Do You Have A Flag: We Don't Want Any. Go Away.

[Morgan Evanar]

Sani's new YZ series freighter was barely worn. Hell, the only wear on it was from a low number of landing/dustoff cycles. No visible blaster burns, at least from this side. Morgan gave a low whistle. Form followed function. It wasn't as graceful Nabooian yacht or as outwardly gauche as a Luxury 3000, but it made up for it in raw purpose, and it was almost pretty.

"Still hanging out with the half-Cizeri sugar momma." It was more of a statement than a question. Sanis gave him a half shrug of a response. A quick conversation with Jovan control and they cleared bay G-4 atmosphere retention field.

Morgan saddled up to the copilot's chair. It wasn't fancy, just incredibly comfortable.

"You want me to run nav?" Morgan asked, his hands still on the fully adjustable leather chair arms.

"Be my guest." He said, aware of the Jedi's technical prowess. It was the latest revision navicomp, with a dizzying array of jump vectoring capabilities. Morgan found the coordinate lookup and proceeded to bang out a series of jumps to Jabiim. The computer proceeded to crunch away at the problem.

"You know, the Alliance really needs better information on casual Cizeri culture. I missed the bulletin about "tea houses". I thought it meant literal tea, not an invitation to lick a kitty."

[Sanis Prent]

I couldn't help but smile at that as I began to cycle through the warmups.

"That's putting it mildly. I used to work in the Cluster, back before...well, before anything."

Putting it that way made me feel old. I wasn't, but I guess every now and again in life, you find a point where you have to glance down and see the number on the odometer.

"The bloom will be off the rose soon, if it isn't already. I'm honestly surprised the Pride pursued the concordance. Somewhere, there's a room full of rich women convinced they can get even richer."

That wasn't an indictment. Just the way it was. It was the same hustle I'd been on my entire life, just looking a few rungs up the ladder.

"Still, it's better than the Empire."

[Morgan Evanar]

"It's almost always better than the Empire." Morgan agreed. He flipped through a few diagnostic screens on the ship. It was a mix of curiosity and habit rather than concern. The hull was almost clean enough to eat off of.

The Jedi continued. "I haven't gotten too involved in the politics, but I'd wager that as negotiations set in, the Alliance looked much more appealing as a trade partner. Doubly so given the Empire's xenophobic history."

Sanis almost smiled and returned a shrug.

"Hey, I know I'm paying you, but I appreciate the ride. And I apologize in advance. She's gonna get wet and muddy." Morgan said and tapped an empty spot on the console.

"It's cool. As long no one tries to kill us. You Jedi have a bad habit of people wanting to kill you."

"But we're nice!" Morgan protested and pointed at himself. "See, I even look nice."

[Sanis Prent]

I cast a sidelong glance at my fare, a weary half-smile on my features.

"Yeah, I remember. Smile sweet and carry a big lightsaber, right?"

Whatever the Jedi did to piss in the cereal of the galaxy, they'd been more than paying for it for as long as I could remember. It's not like you had to go far to find reasons. A small army of child soldiers accountable to nearly no one, capable of holding anyone to judgment. And that sounded admittedly pretty bad. But I'd spent enough time around them in hiding to at least respect them, if not agree with them.

"Hang on, we're dusting off."

The shift from struts to repulsors was feather soft, and the thrust acceleration ran a smooth gradient. No spooling, no stall, no juddering at all. I was still coming to terms with the lack of input. Well, the input was plenty. Holographic HUD, customized interface. There was plenty of input, but the kind I trusted most was the kind I could feel in the bottoms of my feet, in my backside, in my ears, and down my spine. I still hadn't named my new-in-box Corellian ship. Maybe I hadn't gotten to know the girl yet.

I still wasn't over my first love. Not exactly sure if I was ready to see anyone.

"Guess it goes without asking to make sure you'll let me know of any impending bad feelings you're getting?"

[Morgan Evanar]

The big Jedi shook his head.

"I don't really get that feed. Not like most the other Jedi. The universe decided teleportation and carbon fiber bones were cool enough." Morgan stood as well as he could and smoothed out his clothes. He looked like any spacer by dress, but someone left the grow switch on for an extra 3 years.

Jabiim's overactive electrical field meant that repulsorcraft like the shiny YZ wouldn't be able to safely land. Instead, the local population had modified shuttles with wings and chemical thrusters in addition to the main drive. The dock wasn't especially busy. Most of the traffic was mineral exports and the occasional importer of common goods. The Jabiimi monopoly on transportation had kept everything short of major actions at bay.

Morgan checked his person. Datapad, multitool, blaster, holdout blaster, vibroknife, raincoat, ration bars, water.

"Besides, you can hang out here if you like. I hope this doesn't take more than a day."

[Sanis Prent]

"And miss all the shit-kicker gossip?" I raised an eyebrow.

We dropped out of hyperspace after a quick jaunt. Again, the feather-soft deceleration felt numbing. Ahead, I could see Jabiim growing in the distance. I'd honestly seen prettier worlds.

"I still remember how to get my boots dirty. I just make sure to change shoes."

One thing the Company had taught me early on was that there was always an opportunity. In my lean years, those opportunities were still there, and I was without the means. Now? I was in the position to do something about it. Even ferry workers on a pissant world like Jabiim could have a protection racket, after all. Or maybe there was enough room in a haul of ore to dip a beak into.

We settled to land on the docking station in orbit of Jabiim. A pair of Bith stepped out from an observation booth in the landing bay, and I took care of the particulars.

[Morgan Evanar]

They'd booked flight to Choal, the capital city. Through the thin, low cloud cover lightning rod spires tipped with warning lights grew visible as the specialized landing craft approached the starport. To the west of the city, a storm swirled. Lightning flashed through the dark clouds. It was more rapid and often than Morgan had witnessed in his travels, and he and Sanis stared in silence for a moment, both cognizant of the sheer amount of energy being unleashed.

"Impressive." Morgan stated.

"Wouldn't want to fly in that." Sanis said.

Misty rain aside, they landed at Choal without incident. Both were waiting for the other shoe to drop. They'd already cleared customs space-side, but the locals apparently took interest sometimes, so the Department of Trade and Customs had taken apparent interest in Morgan's business license. As such, Morgan and Sanis were redirected to a small office where a somewhat overweight woman raised an eyebrow when the pair of spacers walked in.

"Which one of you is Jansen."

Well, shit.

"Hi Inspector."

[Sanis Prent]

I kept my mouth shut. An alias? Probably paid to have one when you were a Jedi abroad. If Morgan was right about there being some trouble swirling, there was no telling how deep the muck went.

As for me, I was a decently dressed spacer on a planet where there were very few decently dressed spacers. The less I said right now, the more mystique I kept in my pocket. Hopefully Morgan was keen enough to leverage that when it was needed, and not leave me to answer the particulars. The last thing I wanted to do was to bump gums and sink his cover story.

Worst case scenario was, I was armed. The overcoat keeping the rain off my proper attire also managed to conceal a snub-nosed westar, and something a bit larger and more antique.

[Morgan Evanar]

“You can go.” She looked at Sanis, who gave Morgan a shrug before disappearing into the terminal. The inspector fixed her gaze on Morgan. "Mister Jansen, Vintig Minerals Holding Limited is just a shell company. Please follow me” She set off for a door to the right of where they were, just behind the Customs booths. Inside looked like a typical Government office, with little Jabiimi flags on desks and placards for names. Inspector Mahgee.

“Well, yes, but they’re paying my fee to investigate Jabiim in person, so…”

The inspector cut him off.

“Well, the last time we let a few ruffians through with the same holding company bit somebody decided to murder a few locals. So if you can’t turn up on a non-holding enterprise you get to go back to whatever imaginary shell corporation you came from.”

Morgan sighed.

“I was hired through the shell company but I do have my own business license.” He produced a business card and wrote a long alphanumerics string on the back, and handed it to the inspector, who looked at the card, turned it over and chuckled.

“You incorporated on Carhoulis?”

“For tax reasons.”

“Uh huh. Well sit your butt right there, and I’ll check this" She said, putting the business license into the system, "It might take a while. Water’s right there if you want some.” She pointed at a fountain nearby.

[Sanis Prent]

I followed the lady's lead, content to take a seat while she handled the particulars. Once Morgan and I were alone, I kept the conversation low and careful.

"How much scrutiny can your cover take?"

I was busy flipping through a holomag, not really reading any of it. Casual glances in the office turned up a handful of bored-looking faces. Nothing really stood out, and maybe that's what stood out the most. If what she said was true, you'd expect at least a token show of force.

[Morgan Evanar]

"I checked before I took it. It's solid, and looks a little opportunistic with the incorporation dates. There are a few points that look appropriately dodgy."

Morgan changed the subject to Smashball, which, as former residents of Nar Shadda, they knew about via osmosis. Sports betting was a big deal in their hometown, and Smashball was a fan favorite outside of the more deadly sports.

"Well Jansen, everything looks good enough for us." Mahgee said, and handed Morgan his documents back. The passport was stamped with Jabiim's Choal port of entry, along with dozens of other mineral rich and trade worlds over the last seven years. All real in the records, all fake in reality. The new passport authority had been a boon to the Alliance's spymasters, who started with a copy of the Imperial database and changed thousands of entries for their agents over the last several years.

Outside, the rain came in a steady pour, while lightning flared every minute or so.

Morgan had pieced together a list of locations where he wanted to go. After they hired a hybrid speeder (a strange thing with wheels and a suspension plus repulsors), they trundled to the first incident site, the Jabiim Exchange. The building had offices for many major minerals companies and also a public access trading floor, where anyone with the credits could make mineral or futures purchases.

While the Jabiimi had done a good job removing the scoring marks from the walls, the quick fill and paint was obvious to the trained eye. The security that wasn't apparent at the port was apparent here, with heavily armed and armored guards scrutinizing almost everyone who came through the transparisteel doors.

Between the article and local news footage (which had been generous, as the Jabiimi had no love lost for light sabers), Morgan was able to get a solid idea of what exactly had happened.

He hadn’t pieced together how they’d emulated telekinesis, yet. He was sure the hastily cut over explosion in the video held the key, but given the social situation he’d have to wait for that answer. Morgan sat down at a comfortable chair, probably used for visitors to burn time in between meetings.

While physical security had been increased, he wondered if the computer security had as well. He slipped a data jack into the wall next to the outlet, and let his automated indexer see what it could find. If he could locate the camera system, if the footage was still there and hadn’t been moved to a backup site, then he might be able to piece together what happened.

[Sanis Prent]

I took the trip in stride, dismal weather included. As we reached the first site, you could tell that the spit shine treatment to smooth over the damage hadn't quite taken. If someone was impersonating Jedi, they were at least leaving behind real damage.

"I don't get it."

Leaning back in my seat across from Morgan, I crossed my arms.

"Okay, assume for whatever reason you want to throw the Jedi in the mud over some false flag stuff. Why here? I mean, bad blood for sure from the war, but where's the plausible motive and more to the point, where's the galactic audience?"

[Morgan Evanar]

"I haven't been able to figure it out either, but this is the second incident." He said, still watching the data pad while it walked the network. "I guess someone is upset we are more resilient than we were given credit for. They've got funding, resources and reach, too."

Morgan popped a ration bar into his mouth and chewed. The program had found the camera system, or at least a system with access to it. He initiated a tunneling script through another local system, initiated a check for available time stamps. There was a rolling two week window of footage. He started to slurp the footage an hour before and after the attack and decided to expand the scope to two hours before.

"The weapons they're using aren't new. While most fell into the Empire's hands or private collectors, some ended up lost on battlefields. I've got some ideas if the more direct stuff doesn't pan out."

[Sanis Prent]

"Yeah, well there are no shortage of plausible whos."

I occupied the adjacent seat, spinning it around to allow me to straddle and lean forward against the backing.

"Aside from that new Imperial paramilitary group out there, any sector strongman you guys managed to piss off could probably network to find the right flavor of shiny, light-slinging artifacts needed to do a frame up. But the difference is I just can't imagine some tinpot warlord being interested in the long game like that."

[Morgan Evanar]

The pad finished gathering the footage into memory. He sent a query that pulled all of the public trade data, too, but this was a direct request.

Morgan dropped his data pad while he fooled around in his jacket for another ration bar. He reached down and pulled the data jack out of the wall socket, and picked up the data pad in the same hand.

"What paramilitary group? The Imperial Knights?" He asked.

"Yeah. Those assholes."

Morgan slipped the equipment back into his jacket. He got out another ration bar, and offered it to Sanis, who frowned, raised an eyebrow, pulled the other eyebrow down and shook his head. Morgan shrugged and slipped the food back into one of the jacket's many pockets, and proceeded to eat the ration bar in his hand.

"Let's see what we've got." They headed back to the speeder-thing parked in covered parking. Morgan pulled out some additional equipment: a small holoprojector and a much more powerful computer. He pulled up the footage, which had been captured by the minimum of 3 cameras, sometimes four. He pulled up the incident's time index and waited for the computer to put together the data into a cogent picture. There were bits and pieces that the interpolation wasn't able to produce, but the image was surprisingly cogent.

They watched the attack. After a few minutes of footage Sanis poked the holo, putting his finger on a backpack.

"One guy has a field generator for a tractor beam, and the other guy turned the projector into a gauntlet." They watched a table snap toward the gauntlet, and then was thrown into a bystander.

"That explains the telekinesis."

[Sanis Prent]

"Fancy." I quipped. I meant it. The production values in this sham were great.

"Okay, so definitely convincing enough for these guys. Pull, push. Make a really big show."

I wet my lips, wishing that the Jedi had packed more in the way of liquid rations.

"I've seen tech like that in a few places. Mandalorians definitely can do that, but they don't usually design for subtlety and slim profile. A field projector, you could probably screw with and do something kinetic, but that's gonna burn it out in a hurry."

It still didn't get us closer to a smoking gun, or even a smoking tractor beam emitter-apparently. I recycled the footage again.

"Hang on here. What's this?"

I froze a single holographic frame. With an expanded pinch of my fingers into the mist, I magnified the shot. The faces of the pretenders were largely hidden by hoods (because Jedi), but the angle and the light behaved for just one moment, revealing an ugly mug with an interesting choice in face tattoos.

"I know that ink. Binayre pirates."

[Morgan Evanar]

“Oh good.” Morgan said. He then realized he had no idea who the Binayre Pirates were. “Who are they?”

“They’re the lowest scumsuckers in the galaxy. Real pieces of shit. They’d sell their own mothers, take the money, and then shoot Mommy to prove a point.” Sanis explained. They finished the replay in silence, and watched the pirates get gunned down by the local security force. The energy pack didn’t survive the exchange, but the projector looked intact, as did the lightsabers.

The recording cut out.

“I need to get the projector and those lightsabers out.” Morgan said aloud.

[Sanis Prent]

"From an evidence pen?"

I glanced back to my Jedi friend with a low whistle.

"Tall order. Didn't exactly come prepared for a heist."

That...wasn't exactly true. My ship came loaded with a few generally-useful nic-nacs for the enterprising individual in less-than-legal lines of work.

"I mean, you can always miracle us in there, but you'd need a visual reference, huh?"

The wheels were turning. I tapped my boot toe on the ground, gnawing at a slightly uneven corner of thumbnail.

"As long as we've got eyes, that's half the problem taken care of."

[Morgan Evanar]

The plan was going pretty well.

Morgan got absolutely loaded up on booze later in the evening at one of the more popular bars. Neither Morgan nor Adia were affected alcohol except for a general headache later. Morgan theorized it didn't get passed the blood brain barrier or something. Whatever.
The bar cut Morgan off when he started to act sloppy late in the evening. Morgan got loud, uncoordinated, and when Sanis tried to help his friend out of the bar, Morgan scooped up a planted mouse droid and Morgan hit Sanis in the head (not too hard, of course). He carefully split Sanis's forehead open. After he created enough of a tussle with the bar staff that it took the three bouncers and two of the barkeepers to throw him out, they called the police to get his Drunk and Disorderly ass up, after they each got a little payback for him being such a colossal pain in the patoot. The police, for their part, put the oversized "drunk" into cuffs, collected evidence in case anyone wanted to press charges, took a few statements, and dropped Morgan into the drunk.

Evidence in the form of a mouse droid. That was recording once it was in the police station. He blew a slide whistle when his BAC was measured a mighty 0.25.

"Holy shit." Said one of the techs. The fact that Morgan was conscious was remarkable.

"mmmdrunkth." Morgan confirmed.

The police put him into the slowly filling drunk tank. Morgan, for his part, occupied a slice of wall. He just needed to get back to Sanis. He checked his wrist chrono. It was 3 in the morning local, and he'd been there for almost 2 and a half hours. He needed to pee. He closed his eyes and concentrated: The ride in the police speeder ticked by in his head. He felt the path the speeder took as it neared the station. The nearby buildings, and the empty storefront three blocks away came back. He felt the place in it's context to him, and to the local pocket of the universe. There was a millisecond of complete disorientation when all the points in space seemed to close together, and gravity had completely buggered off. There was a pop from the air that rushed to fill the gap in the drunk tank. Rain pelted Morgan in the face. He looked up into the rainy darkness, both grateful and annoyed.

[Sanis Prent]

"Mother of moons."

I'd been ready for it and it still scared the shit out of me. Bodies appearing out of nowhere tended to do that I guess. My forehead still smarted, and I gingerly pressed at the kolto gauze adhered to the left corner of my forehead. A forehead laceration. Not the best metaphor for my Jedi buddy, but tonight it sure as hell fit.

"Forget flying under the influence. I'm pretty sure teleporting while drunk is some kind of next level of irresponsible."

I was sounding like a dad. Fuck reference levels, I never had one worth writing about. More like the kind of dads that were in kitschy holos. I helped Morgan to his feet, making sure to stay out of nose range of the flammable vapor that had replaced his breath.

"Ever hear of faking it till you make it?"