment which raised similar issues- that may have been a minor protecting factor, in fact.’ She said, coldly.
‘Ah, crap. College and boot camp, at the same time, and for desk job- Doc, if I was to screw you silly over parallel bars, d'you think I could get m'self busted back down to flying rank?’
She looked even more pale and severe; it was the middle aged, male consultant who said ‘I’m sure something could be arranged.’
‘Uhm…let me get bit better before I get back to you on that.’
-----
Replacing the computer over the weekend, actually, putting that fragment up in case it gets lost on the way, but who actually does want to be on point for this one? I mean, I can probably do 'escape from "Imperial custody" in a rocket powered wheelchair', but it isn't exactly fair. If no-one steps up I'll just have to write the names on a bit of paper and throw a dart at it.
The only purpose in my still being here is the stories and the people who come to read them. About all else, I no longer care.
fractalsponge1 wrote:There's always Karl Anton. After a stint with the ISB I wonder if he's already half considering defecting for real
Exploring the Unknown Regions in a TIE Scout to disappear can't be worse than working with the ISB
"In view of the circumstances, Britannia waives the rules."
"All you have to do is to look at Northern Ireland, [...] to see how seriously the religious folks take "thou shall not kill. The more devout they are, the more they see murder as being negotiable." George Carlin
"We need to make gay people live in fear again! What ever happened to the traditional family values of persecution and lies?" - Darth Wong
"The closet got full and some homosexuals may have escaped onto the internet?"- Stormbringer
You're looking for characters to defect temporarily? I suppose SpaceTrooper LT's are to indoctrinated for that kinda stuff.
"Our Country won't go on forever, if we stay soft as we are now. There won't be any AMERICA because some foreign soldier will invade us and take our women and breed a hardier race!"
LT. GEN. LEWIS "CHESTY" PULLER, USMC
The new system seems to work; I wonder if my writing style's going to change due to lower blood pressure? Raesene, you've got a point about that actually, it could hardly be worse, so, well, guess what...expect a short segment in a couple of days.
Kartr, you're obviously completely mad, volunteering willingly...I can probably do something with that, too.
The only purpose in my still being here is the stories and the people who come to read them. About all else, I no longer care.
If you need a volunteer, I'd be perfectly happy to pop in for a bit.
Conversion Table:
2000 Mockingbirds = 2 Kilomockingbirds
Basic Unit of Laryngitis = 1 Hoarsepower
453.6 Graham Crackers = 1 Pound Cake
1 Kilogram of Falling Figs - 1 Fig Newton
Time Between Slipping on a Banana Peel and Smacking the Pavement = 1 Bananosecond
Half of a Large Intestine = 1 Semicolon
Well I'd be leaving little proton grenades everywhere I went, so why not?
"Our Country won't go on forever, if we stay soft as we are now. There won't be any AMERICA because some foreign soldier will invade us and take our women and breed a hardier race!"
LT. GEN. LEWIS "CHESTY" PULLER, USMC
Eleventh Century Remnant wrote:Raesene, you've got a point about that actually, it could hardly be worse, so, well, guess what...expect a short segment in a couple of days.
I'm looking forward to it
"In view of the circumstances, Britannia waives the rules."
"All you have to do is to look at Northern Ireland, [...] to see how seriously the religious folks take "thou shall not kill. The more devout they are, the more they see murder as being negotiable." George Carlin
"We need to make gay people live in fear again! What ever happened to the traditional family values of persecution and lies?" - Darth Wong
"The closet got full and some homosexuals may have escaped onto the internet?"- Stormbringer
There was a knock on his office door. That was never a good thing, but at least it wasn't the hard, arrogant rap-rap-rap of the security police, the double thud of the fleet regulatory branch, or the rapid frantic pounding of a spaceman in the shit. Not far off the precisely measured 5/4 time drumbeat of the Marines.
He was starting to identify the sounds now. By the approaching feet and the knock on the door, always kept closed although it never mattered, he could tell what sort of trouble was about to arrive.
Using the camera that monitored the outer office was just cheating, but this time it might just be necessary. It sounded like someone senior, authority therefore more problems than usual.
Human, male, Marine officer's dress uniform, two millimetre haircut. Standing waiting at parade rest. One shoulder lower than the other, evidence of an old wound- he looked like a front line officer who had been invalided out, refused to retire, and given some softer job like commanding a base security detachment.
There was no reason at all not to expect someone like that to come calling one day, but he didn't have the bearing of a man forced down into a soft job. He was too alert for that.
Which meant he was here under false pretences, and that probably meant something very bad was about to happen to the Fleet- level Security Liaison Officer. As if being the security liaison officer wasn't bad enough.
For a moment he was tempted to simply keep the door closed and wait for the man to go away. It wouldn't work; he was a stormtrooper, he could be there for days. He was probably authorised to burn down the door if it came to that.
The fact that the outer office hadn't even warned him of trouble coming was, regrettably, par for the course. The staffers out there in what had been a sleepy non- job were still waiting to see which way the wind was blowing, and whether it would eventually calm down and let them get back to drawing their pay.
Might as well find out. He checked his sidearm, put one pile of hardcopies under another, pressed the door toggle.
The marine officer strode in, sat down without permission. 'Lieutenant-Commander Karl-Anton Raesene.' Not a question. 'Fleet security liaison, transferred out of a combat command to an administrative post- in which you have made an impressive number of enemies.'
A number of responses crossed Raesene's mind, ranging from “I didn't know Master of the Obvious was a Stormtrooper corps rank”- this job had definitely brought out his sarcastic side; it may have been the lowest form of wit, but he was dealing with low forms every day in the security services.
That down to a demand for the marine officer to explain himself, which he avoided to begin with- starting by saying 'How aware are you of the political fallout of the incident?'
'Which service- no, which branch of intelligence- are you seconded to?' Raesene asked.
'Very good. I'll tell you when, if, I judge that you need to know. You hate your job.'
'From Master of the Obvious to pysch-eval. Not much of a leap really.' Raesene said, sarcastically. 'My job mostly consists of stopping security police agents from trying to hold on to their jobs by arresting and torturing everyone who they overhear saying “I hate my job.” I'm not a trained investigator.'
'Certainly not, if you bring up possibilities like that so casually.' The marine cautioned him. 'It may be difficult for you to understand at this precise stage, but genuine issues were raised and genuine problems revealed by the incident. Not possibilities that the security services are competent to deal with.'
'No. Not again. No. Absolutely not. I'm not-' Raesene objected, mouth taking instructions directly from his gut, bypassing the brain entirely.
'You're not dumb enough to be unaware of how such an out of hand refusal would look on your record.' The marine pointed out. 'You're right, there is something to be done, but it is not a task that suits a reluctant man. You have the right to refuse, but that would mean the opportunity going to someone else.'
'Threats and promises. That at least puts you a step above most of the security bureau.' Raesene said, acidly. 'How much about this are you allowed to tell me before I count as having committed myself?'
'Threatened men generally are reluctant, that's why it is necessary to threaten them. The same caveat applies- if you had to be pushed into the job, you wouldn't be able to do it.'
'Not routine, then, but beyond the competency of the security services could mean anything. Closer to intelligence work? Who is it that's supposed to be betraying whom?' Raesene talked himself into a job, realising that about two seconds too late to stop.
'There is a carrot attached to this, it might be possible to return you to a combat assignment once the job is done. By then, though, you will have earned it, and the mission really suits a galactic class liar.' The marine pointed out.
'That doesn't sound right at all. I'm certainly not a galactic class liar, if I was I'd have been able to weasel my way out of this.' Raesene pointed out.
'You have the first qualification at any rate; the last thing a top conman needs is to look like a conman. We can work on the rest, and surely you have learned a few things about scamming from the security forces?'
'That verges on treason in itself, you know.' Raesene pointed out.
'What, to suggest that the security forces might be acting purely in their own interests, against the New Order? What do you think the entire incident was about?' The marine said, incredulously.
'Yes, yes, I know that, but that isn't what the instructions say. Officially we are supposed to be managing a return to normality. Unofficially- how unofficial are you?'
'Captain of the Line Lennart decided to play amateur intsec agent, and took it upon himself to start a chain of events that brought down a renegade Imperial official. At least one. He really should have left it to the professionals.' The marine said, looking nonchalantly at the ceiling.
'You clearly know more about this than I do, so why is it that you are trying to give the job to me?' Raesene asked.
'Good thought- we'll make a devious weasel out of you yet. I could accomplish the task, but I don't have the connections and the background to make me fully credible in the part. You are connected in ways that make your success more probable.' The marine officer pointed out.
'What sort of connection might that be?' Raesene asked.
'Stop trying to get me to spell it out for you.' The marine officer said. 'In fact, if you're the right man for this mission, you really should be able to work it out for yourself.'
'The fact that you mention him, something he found out, the fact that the unofficial word is 'let sleeping rancors lie', those agents were trying to use me to discredit him...there was another factor, wasn't there? “At least” one renegade- something he didn't find out, something that didn't get out.' Raesene suggested.
'Correct- a fact or factor that will not and cannot be allowed to “get out,” as you put it. Thus far, at least, you have learned nothing specific, you have not been read into anything that would require special clearance, your guesses are unsubstantiated. Go on.' The marine confirmed.
'Something embarrassing, something that would humiliate the security services- or something that they were implicated in, not merely being used as local pawns, they were up to their eyes in it. A renegade, a traitor in place, abusing the system for his own ends?'
'All of which is essentially conspiracism, without foundation...this is the part where you bet your life on your silence. Call to mind the incident at the very end of the fight, blue on blue. A single shot fired from Dynamic at the squadron flagship.' The marine said, quietly and matter of fact, trying to avoid being portentous and simply let logic take it's course. It didn't entirely work.
'I remember- but it wasn't a single shot. It was an aimed, phased volley, the most precise and closely managed shot I've ever seen. I had no time to think about it, I don't think anyone has, but it couldn't have been an accident. Who was it intended to kill- more to the point, who was it aimed by?'
'Not more to the point at all; you were right the first time.' The marine pointed out.
'Then this isn't about, wait, what? You can't mean that. The special agent? That mad gunman killed him, there's been nothing more about that, it was officially a regrettable incident. You're telling me it was a deliberate assassination that the perpetrator went unpunished for? What's the security phrase, a righteous shoot?'
'The details are debatable, but it's possible, yes. How do you think someone would go about investigating the privy council?'
'The special assistant to the council was the renegade? In terms of power and greed and exploitation, that makes perfect sense,' Raesene, who had been doing a lot of thinking lately, said, 'but in terms of the new order, it's gibberish, it's not actually possible for him to be a renegade, whatever he says is the law.'
'Legally, yes, which is why investigating his theoretical criminal tendencies is not going to be simple.' The marine smiled. 'Our warrant to do so comes from the desk of His Imperial Majesty Himself, but doing so-'
'Let me see that warrant.' Raesene said, slightly dizzy. The marine held the secure datasheet out to him.
The language was deeply hieratic, almost but not quite managing to disguise the stark meaning- a cloud of incense round a durasteel fist. That was authentic, and the actual code authenticator routines more than confirmed it.
Reeling slightly, the lieutenant-commander noticed that “Our” meant Naval Special Operations Command, Oversector Centre. 'Why are the Starfleet involved in this? It certainly isn't because we're officially trustworthy.' He said, looking at the stack of datapads on his desk. 'Surely the Ubiqtorate are the people for a job like this? They have the skills, they have the contacts-'
'They may already be up to their eyeballs in it, on either, both, or all three sides.' The marine pointed out. 'The starfleet are involved because you're right, the dead man was above the law. He can't be investigated by any conventional means- strictly speaking not by any Imperial agency.'
Lieutenant- Commander Raesene didn't have to think very hard to put two and two together. A galactic class liar. The contacts and background necessary. Not by any Imperial agency. 'You had really better spell this out, because I don't think I believe you. It's crazy.'
'The only people able to work far enough outside the law to get at the truth are the intelligence organs of the Alliance to Restore the Republic. Even special operations doesn't have quite that much contempt for regulations and procedure.' The marine said, slightly enviously.
'Oh, gods and pasta. You seriously want someone, me, to defect? Take them the story, or a carefully filleted version of the story, and get them to do the dirty work?'
'Aren't you horrified by it? Isn't it a betrayal of everything the New Order was supposed to stand for- is this the safety and security Palpatine promised, when you can be used as a pawn at a moment's notice, when your leaders have to tell you nothing and explain nothing, when your life can be stolen from you by faceless thugs at the least trivial whim of the mighty? Is this civilisation?'
'It's rebel doctrine, and a fairly extreme version of it at that- I'm not sure I could manage to pretend to believe that, I'm really not sure that you should be sending me on this job.' Raesene said. 'In fact, I'm not sure there isn't a hidden camera about here somewhere.'
'A loyalty test, or a holovision prank? Don't be daft. Even counterfeiting His Imperial Majesty's signature is lese-majeste and punishable by disintegration, and not many people have that bloodthirsty a taste in practical jokes.
The fact is, we're not really looking for a professional. Someone slick and polished and charming, well, inherent mistrust would kick in in short order. What we want is someone who looks like you; a basically loyal Imperial officer who came across something unsustainably, unignorably terrible, and had no place to go with it except out.
It all fits; you were there, you were paying attention, you have every reason to be disgruntled, you're working with security now and all sorts of interesting things cross your desk- as well as the spoor of slugs in human form. Somebody has to do it, and you can do it.'
'What do- I mean, how does this happen?' Raesene said, confused. 'I don't know any Rebels. In fact, I'm reasonably sure the security forces don't know any either. There must be other people, what about Captain of the Line Lennart?'
'He, on the other hand, knows far too much, he's too good a liar, and he might not come back.' The marine captain pointed out.
'So coming back is part of the plan?' Raesene said, relieved.
'Of course. Whatever's there to find, they can't possibly be left in possession of it- on the bright side, this should be your one and only adventure in the spying trade. After this you should be quite thoroughly blown.'
'That doesn't entirely sound like a good thing.' Raesene said. 'The plan is that I get scooped up by them, feed them the line, somehow stay in touch, and then you or someone comes and retrieves me and the conclusions they've come to? Why would it not be easier to simply, oh, bombard the place?''
'Apart from anything else, getting a reputation for doing that makes it very hard to recruit agents.' The marine pointed out. 'There are practicalities to serve, even in this, and one of them is don't transmit the data. If all goes well it should be too sensitive to send anyway.
Being blown would be a good thing for you; it means that you've done too good a job, done something that sticks out, and a notorious- even an identified- spy isn't much use as a spy any more. You'd have to be returned to a combat command.' The marine said, hastily avoiding the topic of what happens to someone who knows too much.
'I thought you weren't interested in people who were in it for the money?' Raesene said, feeling reluctance slip away. This was a weary, wearing-down business; it was all doable, it was the endlessness of it that corroded. A short, terrible tightrope walk, and done, that appealed.
'At this level, no, a bought agent is never worth the price, but there's justice in rewarding merit. The Empire needs you- in what seems like an extremely strange way, true, but it needs you. Are you willing to do it?'
'Could it be worse than this? A combat command, you say?' Baiting, seeing if he would overplay it. Seeing how much truth there was to this, the more extravagant a promise, the less likely they were to honour it.
'You- and most of the sector group- were overdue for promotion as it was. You would have moved up anyway but for that adverse report- and yes, there are people in senior command with warped senses of humour, as you undoubtedly know by now. I think we can promise the restoration of your career, at least. The rest...we'll have to see how it goes.'
That was actually worryingly moderate. 'I'll do it.' Raesene said, and a second later started wondering why. Find out what was really going on? A bit of that. Not just sit there and let himself be used again, that too. Get a ship, any ship almost. Get out of this damned office.
'Good.' The marine officer smiled. 'The first thing to do is start laying the legend- excuse me, we have to make the defection look right, so there has to be a certain amount of build up. Start getting increasingly grumpy, ill at ease, spout wild theories.'
'Progressively looking more and more like a man ready to defect, I understand- then what?' Raesene said.
'There's going to be a lot of playing it by ear involved, but once we find or arrange a rebel contact, then you snap and bolt. Did I mention that one of the perks of this is that you get to burn down your office?'
The only purpose in my still being here is the stories and the people who come to read them. About all else, I no longer care.
I think my alter ego really likes the perk at the end
"In view of the circumstances, Britannia waives the rules."
"All you have to do is to look at Northern Ireland, [...] to see how seriously the religious folks take "thou shall not kill. The more devout they are, the more they see murder as being negotiable." George Carlin
"We need to make gay people live in fear again! What ever happened to the traditional family values of persecution and lies?" - Darth Wong
"The closet got full and some homosexuals may have escaped onto the internet?"- Stormbringer
I am really quite jealous of you Raesene this is going to be quite the adventure!
ECR yet another great chapter, your capacity for storytelling simply amazes me. I wish I had 1/10th of your skill, then maybe my fic wouldn't have died stillborn. Perhaps you could give me some pointers on how you come up with plots and characters?
"Our Country won't go on forever, if we stay soft as we are now. There won't be any AMERICA because some foreign soldier will invade us and take our women and breed a hardier race!"
LT. GEN. LEWIS "CHESTY" PULLER, USMC
Kartr_Kana wrote:I am really quite jealous of you Raesene this is going to be quite the adventure!
better wait wether "I" survive it before you are jealous
Last edited by Raesene on 2009-10-12 02:35pm, edited 1 time in total.
"In view of the circumstances, Britannia waives the rules."
"All you have to do is to look at Northern Ireland, [...] to see how seriously the religious folks take "thou shall not kill. The more devout they are, the more they see murder as being negotiable." George Carlin
"We need to make gay people live in fear again! What ever happened to the traditional family values of persecution and lies?" - Darth Wong
"The closet got full and some homosexuals may have escaped onto the internet?"- Stormbringer
Commander of the MFS Darwinian Selection Method (sexual)
I'm looking forward to it 
