Eye for an Eye

[Vansen Tyree]

Historian's note: this thread takes place before the Valiant was assigned to The Wheel, and is "several" weeks after the events of the Liberation of Bothawui.

* * *

Vansen rose stiffly from the bench in the aft of the shuttle, muttering internally in reassurance that it was the lengthy transit that was responsible, and not his age. Despite the fact that Admiral Reshmar's fleet had since departed to renew its campaign against the Empire, the local forces here at Bothawui had been bolstered by the Fifth: a collection of reserve ships that was currently being reinforced with ships seized and captured from the Imperials during the battle, to bring it up to fighting strength.

Someone had kindly volunteered that Captain Tyree and his forces remain in the sector for now, aiding in the defense against border skirmishes with Imperials looking to regain the territory they had lost, and opportunistic raids by pirates and other factions, who no doubt hoped to exploit the sector in what they percieved to be a weakened state. Bitterly, he suspected that blasted Bothan, Oruo'rel had somehow been involved in the decision; and it hardly seemed an appropriate use of Vansen's equipment or experience; but orders had come from on high, and Vansen was forced to - grudgingly - comply.

His one good eye squinting as the Bothan sun pierced the clouds to assault his face, he peered arround the plaza onto which his shuttle had landed; fortunately, he'd managed to secure priority clearence to land direct at his destination, saving him the trip in one of those deathtrap Gunships they'd used to ferry the flesh-droid Clone Troopers around in back in the war.

Ahead of him loomed yet another of the sickeningly garish and over-designed Bothan buildings; given how his path was channelled towards it by the placement of guards and half-dismantled barricades, he suspected this was the Intergalactic Trade Mission: an alleged diplomatic building that was in fact a front for the infamous Bothan Spynet. Vansen grunted, musing that it was a shame he hadn't been coordinating the ground element of the assault on the planet: he'd have nuked the building irregardless of its function, purely for the crime of being so damned ugly.

"Captain Tyree?"

The call for his attention dragged Vansen's mind away from his disgruntled reverie. He turned, eyes settling on a young Bothan officer who he did not recognise, nor care to. He had nothing against Bothans: rather, his problem with young officers. He'd hated them when he was one, and so enbittered by the fact that he'd been forced to live through that ordeal, he had determined to make every other JO he encountered suffer for it, to give them the opportunity to sprout some common sense, like he had.

Not verbally aknowledging the Bothan at all, he merely offered a curt nod. That seemed enough for him; "If you'll follow me please, sir," he responded politely, turning smartly on his heel and disappearing up the path towards the Mission, his speed at a pace that was ever so slightly uncomfortable for the old man to match.

A brief smile cracked on Vansen's face, in recognition of what he took to be a subtle act of completely deniable revenge against him. Smart kid.

The Bothan led Vansen through a maze of corridors that he knew he'd never escape from without direction, depositing himself in the midsts of a series of offices before retreating back into the labyrinth. A hand scrubbed at Vansen's jaw, his eye in turn scrutinising the aurebesh lettering stensilled onto each door.

Subdirector of Fleet Intelligence.

That looked like a pretty viable candidate. Taking a moment to tug down the front of his jacket, he drew in a breath, and depressed the chime.