Rebel Dawn [Dorn Force]

[John Glayde]

Though the smile remained fixed on his face, and his breathing remained calm and relaxed, inside his mind Glayde heaved a sigh of disappointment. Normally, the intimate proximity of an attractive young woman woman would be something to be pleased about; but it really said something about the downturn his life had taken lately when you realised that said woman was only there because she was under orders to find him attractive.

He let his eyes sweep the crowd, military mind analysing the various businessmen, women, and transgendered visitors that were waiting patiently for the tour to begin. Unshakable instincts kicking in, he analysed each of them for threatening behaviour; planned his escape routes, if they needed them. He also felt himself subconsciously chastising local security for the blatant oversights they were making, and almost felt compelled to seek out their Chief and give him the run-down: what kind of supposed specialist could possibly make so many errors and still expect to keep their job?

He had to force himself not to; force himself to remember that every error on their part was an advantage to them. But it took an effort. I guess my brain isn't used to me being one of the 'bad guys', he mused, eyes still roaming.

A string of repulsor cars, tethered together, rumbled to a halt a few meters away. A stirring in the crowd began, as the various people competed with each other to snag the coverted social status of being at the front. Glayde didn't bother; the more inconspicuous they appeared, the easier their task would be. And besides, 'Clark' would much rather settle down and cuddle up with 'Kara', out of the way towards the rear of the group.

"Come on, sweetie," he said with a gentle nudge, aiming them towards the rear-most compartment of the landspeeder train.

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

No sooner than the landspeeder train began to move again with all its passengers on board than a hologram of a woman popped up at the front of each car. And no sooner than it popped up than it began to speak the usual "blahblahblahs" and "Welcome to Frohad Galactic Firearms!" complete with company mission statement and over-exaggerated corporate hoopla. In as few words as she could think of: Cheesy and cheap as hell. Leave it to an Imperial supported company to make things as painful as possible.

As the train moved along through the various areas at a relatively slow pace, Charlotte kept her mind focused as best she could on locations, what order they came up in, what each looked like, what security she could see, what security she couldn't see... All the while trying to keep her mind off of the moderately comfortable position she'd found, tucked against the Major's side with his arm around her. A position she'd actually encouraged and still was with her arm and hand resting on top of his. Force be damned if she'd go and blow this thing on flubbing their cover.

Each time the tour came to a pause in front of an area, she'd wait for any subtle movements coming from Glayde that would signal for them to make a breakaway from the train. And each time she would glance over at the others on the tour, making sure they were far more interested in the displays and the demonstrations, and information than the engaged couple in the back.

[John Glayde]

Glayde was actually paying some attention to the information being provided for them by the hologram woman; or rather, the kind of half-concentration that you paid to the person talking to you, when frankly you were more interested in whatever was going on with the holonet, neighbour's pet, or attractive woman across the street. Apparently, "due to recent terrorist activity", Frohad Galactic had become one of the premier suppliers of firearms for private sector security across the Core Worlds. Glayde couldn't help a quirk of a proud smile at that; he'd been part of the problem that had plagued companies trying to ship in supplies from the Outer Rim to the Core. The smile was son killed however, at the fact that despite their efforts, the Empire was still managing to profit regardless.

His eyes flicked across indicators on the wall, grabbing at enough letters to identify them as they trundled past. An ominous and subtly marked doorway flashed past, tucked away at the end of a short corridor, hidden from view; Glayde tensed, as the train began to slow, coming to rest beside one of the broad transparisteel windows that - according to the tour - would provide them a view of a demonstration of their latest incarnation of the Magna Caster. A subconscious tug in Glayde's gut compelled him to stay and watch: that inshakable, inner child that wanted to watch someone shooting the cool gun. Better judgement kicked the crap out of that impulse however, and dragged it - semi-conscious - out of sight into some dark corner.

Leaning close to Tur'enne, he whispered softly in her ear: "Lets go."

After a quick sweep checking that the coast was clear, Glayde vaulted from the car and landed silently on the metallic floor. He dropped into a crouch, hands holding the repulsor cart steady to stop the vibrations of his exit from attracting any unwanted attention. The hologram seemed unphased by their departure, busy running down a lowdown on the weapon being demonstrated. Glayde held their carriage steady for a few moments longer as Tur'enne disembarked; not a moment too soon, as the energy binders strapping one cart to the next strained, and the entire precession began to head off. Jogging silently as he could, he led the way back the twenty meters to the short corridor they'd passed, and ducked inside.

Back pressed against the passage wall, John glanced quickly in both directions down the main corridor that the tour had been travelling, while Tur'enne crouched down behind whatever security contraptions held the security door sealed. Glayde risked a look in her direction, and found the lump of security equipment both ominous and imposing. "What are we dealing with here, Lieutenant?"

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

"Nothing too serious, sir. Seems in line with the rest of this place, seriously in need of a security overhaul."

Of all the random things she'd been thankful for so far on this little outing, this may have been one of the shining moments. Had this been a proper Imperial facility a proper code, identification, or a damn good false for one input into the security panel would have been the only way to open a door with anything important behind it. Typically any sort of attempts to force the door open would just result in a blast-proof one dropping down behind it.

Though this was far from any Imperial facility, or even a company with secrets worthy of hiding. No doubt BlasTech and it's affiliates had the good sort of doors, it looked like Frohad just wasn't quite there yet. Either that, or they were just very, very good at making it look like they weren't. Charles couldn't help but cringe away from that thought as she pried off the panel and began unwrapping the wiring found behind.

"I know you're doing it...so stop give me that look. If you wanted a proper slicer you should have dragged along Jsorra."

She hadn't bothered to look up at the Major as she shoved the panel into his hands, nor had she when she began sorting through the small bundle of multicolored lines but almost as soon as she finished the comment about the Corporal, a glance was cast at Glayde and she smirked.

"...Though I don't think he looks like your type."

Fiddling wouldn't quite describe what she was doing to the wiring. There was some method to the madness that had been drilled and timed and drilled again enough to the point where she probably could have dealt with it in her sleep, but to the untrained eye it probably looked like she was just playing with the damned things. That was until a spark happened and the inner mechanics warmed up before a split second later, the security door slid open.

"Knew I was good for something."

[John Glayde]

John pondered the possibility of having brought Jsorra instead, and whether the man's insufferable personality would have been the lesser of the two evils in this case. Tur'enne - most of the time - was nothing short of insufferable as well; but she inspired a different kind of frustration in him. Jsorra provoked gruff, irritated retorts that usually shut him up in an instant. Tur'enne on the other hand inspired a desire to retaliate, and that was far more fun.

"Don't be stupid," he muttered, stepping past her to scout the room beyond - a room that was thanfully empty. That could have been awkward. "Turns out you're good at looking pretty and keeping your mouth shut as well." He glanced back to shoot her a thoughtful, sarcastic frown. "Its a shame you don't bother to do either the rest of the time."

Stepping into the room, Glayde scanned the available equipment. Tur'enne was right: she was no slicer, and neither was Glayde, but between them they knew enough for what this mission required. Hopefully. Picking the nearest computer terminal, he settled into place and cracked his knuckles, before delving into his pocket to pull out the computer gizmo that Alliance Intelligence had provided: apparently cabable of exploiting a loophole their would-be defector had worked into the Frohad Galactic firewall. Apparently his access wasn't enough to help them get past the security doors, but it could give them free reign of their computer access.

The prompt for a password rapidly disappeared, replaced with much more friendly screens; success, apparently. He unleashed a stealth sigh of relief, and scrutinised the screen intently, searching for the information required. A sidelong glance spotted Tur'enne hovering close by; a momentary stab of panic shot through his mind, as he frantically searched for an excuse to send her away without it being obvious he was hiding anything from her.

He turned, looking at her squarely. "You gonna just stand around there? How about checking out those security monitors, and keeping an eye out in case anyone is coming?"

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

The look she gave him made up for the absence of desire to tell her superior to go frak himself during a mission. And the sarcasm practically dripping from her next words only added to the unspoken sentiment.

"Just making sure you didn't need any help."

He did have a point though and she knew better than to leave anything to chance so the actual direction given wasn't too bad. As her eyes scanned over the security feeds she found herself severely wanting of a decent sidearm at that moment, just in case things turned bad on them. Hell, she would have settled for a combat blade.

The security guards she had taken note of were still in their same locations, another was on a rather short patrol area down a hall from where they were (she made special note of him, making sure his area of surveillance wouldn't include the office they were in), and a few others were scattered about, some stationary, some moving. She took a little time to watch each one, silently praying to whatever gods there were that the night watch had the same posts.

Other monitors showed the tour route and she was rather pleased to find that the cameras weren't actually very showing of the actual occupants of the cars. Frellin' idiots. Then again, the entire place had a nice calm atmosphere to it, they probably didn't get a lot of "trouble makers" and hadn't seen a real need to up their security to some insane level. No doubt that would change after their little stunt.

"Looks all clear, Major. This going to take much longer? That tour is looking awful close to getting to a stopping point again."

[John Glayde]

Glayde drummed his fingers impatiently on the desk, as a progress bar crawled slowly across the screen. Chunks of data raced from computer into the data module he'd connected up, downloading structural plans, security maps, deployment protocols, shift rotations; everything they'd need to successfully plan an infiltration, find the man they were looking for, and make it out before security had an opportunity to get a bead on them.

He felt sympathy for the man they were trying to rescue. Though a private sector business, the Empire had invested in various aspects of Frohad's R&D, and that - apparently - gave them certain privilages to impose 'security considerations'. That included, as the information scrolling across the screen informed the Major, a small contingent of Stormtroopers who, though classified as 'Security Consultants' and devoid of their usual armour, were quite obviously there to ensure that the researchers on those sensitive projects didn't leave the 'Staff Quarters' in which they were heald. Officially, it was to protect the researchers from being targeted; in truth, it was only there to protect the Empire and their damned secrets and lies.

The indicator finished moving across the screen, and the status display disappeared. Relieved, Glayde grabbed the device, and ripped it free of the data port it had been connected to, and tucked it back into the inner pocket of his jacket. "Got it," he announced, backing out of the operating system, and returning the terminal to its idle state. He turned to Tur'enne, and nodded. "Lets get the hell out of here."

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

"Kriffing brilliant idea, Major. Couldn't have suggested better myself."

A simple 'Yes, sir' would have sufficed but as far as Charles was concerned they had already spent too long in the office. Too long in one spot made for too many chances of getting caught and while they now had the information they needed, if anything went wrong at this point it would be devastating to the plan. Not that...anything going wrong at any other time would be any better, but if she could pinpoint a moment where it would probably be the worst, right now would be it. Unarmed, in a room they couldn't possibly be in if they were who they said they were, downloading information they had no reason to be looking at, unarmed. Yeah, not a good moment.

As much as she would have loved to run back down the tour route, pressed against the wall to keep in that nice little blind spot the cameras had proven to have, and then hopped back into the car they were supposed to be in, there was still one pressing little matter to deal with. The damn security door.

The last thing Charles wanted to do was tip off the security team that something wasn't normal and she was pretty sure Glayde shared that sentiment. So back to the panel she went, putting wires back where they needed to be, making everything all nice and neat and making damn sure to seal the door. There wasn't a reason to tell the Major to keep watch, she wasn't the one to give orders and both of them had more than enough training to make that an agreed upon without a single word passing between them... but it didn't keep her from making the associated hand signals anyway. As she was finishing up the job that strange tense feeling she'd come to loathe and trust on began creeping up on her. Just a few more seconds...just a few more frakkin seconds...

[John Glayde]

Outside, Glayde was a picture of calm professionalism, vigilantly standing watch down the corridor. On the inside however, the story was very different. A last-minute glance at the security screens before they'd departed the room had confirmed that their route was clear, but the delay as Tur'enne halted to tidy up after herself had thrown that intelligence right out of the window. Glayde cursed himself - and her - for not having restored the security door to some semblance of normality immediately, but their mutual haste had made them overlook that countermeasure. That said, there was a certain logic to it, if you looked hard enough: Tur'enne had disabled the locking mechanism, and there was no guarentee that restoring it wouldn't cause the door to lock - sealing them in - or close before they had an opportunity to step through.

In either case, it was too late to complain about it now; Glayde bit down his criticisms, and shifted his position to sweep the opposite direction down the corridor. His gaze settled on the approaching form of a security guard. Damn.

Tur'enne chose that moment to replace the cover on the locking mechanisms, but time was too tight for them to sneak out before they were discovered; and the odds of them going unnoticed in this little corridor - of the guard walking straight past without a glance in their direction - were so dramatically against them that even a Corellian had to pay attention.

As the Lieutenant rose to her feet, then, Glayde initiated the only plan that his mind was able to formulate in such urgency.

He kissed her. Stepping towards her, the proximity of his body pressed her up against the wall, his fingers snaking into the soft and golden strands of her hair as his lips locked with hers. His nostrils flared as her scent danced against his senses; his heart thundered in his chest in anticipation -

"Hey!"

Glayde turned towards the newly-arrived security guard, and did his best to rearrange his features into a look of shock and surprise. Fortunately, his last actions seemed to have provoked the same kind of expression on Tur'enne's features, mixed with a little panic and confusion. Feigning panic of his own, his hand snuck out and ensnared Charlotte's; the gentle squeeze he applied was a non-verbal instruction to the Lieutenant to play along.

Suitably thrown off-balance by the compromising position he'd found the duo in, the Security Guard's tone softened, although only slightly. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Glayde grimaced, sheepishly. "I'm Clark Anders; this is my fiancée, Kara. We -" He hesitated, the intonation of his words and the flow of his body language crafted to perfection. "- we snuck away from the tour to, uhh -"

A glimmer of amusement sparking in his eye - no doubt realising the potential retell value of this annecdote - the guard studied Tur'enne with an appraising eye. "This is a restricted area," he explained, but all the threat from his voice had gone. He fixed Glayde with a look that was a mix of sly and jealousy. His mouth quirked in a smile. "Better get back to the tour before anyone else notices you."

Glayde flashed his most appreciative smile and, without another word, dragged Tur'enne hastily away, back down the corridor in pursuit of the tour.

Safely out of sight of the guard, he ducked behind a pillar that presumably marked the location of a set of blast doors - he'd have to check the plans they'd stolen later to confirm that suspicion - he heaved out a sigh of relief, released Tur'enne's hand, and offered an appologetic "smile. Are you okay?"

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

First came the panic, that blind sense of What the frell is happening? Why is this happening?!; then came the urge to cringe away - from the situation, from the man kissing her, from the wall she was pressed up against, from her own skin, from reality; all followed in hot pursuit to do all manner of unspeakable meanness to the Major.

So when it ended and the security guard began questioning she was silent, cheeks flushed with a deep crimson, breathing erratic, playing right into the part of the embarrassed fiancée perfectly...even if she didn't realize it. She couldn't realize much of anything at that moment.
Hey! There's someone over here!

"I'm Clark Anders..."
The Major's voice was a million parsecs away. Like some sort of reversal of what was true and what wasn't.

Holy...
Hey, hey kid! You awake? C'mon...

"This is a restricted area"

I didn't know they had prisoners in here.
It wasn't in the damn intel, no one knew. Frelling spooks.
So what do we do?

"Better get back to the tour..."

Hey! HEY!...it's okay! It's...okay. No one's going to hurt you!
Sir, we gotta bail. Place is wired to blow.
Come on, kid. You're safe, but you gotta get up.
Frakkin Imperials...
Sir, we need to leave. Now.
Alright, alright. Captain, lead the squad out. We aren't leaving anyone behind.

She was on her feet, being guided, being lead away.

"Are you okay?"

Her eyes closed and reopened slowly. With the single question everything came back into full focus, sharp and brilliant, just like it always was. Frakking hell...since when did dreams decide to start invading waking hours? Force damn it, they better not make her go see a shrink for this dren. The Colonel said he'd make sure she never would have to, but he wasn't calling the shots when it came to her anymore. That was now utterly in the hands of the man in front of her.

"Sir, yes sir..."

There was going to be an expected reaction, and that sort of formality followed by stoic silence wasn't it. She caught on to that almost as quickly as the incident had phased her. Her eyes locked with Glayde's for a moment before the quick strike happened. It wasn't as hard as she would have wanted, that would have left her hand tingling from the impact, but the connection came anyway with a resounding slap that she hoped the guard was far enough away to not hear. Her voice remained hushed despite the apparent need to scream at him.

"Frakkin banthadren cover stories or not, sir. You had no kriffing right! Just...just....ask next time! Before hand if frelling need be!"

The words came out immediately following her hand and once said Charles instantly braced herself for the retaliation. Returned hit, instant telling of charges going to go up against her, at least she couldn't be demoted... Though at this point she wasn't sure what to expect.

[John Glayde]

He didn't recoil from the impact of her hand. It was hardly the first time he'd provoked that reaction from someone, and it was obvious that Tur'enne was holding back some of her full force; why, he couldn't be sure, but the fact that he likely wouldn't be left with a glowing red handprint on his face was a good thing as far as the mission was concerned, he decided not to look this particular gift-nerf in the mouth.

No, her hand hadn't hurt. Unexpectedly however, her words had; or rather, the subtext that came with it. There was a note of pain there, and of betrayal, that clearly went beyond the situation that had just occurred. That gnawed at him, twisting in his chest like a knife to the heart. An appology would be hollow, insufficient; besides, Tur'enne didn't seem like the sort of person who would appreciate being felt sorry for.

His gaze lingered upon her for a moment longer, deeply conflicted, and longing to somehow quell whatever suffering was plaguing her. It surprised him how swiftly this had occurred - how quickly he had adopted her as yet another surrogate for his Sora; another spare sister that kindled his desire to protect and defend. He forced those thoughts to abate and, as his eyes fell away, merely nodded. "Noted," he added simply, turning himself away.

"Come on; lets get back to the tour."

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

Returning to the tour was easy, apparently the security guard had informed the few ahead of him of what he'd discovered already, though none seemed too upset about the two that had wandered off. Charles had managed to push herself back into the mindset of the mission, though finding any further intimate contact with the Major to be awkward at best. It still worked for the cover though, especially considering they'd been "caught."

The rest had been passed in silence between her and her superior. No scathing comments, no mean jabs, no verbal assaults could be made. It was as if the antagonistic side of her had just been worn out. Even the ride back on the CPTN was passed without incident, her mind locked on the important part of this mission as she kept reminding herself that the easy part was what was done.

The Astral Queen was a welcome sight, but an even more welcoming one than that was her large duffel bag carrying her full infiltrator gear and various preferred weapons. She had to leave her favorite rifle at home base, but it wasn't going to be needed for this op anyway. A quick change out of the business casual clothing and into a pair of fatigues instantly suited her as well. Solid colored, she looked like half the other youth of Corellia. The Military and the Navy both were "fashionable", after all.

With the bag containing her gear slung over her shoulder she headed to the mess area of the ship and took residence on one of the seats there, leaning against the bulkhead she pulled a single object from her pocket and let the bag drop to the floor. Nothing to do now but wait a few hours until it began getting dark. Then they'd secure transport back to the city (thankfully not that dreadful public dren) and get this all over with.
Until then... well...

The red, spherical colored small bit of rubber was tossed.
Thu-thunk....smack.

[John Glayde]

Glayde had sequestered himself in the cockpit. It was safer in there; no awkward glances to contend with. In truth he was a little disappointed, used to a somewhat different reaction from women when he kissed them. Granted, the volume of her reaction had been about right; but though it had been a while, he was pretty sure they'd skipped over some fairly important stages in the middle. The first hour - or at least, as much of it as had remained after he'd learned to zone out the dull, repetative thud of whatever it was Tur'enne was doing back there; something he didn't allow his mind to speculate upon - he'd spent complicating the rammifications. Had he perhaps lost his way with women after so long sneaking about on behalf of the Rebellion? A glance at his reflection in the cockpit canopy however, and a reassuring eyebrow quirk and smile at himself set those fears to rest.

The remainder of the time had been spent staring out at the sky, watching the light intensity drop at a painfully slow rate, and wondering how feasable it would be to construct an exact replica of the YT-2000 he was sitting in, perhaps named the Ethereal Prince or something similarly witty like that, so that he didn't keep constantly having to borrow the craft from Amos Iakona.

In the distance, light-dependant sensors atop the artificial lighting on their landing pad unleashed a surge of power through the circuits, bathing the immediate surroundings of the ship with a pale and flickering amber glow. With an effort, he unhooked his heels from the corner of the cockpit console, and eased himself to his feet. His spine crunched as he flexed his shoulders; hopefully just the sign of poor posture in the flight couch, and nothing more sinister. With a grunt, he spurred his legs into motion, ducking as he passed to scoop up his wating duffel bag from beside the door, and propelled himself down the corridor towards the remainder of the ship.

"Wheels up, Ryschcate," he called, as he stepped into the mess, hoping the use of her codename would snap her mind into mission mode without the need to dwell on any of their earlier awkwardness. Before he managed to achieve the same zen state himself however, his mind threw up a question that it wouldn't allow him to leave unasked. "Why do they call you Ryschcate, Tur'enne? Something with a story to it, or just a generic Corellian thing?"

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

It worked like a charm, what had once been a point to give someone a dirty look over now instantly called all senses heightened by training into action. As the ball came back around for another pass her hand reached out, snatching it from the air before quickly shoving it into the bag at her feet. And then came a question that, well, she hadn't ever had to answer before. After all, her last squad had known all about the origins of the nickname turned into code name...they were the ones that had given it to her.

As she stood up, a mild smirk formed at his question. It was a decent enough thing though, Charles decided, getting back to the mission and having something else to take your mind off what had happened was just what she wanted. Well, actually what she wanted was a good stiff drink and the orders to go shoot a plastic soldier of some importance from a nice far away spot where she could then finish her drink before deciding to get up and move on... but that wasn't in the plans for this runabout.

The duffel bag with her equipment was hoisted back to her shoulder as she followed the Major down the ramp.

"Like that isn't fairly obvious? I ran with a bunch of guys who thought it'd be cute to start calling me something obnoxious. Had a few at first: puff cake, pudding, wasaka-berry... For a while they pretty much kept the cutesy dren to when I wasn't in the room. First guy to call me 'Sweetcake' spent two days in the med bay."

Charles couldn't help but smile at the memory. Mostly because the moron of a Lieutenant who had been guilty of the crime had later become one of those who had taken it up as a personal mission to watch her back in bar fights.

As they exited the port their ship was at she slowly walked down one of the alleyways and tossed her bag into the backseat of a landspeeder.

"So one day, we get this new smartass guy, fresh to the rebellion straight from Corellia. He overhears and instantly brings up ryshcates. Some of the guys didn't get it so he had to go and explain the fact it's a damn pastry."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head for a moment, waiting for the Major to follow her lead and deposit his bag before she herself jumped into the vehicle, taking the passenger side and, similar to how she had with the security panel earlier, removed a panel on the underside of the dash and began pulling wires.

"Rodder went so far as to go mention the whole off-world celebration significance and since I hadn't been home since they'd picked me up they instantly all joined in the name. Actually had me laughing the first time they all decided to start calling me it. Guess it just kinda stuck. Kinda always made me think of when I was a kid and my mom would make them...so didn't make me want to smack the dren out of them."

The engines of the landspeeder suddenly fired to life and she looked up at the Major with a half-satisfied smile.

"Guess it really just ended up being some Corellian thing after all."

If asked later she wouldn't be able to tell you why she'd gone off and told the whole damned story. Maybe it just helped to clear her head some more.

[John Glayde]

Glayde quirked the corner of his mouth in aknowledgement of the successful completion of her task. It took some effort not to allow the expression to become carried away, and melt into a mirthful chuckle at the story she had recounted. The tale reminded him somewhat of the origins of his own callsign; one of those things that began as a one-off phrase offered in jest, and then snowballed into something much more.

He allowed a single breath of his laugh to escape, lugging his duffel onto the rear seat of the speeder. "Shuffle over then, sweetcake," he muttered, a glint of mischief in his eye. The stare that Tur'enne countered with could have made a Tauntaun shivver, and those things were used to icy harshness. He made a brief attempt to counter with an expression of resolute determination, but after a few moments buckled, sighed, and conceeded. "Fine," he grunted, heaving himself into the back of the speeder, stepping over and into the passenger seat.

Settling into the number two spot, a wave of discomfort washed over him as his arm - the wrong arm - rested awkwardly on the hull of the craft. The mirrored view of what he was used to seeing was disconcerting and, well, the total absense of flight controls in front of him was down right odd. Glayde had no problem with letting other people fly him places. While competant enough, he didn't have the same passion for it as others did. But driving? There was something about the way the craft responded to your commands - and about only having to worry about two dimensions, without the ever-present risk of dropping out of the sky and impacting with the ground if any of a plethora of things went wrong - made him feel relaxed, and at peace. First time he'd taken a speeder out across the wilderness, he'd finally understood why fathers so often obsessed with the pointless past-time of "going for a drive".

No: when it came to flying, Glayde could happily sit and watch someone else at work. But watching someone else drive a speeder - especially one that you weren't expected to leap out of the back of, wielding a blaster - felt wrong; felt perverse; felt awkward as hell.

He forced a calming breath through his lips. "Take it steady, okay? We don't want to go getting ourselves arrested." He hesitated, the knot of discomfort twisting in his stomach. He glanced across at Tur'enne, whose small and slight frame and youth chiqué outfit made her seem like some kind of pre-teen joyrider. His eyebrows twitched, nervously. "Or killed."

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

The look given to the Major had warmed, no longer meant to cause sudden death but intimidation of a different sort. Pure mischief showed, glimmering in her eyes as well.

"What? Don't want to see if CorSec's up to taking down some car thieves?"

There was a strong urge to see just how fast the speeder could accelerate, what it's top maintainable speed could be, what sort of horrified expressions she could get out of Glayde. Even somewhere in the back of her mind wondered if mentioning her uncle's name could still get her out of trouble with the average member of Corellia's law enforcement. He wasn't one of the big names, but her mother's brother had carried a certain weight of respect with at least the local group where she'd grown up. Wouldn't that be a fun little reunion. "Uncle! It's been forever hasn't it? Look, I was going to return it, we were just borrowing the speeder to test out its condition. Or, you know, to help move forward some terrorist plans. Whatever reason you rather go with."

Yeah...that wouldn't go over so well. With a sigh of determination to, well, not muck up the plans, the speeder moved (at a reasonable, but not too reasonable pace... there was no need to look like they were purposely trying to avoid attention either), heading back to the City.

"So what'd those plans let on to you? This going to be a simple snatch and dash job or we expecting heavier security? Oh please tell me they have some deal with their cohorts and will have a few whitehats for us to rid the verse of."

[John Glayde]

Glayde felt a tug of frustration at the derogatory term that Tur'enne cast in his direction. It had been years since he'd served the Empire - longer since he'd been classified as a whitehat member of the Stormtrooper Corps - but still the term tugged at him. He loathed himself for his misplaced loyalties to the Imperial regime, the knot of regret for the actions he had performed on their behalf twisting in the pit of his stomach. Worse still, he'd shrugged off the white duraplast armour of a Stormtrooper, only to don the matt black armour of a Storm Commando; as a black hat, he'd been party to some morally reprehensible actions, when viewed through the lens of hindsight.

Granted, he'd come to see the truth for himself, and had chosen desertion and exile rather than continue with the charade. But it did make him wonder, every time he encountered fellow Stormtroopers in combat: how many of those soldiers were good but misguided men, whose only indiscression was ignorance? And how many of them might have made the same choice, if they had been given the chance to percieve the same truths as he?

He pushed those thoughts aside. "Whitehats in drag," he replied to Tur'enne's question. "They'll be unwrapped, in the guise of security consultants, but we're gonna have professionals shooting back at us, if it comes to that. Which is why -" He shot her a sidelong glance; his hand snapped out and grabbed the edge of the landspeeder as she turned a little more aggressively at an intersection than he would have preferred. The sinking feeling of panic rose up through him again; he squashed it down as best he could. "- I brought my expert infiltrator, to get us in without being noticed."

Eyes roaming the seating well in the speeder's design, he selected a non-descript scuff on the dashboard, and chose it as his point of focus. Eyes locked on there he concentrated on zoning out everything else that was going on; that way, at least he wouldn't see his inevitable death coming.

"Our target is being held in a residential annex to the compound. Seems like the researchers are working on something big for the Empire, hence all the extra security to stop people, well -" He smiled a little at the irony. "- trying to sneak in and do exactly what we're trying to do."

He reached into the combat coveralls he wore, and dug out a datapad; jabbing a finger into appropriate areas of the device, he managed to conjure a map of this particular region of the Coronet outskirts, and a flashing indicator of their current position on the screen. He paused for a moment, mentally calculated the icon's motion relative to the display, and then counted out thirty seconds under his breath. "Next left," he instructed.

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

The comment about her being an expert would have been mused over, mentally argued with, and finally laughed at...if it wasn't for the fact Charles was trying to shake off the fact she could swear she saw the Major flinch at her comment, even though she hadn't looked over at him. It was like some sort of mental image she couldn't brush off like it never happened. Frakin stress...pre-mission nerves... She rationalized it quickly as not being able to take that actual chunk of time out to mentally prepare herself. Everyone had their little rituals and the whole kriffing thing that had happened earlier had rattled her enough to make it so her routine couldn't go through like normal. Too damn bad, Charles. This aint basic and you're supposed to be a frakking 'expert'. Mental battle aside, she took in all what Glayde was saying, nodding her head in understanding.

With the Major's directions she guided the landspeeder back to Frohad Galactic Firearms' facility, letting the vehicle come to a stop a block away. Primarily in an industrial area, the streets were for the most part empty. A few lingering workers, a small handful of streetwalkers looking to give them entertainment for the evening, perhaps a few spice dealers... no one noteworthy (though each was taken into careful consideration, eyed for any odd movements)... more importantly, no one that would take notice of anyone else unless they had a prior mind to do so.

The duffel bag in the back of the speeder was grabbed for as Charles opened it and began to suit up to turn the simple set of fatigues into more proper combat attire, adding a belt here, gloves there, blaster and its holster strapped to one leg, combat blade to the next. As she began spinning the helmet in her hands she glanced back over the Glayde.

"First lock shouldn't be an issue, higher security is kept for deeper in. Though judging by how well they guarded those readouts you have, I'd say this should be a frakkin cakewalk. Only problem I can really see meeting is if they've got those damn scientists sharing bunks. If our man is the only one wanting to go, any others might get the nerve to call us out..."

A deep breath was taken as her head shook slightly.

"Understand it's our duty to do our best to avoid that happening..." Charles paused. "But I need to know if we're really looking at the possibility of civilian casualties here, sir."

[John Glayde]

Watching Tur'enne accessorising her combat gear was like waiting for a woman in a department store. What seemed like a fairly simple and straight-forward process - like, say, heading in to by a new set of work slacks because you snagged your previous pair breaking in to your appartment because you lost your keys - generally extended into an activity that lasted for hours. And why was it that women always chose the most awkward and uncomfortable places to leave their male companions standing? No matter how disinterested you looked, how laiden down with shopping you were, and how obvious it was that you were there with the woman standing not two feet away, everyone else in the store looked at you like you were some sort of pervert, because you were lingering around amongst the lingerie.

He sighed, dumping his now-empty duffel under the rear seat. "That's why they invented a stun setting, Lieutenant," he muttered. The blaster carbines he'd requisitioned from the quartermaster back at headquarters were ex-Imperial issue, and the Empire generally liked to be able to take its prisoners alive on occasion; they needed to cycle a certain number of suspects per annum, just to justify all of the money they'd invested in those damned interrogation droids.

"First thing's first though," he added, pulling the pistol from his hip, and checking it over briefly. Satisfied, he shoved it back into its holster. The tone of his voice suddenly changed as he tugged the helmet onto his head, and secured the combination communicator and breathing apperatus across his jaw. A dull click sounded in his ears as the vox kicked in, responding to each of his words. Glancing down, he checked the readout on the comm unit on his belt; a secure frequency, with scrambling enabled. He grabbed the carbine, and tossed it casually over his shoulder; the lopsided smile on his face was hidden behind the mask. "Lets go to work."

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

As she put her helmet on, Charles was glad that the communicator wasn't automatically on. There was enough tension between the two that she didn't think the Major would take kindly to the small string of curses, a mocking of his mentioning the stun setting, as well as a few other choice opinions that were leaving her. Lot of good a stun setting does when they can report back that it was 'those frakkin terrorists' that came and kidnapped their buddy. She was forcing herself to remember that most civilians in this case were just 'wrong place, wrong time' type of folks, that most had no real loyalties to the Empire. But hell, at sixteen she'd known the difference between right and wrong and had chosen a side...what the Frak was wrong with everybody else?

A storm of thoughts and yet some part of her was entirely focused. Somewhere along the line she'd responded to the Major with a "Yes, sir." and had moved along with him towards a side door of the building. It was with that same almost seemingly automated precision that the door's code was cracked. Despite their communications being secure, Charles was moving on quickly to following rules that had been drilled into her brain. "We are Shadows. We don't exist. We don't make noise. We are not seen. We do not fail." Right...

The carbine was held at the ready as she stepped inside, yes, making sure it was on stun. Frakker.