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Thread: Rescue Mission: Birdsong

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    Rescue Mission: Birdsong

    Three months Ago

    Estelle's footsteps echoed on the polished linoleum of the corridor as she paced evenly toward the Rebel Alliance Intel boardroom. She had been summoned from her quarters by a starchy, unsmiling messenger not ten minutes before and her heart had been thudding in her chest ever since. Not that to look at her one would know.

    Estelle had all but completed her training with the Rebel Alliance. The few who knew her upon her initial arrival would hardly recognize the serious girl that now walked the hallway of Rebel Headquarters. The easy smile and friendly charm that had formerly identified her had been replaced by a reserved and oftentimes impenetrable politeness. She was not a person easy to get to know. She was not the person she had been nine months ago.

    The boardroom itself was more impressive in name than in actuallity. The sliding doors drew open before her to reveal a sterile room centered with a large steel table. This was surrounded by approximately ten metal chairs, a white board with pointer and a holovid projector built into the ceiling directly overhead. It was obvious this was a room where the occupants did not linger idly or pass long hours sitting in banal conversation. It was hard and to the point, as were the conversations and deliberations which took place here. This was a room of business and decision making. A place where battles were planned, costs weighed and lives held in balance every bit as much as in the field.

    Estelle was the first to arrive. She stood awkwardly for a moment, folding and unfolding her arms and shifting from one foot to the other. Then she took a seat, where she felt even more awkward sitting alone at such a large table.

    She took to her feet once again and walked around the room looking at everything and nothing. She checked her chrono. She was a bit early.

    The sliding doors swished open, and the rookie rebel Intel operative stood to attention.

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    “At ease, Agent Russard.”

    Dasquian Belargic smiled disarmingly. Though he carried the title of Director of Intelligence, he certainly didn't feel it necessary that his operatives treat him as any more than an equal. While the commanders of the Empire might have needed the ego-boost, Dasquian craved no such praise.

    Followed by his long-time partner in crime, Grace Van-Derveld, Belargic sat down at the conference table and motioned for Estelle to do the same, so that the two veterans sat opposite the rookie agent. Dasquian had a datafile under his arm, which he laid on the table for the time being.

    “Tell me... what do you know about the planet Spindrift?”

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    Estelle took her seat obediently, acknowledging Dasquian's "at ease" command with a professional nod, then greeted Grace with a more relaxed smile. Estelle was comfortable around Grace - the assistant director having originally recruited Russard and, more personally, had been a strength to the young rebel during the days following James' death.

    But Estelle had had very little interaction with Dasquian thus far, and despite his easy going manner, she still felt unfamiliar and awkward. So, it was with an effort to appear informed that Estelle responded, taxing her memory for what little she knew of the planet Spindrift.

    "It is located in the Riso sector, western Mid-Rim. Not much there I believe. I think the Imperials have a communuications relay outpost there."

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    Grace nodded and leaned back comfortably in her chair. "You are correct. The Empire does have an outpost there. Mainly to send data back and forth between the core and outer rim territories. The relay station is not our primary concern. One of the civilian workers is.”

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    "A civillian?"

    The question was clear in her voice.

    "Something the Alliance needs get involved with?"

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    “Right. This civilian is a mechanic... an Alliance sympathizer who has been feeding us information about the station's activity for some time now. He was due to rendezvous with one of our contacts in the area a couple of days ago, but didn't show up for the meeting. Unfortunately, he's been captured. The Imperials are holding him in preparation for transfer to an interrogation facility. We need to get to him before he's shipped off world, or we risk not only losing a valuable informant but the possibility that – under pressure – he might crack and spill details about the Rebellion.”

    This said, Dasquian sat forward. “We want you to intercept his transfer.”

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    "Yes, sir"

    Estelle's reply was concise. A different response from the swirling thoughts and apprehensions that were triggered in her head at Dasquian's statement.

    What she really wanted to say was, "Me? Are you sure?" A lot was at stake, the man's life least of all, to entrust to a green operative fresh out of training. But she was wise enough to not voice such misgivings. If the request was made of her, she knew it had been made with deliberate forethought by her superiors. She was at once thrilled and terrified at the challenge Dasquian and Grace had put to her.

    She responded as a professional - just as she had been trained.

    "Do we have any word on the man's physical condition? And of the type of facility where he is currently being held?"

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    With the months of intensive training that Estelle had been put through, it had become increasingly difficult to gauge the Agent's emotions. Yet Grace saw that slight flicker of her friend's eye to indicate her surprise that she was chosen for this mission. Her nerves were bundles of emotional highs and lows.

    "For now he is being held at the relay outpost. They have a small detention cell for short-term usage and as far as we can tell, he's in good health. For now."

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    She absorbed the information from Grace.

    "Will it be a team retrieval, or do I go alone?"

    Estelle did not want to ask her next question, but knew she could not complete her mission without knowing the answer.

    "...And, if the package proves unobtainable, is there an order to neutralize this threat to security?"

    Each one in the room understood exactly what that statement meant.

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    It was with a grave familiarity that Dasquian replied: “Yes. The security of the Rebellion is paramount.” This said, Dasquian slid forward the datafile on the tabletop. It contained a dossier on the Alliance's contact, as well as some reports on the relay station, the planet it was based upon and some of the senior members of staff in charge of the outpost. “At this moment in time we don't have the resources to send a full team to Spindrift, so you will be going it alone... we have the utmost confidence in you, Agent Russard.”

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    Lifting the datafile, Estelle stood up from the table. Her orders were clear. It was do, or die for the alliance informer and the young rebel felt the weight of the task in the slim disk now held in her hand.

    "Will there be anything else, sir?"

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    "That will be all, Agent."

    Dasquian stood, nodding briskly.

    "May the Force be with you."

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    May the Force be with you ..Yes, she sure hoped it would be.

    Taking her leave from Dasquian and Grace, Estelle went directly back to her quarters to study the dossier and familiarize herself with its data. It would not be long before she found herself on Spindrift and the knowledge gleaned here would be put to good use.

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    Planet Spindrift - Imperial Communication Relay Station ST90
    0100 hours

    There was a storm rolling in. The rumbling clouds overhead were heavy with moisture and looked precariously suspended against the night sky. The pending downpour would hold off a little while, however- it did not yet smell like rain. Very few stars were to be seen, if any, and there was a strengthening wind that rattled the trees around the station perimeter, shaking leaves in sporadic gusts. For most folks, it was not a desirable night to be out. For a spy, it was perfect.

    The natural elements lent themselves to good cover both visually and audibly. Estelle had her first stroke of luck of the mission, and this bolstered her mood.

    She had diligently studied the layout of the station, which Dasquian had given her and was familiar with it as if she had spent long shifts within its walls.

    She was armed with knowledge and training and now had nature on her side.

    Moving silently among the shadows, Estelle halted in her approach, leaning against a small outer building - a utilities shed -in order to case her entrance point from that vantage. A small movement caught her attention and she warily drew her blaster.

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    It was a *tink* Estelle heard, something striking metal. Then the strike of flame and the sound of someone exhaling noisily.

    Her reaction was instant, not of nerves but of focus, trusting the countless number of hours she'd spent practicing for situations such as this. There was no fear as her body moved fluidly, sliding to one side as she spun and ducked out of any way for the noise behind her to fire upon her if there a blaster was trained on her.

    Estelle slid behind the tool shed, knowing it would protect her as she studied the alley. The buildings next to her were smooth and high, with no support ladders to allow anyone else to interupt her. Even if the intruder had friends, they would have to actually be in the alley with him, not behind her in the street. Off to her right a *whirring* came as a light shone into the alley, focussing on the figure leaning up against the wall, its face was partially concealed by a translucent haze of smoke filtering from the lit tip of a cigar resting in his right hand. As the smoke and darkness cleared, the Rebel Spy began to take in the figure before her.

    It was the boots she first noticed, the boots...and the smirk on the face of the owner. The former were black and scuffed from wear, but the upper portion of them were covered by dark trousers (which was odd, considering the normal fashion of tucking the pants into the boots). Her eyes saw the gunbelt on the right leg of the man, with the blaster still holstered. A silver buckled belt held the holster and also kept the tan shirt in place at the beginning of his waist.

    A dark jacket covered the shirt, not allowing Estelle's watchful gaze to notice any other weapons other than the blaster, although she did catch a glimpse of a wrist holster in the light.

    Her eyes came to his face, finally revealed as the smoke drifted away. Black hair, slightly mussed came together with a solid and furrowed forehead.

    The man's jaw was square and firm but it was the smirk, which drew her attention. It held to the man's face, almost as if it were permanent. Even when his mouth opened, the smirk moved with it, retaining its form as he spoke.

    "Ya know kid," the voice was low, not a whisper, but smooth and gutteral. Its tone equaled that of the brown eyes which stared at her, amused but with a hint of something Estelle couldn't register.

    He took another puff from the cigar, "Only a certain type o'person would hang 'round here."

    The smirk grew wider, "Belargic send ya?"

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    "You're not supposed to be here"

    Estelle hissed across to the man, her brow creased in a mix of confusion and agitation.

    She recognized the man before her, his picture in the dossier was years old apparently, but the trademark sneer was unmistakeable. Aurelias Kazaar. She had never met the notorious field agent in person before, but knew him by reputation, as did most at the Academy. He was somewhat of a legend among the newest recruits of Intel Ops - associated with daring raids and gun-blasting adrenelin-rush action-hero stuff, but was viewed less romantically among the more senior operatives. To them he had always been a bit of a wild cannon, a bull-headed SOB who was tolerated because he always got the job done. Always. He was one of the best the Alliance had, and he knew it. And they knew he knew it, as he reminded them repeatedly of the fact.

    Kazaar was the Alliance contact who first reported the informer's capture. It was he the civillian was supposed to meet, but with the nature of Kazaar's cover, it had been deemed essential he remain neutral in the recovery mission of the informer. His was an undercover placement the Alliance could not afford to jepardize and was ordered hands off for Birdsong.

    Estelle still clutched her blaster, but held it by her side as she stepped closer to her fellow agent.

    "You may have been followed" she sniped angrily.

    Aurelias stiffled a laugh. The rookie was ticked off.

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    Kazaar's chuckle sounded like a pulsating motor: short, slow, and finely tuned. Almost as if he'd had years to practice its form.

    "I'm not supposed t'be here?" the way Kazaar repeated her question said, 'What're you gonna do 'bout it Rookie?'

    His eyes still looked at Estelle with amusement, as if he expected the look of contempt and the sound of anger in her voice. She held herself well, that was for sure, even if he could tell she wasn't expecting t'see him. Kazaar guessed her orders were th'normal 'You're going alone so don't expect help.'

    Rebel Ops was always like this, he thought, churning out operatives who were 'by the book'. They'd learn at some point.

    He took a long, slow puff from his cigar, letting the smoke waft from his mouth and into the air around him. He still hadn't moved from where he leaned up against the wall.

    Kazaar's stare only made his smirk look even more annoying to the Rebel.

    "Didn't they teach ya at 'Spy School' t'always expect the unexpected. If they didn't...then they're gettin' sloppy."

    The former bounty hunter had always called Rebel Ops, 'Spy School', ever since he'd been recruited following his dismissal from the Rebel Army. His superiors had tried t'get him to be one of the first recruits to go through 'school' but Kazaar had refused, saying the only way to learn was to actually do the work. Well...that and he'd gotten better training as a kid than they did in the military.

    That hadn't gone over too well with them and Kazaar had been sent out with an 'old school' operative who agreed with his opinion on the subject. Kazaar always figured it was an omission, on the part of Rebel Ops, saying, 'Yeah you may be right...but we're going to do it this way anyway.'

    He finally shifted his position from against the wall and took a step toward Estelle. His footsteps were silent, as if he were trying to emphasize the point of why he was the best.

    "So kid...what's your plan?

    "Ya got one, right? Or did they forget t'teach ya that too?"

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    "Yes, I have a plan" she said, defence lacing each syllabll. She didn't like his tone. And she didn't like his manner. And most of all, she didn't like him gate-crashing her mission.

    "And you being here" she added, reaching up and plucking the cigar from between Kazaar's teeth "better not louse things up."

    She extinguished the cigar under her boot and flashed him an angry look.

    "Why exactly are you here, anyway? Ive gotta get your contact out safely. Silently. Not really your M.O is it, Mister Kazaar?"

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    Anger flashed in Kazaar's eyes for just a moment. Estelle held a look of triumph in her eyes, before it faded when he pulled another cigar from his pocket.

    "Kid," he stated, slowly to add emphasis, "If there's one thing you should know. You never...ever...take someone's smoke from them."

    Kazaar's smile was cockier than normal, "But I'll let it slide...this time."

    He winked.

    "Trust me...next time ya take a cigar from me...it'll be for your own use."

    She was new all right...new and naive. Things didn't work the way it was taught in school. For the most part they could, but there was always the large chance a mission could go back, an operative caught, or a contact killed.

    Then there was always the chance of being sold out...that was never fun.

    The black haired Rebel veteren pulled a silver butane lighter from his pocket and brought it to the tip of his cigar. It flashed blue, for a minute, then the acrid smell of tobacco filled the alley again. He inhaled the smoke, letting it fill his senses.

    There was a certain art to smoking, an art Kazaar made sure he excelled at. To him, it wasn't just inhale-exhale. No, there was a form...a gateway to a time when it was almost fashionable to enjoy tobacco. It gave him a sense of pleasure, knowing he was one of a few who enjoyed these days. Even if it meant angering a few people from time to time.

    "I'm here to make sure my guy gets out," Kazaar exhaled one more time, "It may've been his fault (the fracking idiot)...but if it means I gotta save his butt then I will.

    "'Sides," the smirk was back, "Belargic mentioned he was gonna send someone t'rescue him. I'm here to make sure ya don't screw th'mynock.

    "So, like I said, kid," the voice was serious, "What's...your...plan?"

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    Estelle checked her chrono and peeked around the corner of the building, eyeing the relay station once more.

    "My plan is up, over and in" she said and as it was clear Aurelias didn't quite follow what she meant, she pointed her finger upwards at a building adjacent to the relay station. His gaze followed her indicated line of sight, but could make nothing out in the darkness of the night. When he looked back to Estelle she was right up in his face.

    "If your'e going to smoke that thing, could you hurry up about it. Anytime now the night guard will be making his rounds and that will be my cue to go in."

    She twisted round again to face forward, her frown deepening. Where was the guard?

    It was another 15 minutes before the guard appeared. He exited a side door, easily spied by both rebel agents from where they waited in the shadows. The man was generic in uniform, build and movement. With the exception of a slight wrestle closing the door against the wind, which Estelle noticed had increased in strength and was blowing southwesterly, his actions were typical of a man going through the motions. He did the same thing he did every other night that he was on shift - check the grounds with a sweep of his flashlight, walk the length of the building keeping a sharp eye out for scuffings in the dirt or signs of attempted entry to the building and radio back to control that all was clear. Then return inside to his favorite book, darkbrew coffee and those little shortbread biscuits until he made his rounds again in 45 minutes, or so.

    Its not that the guard minded the task, its just it was so boring. Nothing ever happened. And even though they had that toad stoolie locked up in the janitor's room, no action was expected. If anything, it would be the day-shift guys who got some excitement as everybody knew the vunerable time would be when the prisoner was being transferred. If the rebels were smart, which they aren't, they'd try to grab him enroute to the Inquisitoriate headquarters. If the rebels even wanted the little gnat. Which they wouldn't. The guy didn't even know his way to the lavatories here, let alone some sort of major intel. The guard spoke into his walkie-talkie.
    "This is Henri. Aint nuthin doin here"

    The reply came back, sharp and humorless."Repeat soldier. ID and current grounds status. Over."

    Henri cursed under his breath. Old Nakrin was a stickler for protocol, even out here in the armpit-of-the-galaxy assignment they had. He lifted his radio again to his lips and exhaled loudly.

    "This is Bravo 2. Perimiter is clear.Over."

    Narkin's reply was crisp, as usual. "Acknowledged, Bravo 2. Over and out."

    Estelle whispered back over her shoulder as the guard disappeared again into the station.

    "Time to go in."

    She turned and sprinted the distance to the building she had pointed out earlier. She scaled the outside fire-escape ladder to the roof and as the first drops of rain fell, she drew from a duffle bag she which had stowed there two hours prior, a crossbow. With a muffled "pop" she shot a black cord over the short distance to the back of the station roof and its vacuum-seal tip adhesied itself to the surface. The butt-end of the crossbow she then pressed up to the cement edge which rimmed the building roof and, pressing a button on the inside of the trigger, held the unit steady as a metal rod shot into and through the concrete and then spring-actioned into a grapple prong holding the whole aparatas and line in place.

    Next she took a small pistol and taking careful aim, fired a pellet at the camera mounted also on the roof. This pellet hit its mark precisely, attaching to the side of the camera and instantly opening a tiny vertical mirror which cut, very slightly, the angle of view where she was planning to land. The mirror reflected a small margin of the landscape already in the camera's view and gave Estelle the advantage of a very small "blind spot." And a very small spot was all she required.

    Hitching herself to the line by a small pulley and harness cord unit which she'd also taken from the bag she tugged to check all was secure.

    Kazaar's shoes scuffed on the ground behind her as he peered over her crouched form and into the duffle bag. Estelle looked up, not the least surprised.

    "You still here?"

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