The Chase Begins

[Grace Van-Derveld]

The Rebellion was still licking it wounds after the Battle of Endor. Small attachments of support vessels, including one Mon Calamari Cruiser, were several jumps away from the rendezvous point. Most of the crew wandered the ship in a daze at the heavy casualties suffered. Many heroes had perished, notably General Solo and Calrissian and regrettably, Princess Leia Organa. Reports had been coming in that even Luke Skywalker did not escape the Death Star and was killed.

It was a time of regrouping and evolving. The Rebel Alliance was not dead. New life would be breathed into its smoldering embers and burn brightly once more. Those that have died for the cause would not have done so in vain. They gave their lives for freedom and until that goal is achieved, the Rebel Alliance would never be defeated.

Grace watched several X and Y-wings practice on the deck of the Redemption, clinging to that hope. It was one of the rare times you would find her in the plain Alliance uniform. What few markings were on her designated Grace as a member of Rebel Intelligence.

"Ma'am?"

She snapped to attention, turning around with her arms crossed. Long brown hair graced her shoulders and her dark eyes lit up in curiosity to the young Private standing nearby. Normally, others stirred cleared of her. Her job consisted of all the dirty work that was necessary for the Alliance to exist and wasn’t discussed. Respected within the ranks because of the risks she took, she was also isolated from her comrades. A life Grace had expected and held no regrets. "What is it?"

"A transmission was received from base." He extended a datapad for her perusal. "Orders were specific. This was to be given to you."

Upon taking the datapad, he saluted and returned to his station as Grace keyed in her access code. The new orders were disturbing and she blanched. "Oh dear.”

Already her mind was calculating the best course of action as she pointed to one of the Communications Officer, “You there, Ensign."

A Sullustan turned around at his station and looked at the operative, waiting for orders.

"Get Belargic on the comm and tell him to meet me in the situation room ASAP." She took one last look at the orders and switched them off. "May the Force be with us.”

[Dasquian Belargic]

Many men and women of the Alliance would have liked time off from their duties to gather their thoughts and adjust to the news that they had just received. The death toll at the Battle of Endor was vast, encompassing people from soldiers to medics, from all walks of life and species. Yet in spite of this all, very little changed aboard the Mon Calmari Cruiser Redemption. Just as before, there were jobs to be done. For the time being at least, all emotion was suppressed. The Alliance needed their wits and composure about them – and none exemplified this more than Chief Intelligence Operative Dasquian Belargic. He arrived at the briefing room moments after he had been called by one of the bridge deck Ensigns. Therein, Grace Van-Derveld was waiting. She wore a troubled expression. Evidently, something else had gone wrong. Dasquian suspected it might have something to do with the data pad she was turning over, anxiously, in her hands.

“I have a feeling I’m not going to like what you have to tell me, Grace.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Within the year that the two of them had worked with one another, a solid foundation for trust had been built as well as a notorious reputation for getting the mission done regardless of anything. High Command had given the pair this mission for that very reason because they could be trusted to make a difficult decision if it came down to it. Grace was praying it wouldn't but there were no guarantees in their line of work.

"No." She stopped turning the datapad and handed it over with a stern expression. "You won't. We've been given one helluva an assignment."

She strode around the long table and cued up Star's End Penitentiary on Mytus VII on the holo-monitor while Dasquian read the report.

[Dasquian Belargic]

What the report detailed was nothing short of a catastrophe. Over the past months, the Rebel Alliance had developed contacts within the scattered network of Jedi Knights across the galaxy. One such contact was a Jedi by the name of Zabian. He, like others, had been entreated with knowledge of various Rebel locations and such like. However unlike others, Zabian had been aware of key details involving the Alliance’s movements around Endor. To hear that he was in prison was very troubling indeed. The capture of a Jedi was the kind of news that spread fast.

“It won’t be long before the Imperials catch wind of this. We’ve got to get to Star’s End.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"Agreed." The holo-monitor closed in on the details of the prison. Grace was leaning over the table assessing the weak points in the guard structure. A break in didn't seem plausible and they couldn't risk being caught. "Command is moving what they can of the fleet right away. Unfortunately with how badly we were hit, most of the ships are going to be sitting targets if Zabian talks. It is unknown how long repairs are going to take. In some cases they are still assessing damages."

She pushed herself off the table and gave Belargic a side long glance. "We have to make sure he doesn't talk. Regardless."

A knowing agreement of silence passed between them and then it was back to business.

"Security's tightly held by the Espos." Small green circles appeared over the hologram, listing entrances into the facility. Other checkpoints where listed along the right side when entering the system. "And because the location of Star's End is on the tip of the known galaxy and surrounded by an asteroid belt, we need to leave immediately. Time is not on our side."

She stroked her chin, mulling over options. Neither were going to help expediate matters. "If we're to enter on good terms, we need to have a tight story with what our business is with the Corporate Sector or they won't let us inside. Trying to sneak in is almost moot with the picket fleet watching the border."

[Dasquian Belargic]

“Conning our way into the prison won’t be easy,” Dasquian replied, as he studied the chart that was flickering in front of them. Various stock photographs of the penal colony flashed at its edges, whilst the map itself rotated and shifted to different angles.

“Mytus VII is nothing more than one giant cage. There’s very little business we could have with them.”

It was a tricky situation. The last thing they needed was to ruffle the feathers of the Corporate Sector Authority. Although they had once held an alliance with the Republic, the events of the Clone Wars had drawn the leaders of the faction into a fragile union with Count Dooku and his Separatists conglomerate. Palpatine had given them complete control over their sector, in such that they were beyond the laws of the New Order, creating their own codes of conduct. Slave laborers and cut-throat businessmen, the CSA had never been fond of the Jedi – in fact their loyalties usually lay wherever the most credits where to be found.

Dasquian frowned. “We may be able to pass ourselves off as investors, potential sponsors.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"I wonder," she brought her hand down and stared into the holo-image of the prison, causing the blue and green lights displayed to dance off her hazel eyes. "Since we're going to be saving one of our own, a Rebel Spy, let us get in by another unlikely method."

She cued up the liaison office of the Empire with a sheepish grin, "The Corporate Sector keeps their good relations with the Imperials through an Advisor. The office is small, but it is known that the Empire sends other members of the committee for inspections. They do anything asked to keep control of their sector."

The plan was slowly evolving within her mind and being spoken as each thought was formed. "We arrive, wishing to see if any new prisoners have been processed within the last, oh say, four months. The Rebel Sympathizers have become so desperate to avoid capture, that they are even willing to risk jumping the border into Corporate Space. Such behavior would land more then one of them in Star's End because of violating border laws."

It was uncanny how Grace shifted her posture and tone when creating a new persona. The change was fluid and almost instantaneous as she adopted a Balmorrian accent. Rather disconcerting to most, but a quirk of Grace's that her partner was quite used to. "We are merely offering our services to remove such vile scum from their prison. Clears up some space to make processing easier for new arrivals and perhaps saves a bit on the cred account."

Her voice returned to normal and she looked to Dasquian for approval, "If this is doable, we would need official orders and ID's drawn up."

[Dasquian Belargic]

It was times like these that Dasquian was reminded why the Rebellion had been so eager to recruit Grace. She had a knack for thinking outside of the box. On more than one occasion her Imperial upbringing had provided an excellent source for imitation. She had attended Corulag academy, spent time around both officers – her parents – and ground troopers – her brother and fellow students. It made her all the more skilled in playing the part.

“A formality,” Dasquian waved a hand in dismissal.

“One of our double agents will see to acquiring the relevant details. It shouldn’t take long… although I do suspect that the CSA will require more than just our help in removing the prisoner for their presence. They’ll be expecting a reward for having caught him in the first place.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"Of course," she chuckled. "CSA greed rivals that of the Empire. I'm sure it will be a formality as well," she mimicked her superior briefly. "One of our slicers can create a junk account that can be verified as Imperial in origin easily."

Substantial progress had been made now and Grace felt her nerves beginning to unwind, though Belargic couldn't tell the difference in her at all. "Considering the urgency of this, I presume that the Alliance will be forthcoming. A sizable reward will be necessary but do you think we have the means with all the repairs, Dasquian?"

[Dasquian Belargic]

“I should think so. Failure to rescue Zabian could result in even more catastrophic losses for the Alliance. The mind of a Jedi is a difficult thing to break, but it’s not impossible. We can’t gamble on his being able to resist interrogation.” As an afterthought, Dasquian added: “If worse comes to worst, we can use some of the Intel departments budget. I know that the boys in R&D were hoping for more funding for their new communications developments, but I think for at least for the time being any future projects can be put on hold for the sake of the Alliance.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"I hope it doesn't come to that." Grace started to power down the holo-monitor button by button. "But our losses were heavy. They might filter that money towards repairs and rightfully so."

Star's end flickered out of existence and she threw her partner a devious look, "Fortunately it's your job to get our plan approved ... as well as the credits."

An unenviable task. One that Grace always teased him about. Bureaucrats were the same, regardless of the cause. Even Rebel Intelligence had red tape to cut.

[Dasquian Belargic]

This was possibly his least favorite part of his job. As far as he was concerned, if something needed to be done, it needed to be done. The members of Rebel Intel had enough collective experience and knowledge to know when the costs of a plan were outweighed by the benefits. However, as much as he disliked it, Grace was right. With a knowing sigh, Dasquian stepped in front of the video communications unit.

“Computer, patch me through to the governing committee.”

A moment passed, the computer bleeping as it tried to open a channel. Eventually, the committee answered. A flickering blue image of an extremely flustered looking man appeared. Even before the man had begun to speak, Dasquian could hear the arguing voices of others.

“Make it quick, Belargic.”

Evidently, the board was already in session over the losses sustained at Endor, and by the looks of things in the middle of quite a heated debate. Typically, requests for funding were given weeks, even months, to be discussed; however, in times in crisis an immediate decision was required. This all amounted to a lot of pressure, pressure that the members of the committee were not used to.

“Gladly... I don’t want to alarm you all, but Zabian Bal-Wandler has been captured.”

The uproar in the board chamber subsided momentarily, before erupting once more.

“Agent Van-Derveld and I would like permission and the funding to execute a rescue mission. As you know, the Empire have an open bounty on all Jedi. We intend to pose as Imperial agents, using one of our slicers to fabricate an bank account that will allow us to buy Bal-Wander from the CSA – at the price of the aforementioned bounty.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

She knew they had heard his request but decided upon more debate and yelling instead of answering him outright. This was going to take awhile regardless and Grace slipped into a chair next to Belargic to watch the proceedings.

Poor Dasquian's posture said it all. He was being patient but she watched his fingers flex repeatedly that told the real story. Grace tried to focus her attention to bits and pieces of the conversations. It was difficult and giving her a headache, mainly because of the screaming.

"WE CANNOT DO THIS! OUR SHIPS..."

"If he talks. Jedi are strong willed..."

"But he got caught!! The Empire knows no boundaries. They'll be relentless after Endor to finish what they started!"

"We won as well. Our losses were terrible, but the Death Star is inoperable..."

"But for how long? And I bet a new shield generator for that battle station will be a priority. What then?"

Grace swiveled in her chair to face away from the committee, rolling her eyes at Belargic. Already they had forgotten about him standing there.

A strong voice cut through the bickering. Mon Razien, Mon Mothma's protégé, cut through the heart of the matter. He had been quiet since the communication, but his presence silenced all. A native of Chandrila, he was another of this galaxy's youth to have grown up far too quickly because of the war. His eyes showed wisdom twenty years his senior. "This bickering is pointless. Our ships will be repaired and moved as soon as it is possible. Our techs are working around the clock to see this done. As for Bal-Wandler, it would be foolish to put our entire faith in him and his power. The Jedi have always been our allies but they are not infallible."

There were murmurs of agreements.

"If he talks before our ships are capable of space flight, our hallow victory will be our last. We should let our agents proceed for the cost will be far greater then the credits we allow."

[Dasquian Belargic]

As always, the diplomatic voice of Mon Razien was a ray of light in an otherwise stormy horizon. His words quickly silenced the other board members.

“It’s settled then,” Dasquian smiled.

“Have the credits transferred before morning. We’ll have Zabian back in Alliance custody before you know it… Belargic out.”

Before any further protests could be made, the communication link was cut. Dasquian hadn’t suspected that they would be denied funding, but still felt accomplished none the less. Now it was only a matter of having their slicer get to work. That could all be arranged while they were on route to Mytus VII, of course. Getting to his feet, he felt a hint of adrenaline beginning to surge through his body. He looked to Grace and grinned.

“My ship or yours?”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace's brows waggled sheepishly, "If I didn't know you better, Belargic, I'd swear you were coming on to me."

A laughed heartily came and she got to her feet. The look on her partner's face was priceless. "Come on. Let's head to your ship." She wandered out of the situation room. "It has to be fully repaired by now since the incident on Ryloth."

[Dasquian Belargic]

The ship in question was a modest looking YT class affectionately named the Doppelganger. Though this was not the vessels initial title, it had gained its nickname on account of the many times it had been rebuilt and repainted. It had been everything from a smugglers stowaway to an Imperial ambassadorial escort. Initially, the ship had only been reused on more than one occasion because Dasquian simply had no other options – yet over time he had come to think of it as bringing him good luck.

“I thought we’d agreed never to mention that again,” Dasquian countered, with a laugh. “After all, I wasn’t the one who piloted it into the belly of a space slug, now, was I?”

The hangar bay was much emptier than usual. Dasquian suspected this was because the majority of the fighters usually kept on board were still dealing with the aftershock at Endor. The Doppleganger sat snuggly between an out of commission X-wing, currently being worked on by a large Wookiee armed with a hydro-spanner, and a captured Imperial shuttle, partially dismantled. One of the engineers nodded in greeting as he saw the two Agents approaching.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"Pfft," she scoffed back, "I got us away from the Imperials, who failed to identify us as I recall. That slug saved our life."

The deck engineer chuckled softly at the two agents, who were entertaining during this sad time.

Belargic lowered the ramp to the Doppleganger and allowed Grace to board first. "First stop is Bel's I presume? I can provide him with the appropriate markings again."

[Dasquian Belargic]

Within a matter of minutes, the ship’s engines were firing to life. It hissed into the air, moving smoothly out of the hangar, and beyond the shields.

Like many others, the man that Grace spoke of was part of an extensive and intricate web of contacts cultivated by the Alliance since the rise of the Emperor. Not all those who opposed Imperial rule had the gall, or even simply the capacity, to devote themselves entirely to the Alliance, for any number of reasons. This didn’t stop them, however, from aiding the cause.

Bel did this by providing a number of useful skills. First and foremost, he was a mechanic. With a keen eye and a steady hand, he was well known amongst Alliance members. To Dasquian and Grace, he was invaluable. It was his handiwork that had turned the Doppelganger from one ship to another.

Looking out of the main view port, at the desolate sky, Dasquian found thoughts of the battle at Endor creeping into the back of his mind. He had the feeling that the guilt and grief over the battle hadn’t quite settled in yet, for him or for anyone. He sighed somewhat and shook his head, casting the thought away. Now was not the time.

“It’s been a while since I saw old Bel,” Dasquian commented off hand, as he tapped in the co-ordinates for the shady planet known as Euceron. “We’ll just have to hope he hasn’t landed himself in prison again.”

The ship trembled somewhat and then, in a pulse of light, vanished – cutting into the ether of hyperspace.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

The trip wasn't too long to enter Euceron sector, but there was ample time for the two of them to take a short nap. It was Grace's turn to watch over the Doppelganger systems while Dasquian slept.

We should be arriving out of ... The red warning light lit up as if on cue. Hyperspace soon.

She hit the intercom switch, "Time to wake up, Belargic. We're here."

Strapping herself into the pilot's chair, she began checking over the system readouts, making sure the sensors were at their maximum range. Last thing they needed were any surprises.

The hiss of the cockpit door signaled her partner's arrival. "We're exiting now."

Instantly, the stars compressed into tiny bright specks outside. They were in normal space again. "Bel should be about twenty minutes away. Shouldn't be long."

A warning light flashed from the sensors. "Oh hell."

Her attention snapped to ten o'clock out in front. Four tiny dots were moving towards their position. Imperial TIE fights, Interceptors by the silhouette. "I purposefully brought us out of hyperspace just inside the border of Euceron space to avoid Imp ships. Oh just lovely."

One of the Interceptors were hailing them. She opened a channel.

Unknown vessel. You are to power down and prepare to be boarded by issue of Martial Law. All ships are to go through checkpoints when entering or leaving this space. Waiting for confirmation

"Dasq," she swallowed the lump in her throat. "Did I just hear that correctly?"

[Dasquian Belargic]

Having arisen from his sleep somewhat groggily, Dasquian received another rather alarming wake up call – as he stepped onto the bridge to see the shapes of four Interceptors advancing on the Doppleganger. Dejected, he heaved a sigh.

“Blast it. Of all the luck…”

Casually rubbing his chin in thought, Dasquian watched as the ships drew nearer – and made a snap decision. There ship was, as of yet, unmarked. The Imperial vessel had no way of knowing that they were linked to the Alliance. This allowed for the Agents to employ aggressive negotiations without any fear of repercussions.

“You know how to pilot this thing, Grace,” he called over his shoulder, disappearing away from the cockpit to the gun turrets. “Prepare to engage. Evasive tactics.”