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sekkritaus2019-09-30 02:42 pm
cipher_fine) wrote in sekkritaus2019-09-30 02:42 pm
Poe the partycrasher, and other animals
With internecine conflicts between the Houses finally put to rest, a portion of the Ascendancy's attention had returned to threats in the perilous Galactic East. While the Galactic Empire had once been seen as a potential asset, its treatment of famed military commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo and its subsequent collapse had obviously colored the opinions of his older handlers. Human-dominated space was once again in turmoil, and an Imperial successor faction, the First Order, sought to pillage resources from "unclaimed" systems in what they referred to as the Unknown Regions. The New Republic, nominally opposed to these developments, seemed complacent. Possibly subverted from within.
And so the Ascendancy responded with characteristic pragmatism: Agents were sent into the Galactic East, engaging in operations to monitor the threat, gather information for future Defense Force actions, gather resources, strike targets of opportunity. He was one such agent.
Under orders from the home office, he had been tracking a First Order spy for some weeks now. Observing their movements, their purpose, who they worked with, where they sent their findings. Through careful work, he had found something even more significant: solid evidence for the existence of a hidden First Order base within the sector, one that was strategically fomenting unrest across the entire region via information control and targeted killings and disappearances. His mission had subsequently become the vanguard of an campaign of active disruption. While the First Order had learned from the Empire's mistakes, its own tools could still be used against them. The plan was underway, and it had to be meticulous. It had to be perfect.
Which was, of course, when things started to go wrong. An unknown rogue element had arrived in the sector, striking First Order targets, causing the rest to fall back and change tactics. It didn't seem to help them. The attacks seemed blunt at first, but they were ferociously effective at subverting enemy assets. He wasn't able to get a solid fix on them. By the time he arrived, all solid evidence was gone.
The unknown operative was slowly working their way up the chain of First Order assets, starting with unwittingly subverted locals then subborned pirate gangs, now First Order loyalists themselves were under threat.
His original target, the First Order's best local operative and recruiter, was now a target. And they knew it. They were about to go underground, and he would lose them.
That would not do. The information they possessed was of vital importance to his operation. They were likely already destroying data. That had to stop, and he had to deliver them to an Ascendancy hand-off. And furthermore, he needed to identify this rogue element, and deal with them as the situation permitted.
His face appeared human today. The disguise mesh he'd keyed in fit snugly to his own features, though it pulled at his forehead as it tweaked his expressions to better match human musculature. With glow-dampening eye drops, contact lenses, and temporary dyes in his scalp, hair, and still leaving a chalky taste in his mouth, he blended in with the crowd here, moving with the practiced unhurriedness and imprecision that had thus far let him tail this agent several times before. He had worn different faces each time, and with good fortune, this one would be good enough to keep him anonymous today.
He had his plan. His escape routes were clear. His gear was triple-checked.
The club he entered was a common recruiting ground for his target, and the last spot they were likely to appear as they secured transport off the planet. If he did his job correctly, no one outside the First Order would be able to tell the difference when their agent's escape failed.
Everything had to go perfectly.
And so the Ascendancy responded with characteristic pragmatism: Agents were sent into the Galactic East, engaging in operations to monitor the threat, gather information for future Defense Force actions, gather resources, strike targets of opportunity. He was one such agent.
Under orders from the home office, he had been tracking a First Order spy for some weeks now. Observing their movements, their purpose, who they worked with, where they sent their findings. Through careful work, he had found something even more significant: solid evidence for the existence of a hidden First Order base within the sector, one that was strategically fomenting unrest across the entire region via information control and targeted killings and disappearances. His mission had subsequently become the vanguard of an campaign of active disruption. While the First Order had learned from the Empire's mistakes, its own tools could still be used against them. The plan was underway, and it had to be meticulous. It had to be perfect.
Which was, of course, when things started to go wrong. An unknown rogue element had arrived in the sector, striking First Order targets, causing the rest to fall back and change tactics. It didn't seem to help them. The attacks seemed blunt at first, but they were ferociously effective at subverting enemy assets. He wasn't able to get a solid fix on them. By the time he arrived, all solid evidence was gone.
The unknown operative was slowly working their way up the chain of First Order assets, starting with unwittingly subverted locals then subborned pirate gangs, now First Order loyalists themselves were under threat.
His original target, the First Order's best local operative and recruiter, was now a target. And they knew it. They were about to go underground, and he would lose them.
That would not do. The information they possessed was of vital importance to his operation. They were likely already destroying data. That had to stop, and he had to deliver them to an Ascendancy hand-off. And furthermore, he needed to identify this rogue element, and deal with them as the situation permitted.
His face appeared human today. The disguise mesh he'd keyed in fit snugly to his own features, though it pulled at his forehead as it tweaked his expressions to better match human musculature. With glow-dampening eye drops, contact lenses, and temporary dyes in his scalp, hair, and still leaving a chalky taste in his mouth, he blended in with the crowd here, moving with the practiced unhurriedness and imprecision that had thus far let him tail this agent several times before. He had worn different faces each time, and with good fortune, this one would be good enough to keep him anonymous today.
He had his plan. His escape routes were clear. His gear was triple-checked.
The club he entered was a common recruiting ground for his target, and the last spot they were likely to appear as they secured transport off the planet. If he did his job correctly, no one outside the First Order would be able to tell the difference when their agent's escape failed.
Everything had to go perfectly.
no subject
This was Poe's summation of the current circumstances. Even though, from the outside, it would appear that he had been abandoned on a planet that was highly sympathetic of the First Order, that his squadron was days out, that he didn't even have BB-8 and, well, that he had no way of communicating with them without giving up his location and getting caught. His ship had taken massive damage in the last skirmish and he'd been forced to pull out of hyperspace mid jump. his squad probably didn't even know what system he was in.
But you know what? It was going to be fine.
And this was because he had been making friends. It hadn't taken too long. He'd only been on this planet for a week, and he already had friends that were looking out for him. One or two had even pledged their assistance to the Resistance, which was always a bonus, if not one he actively sought. It was always better when they offered, rather than were coerced.
But he needed to get off planet, and they'd suggested to him to go here - a little club where one could find some discreet services to get off world without anyone knowing where you were coming or going. He didn't need a pilot. He needed a ship. So he was open to bartering his piloting services for someone that had the hardware to get them somewhere.
He was already in the club when Issun entered, talking to a woman at the bar who had a slightly cooler disposition but clearly also was looking for something. In his experience, people that needed things - especially things he could help provide - were often easier to make friends with. Scratch your back and you'll scratch mine, right?
Unfortunately, what Poe didn't know was that he was speaking to a First Order agent who knew all too well who he was. His face was hardly a secret, even in the beginning: he'd been causing a lot of trouble for the First Order, lately.
no subject
He might be there early. Go to the bar, take a drink, and wait at a strategic vantage--
That was Poe Dameron. Alias Black Leader, officially commander of Rapier Squadron in the Republic Defense Fleet, unofficially a member of the anti-First Order organization known as the Resistance.
And there was his target.
This had suddenly become far more complicated.
He couldn't identify for certain that this was Dameron. Not without a bioscan and a reference to check against. This could be an imposter. It would fit with the way this First Order cell had operated. But why bring a valuable and recognizable asset to a public area where business deals were commonly made with other organizations that would take notice?
The man might be the real thing. And that left him with a level of uncertainty he could not resolve. Either this really was Poe Dameron, and thus should not be made aware of Chiss activity in this sector, or this was a second target for capture and interrogation.
He needed to gather more information before he made that decision. He worked his way over to the bar, pulling back his hood and taking a place nearby. He ordered a large, strong drink, slipping a neutralizer tablet out of a pocket and dropping it in the mineral-blue liquid he received. This way, he could remain alert while listening in discretely.
Something about a ship. That gave this all more pressing focus. He could either tail them after they left and avoid detection but risk losing his quarry along the way, or he could control their movements himself, but risk becoming a target of concerted attack.
He would make that trade-off. "You need a ship?" He glanced over at the two of them.
no subject
"In the market for one, yeah," He said easily, giving a winning smile. "Or more specifically - looking for a ship that needs a pilot, in exchange for getting off this rock. Something my friend here is equally interested in."
He gestured to the woman and she gave him a little bit of a look but the forced a smooth smile to her lips.
"I'm particularly skilled with difficult and dangerous flying conditions, so if you've got a ship and need to make a run somewhere that you're not comfortable flying to yourself, I'm your guy."
no subject
His eyes openly wandered over Dameron and his target, inspecting them from behind his dark brown contact lenses. "You'll fly? Why you?"
no subject
He offered a bemused smile.
"And right now, all I can really offer for passage is labour. Though if I can get home, I can scrounge some credits, too."
no subject
If the worst came to it, he could drink enough to make it look like he was drunk enough to seriously consider the terms as offered.
"So, what's the difference between this and a hijacking, exactly?"
no subject
“I’m not asking for a free lift - I can make myself useful and offer labour. And I’m not going to ask to any course changes - I’ll hop from one system to the next hitchhiking, if I have to.”
Really he just needed to get to a sector where he knew C-3PO had agents.
The woman he’d been speaking to finally spoke up, her voice low and even.
“I have credits. I can pay my way. He was proposing that I buy a ship and that he piloted it, but a cheaper alternative would be far preferable.”
no subject
He gave Dameron a skeptical look, before his eyes slid over to focus on his target, listening.
"The rate's eight thousand peggat per passenger, two hundred for large cargo," he gestured to Dameron, "And an extra hundred if it's dangerous. Dealing in credits gets you a conversion fee." He'd named a high price, but that was normal for bartering. But that wasn't the detail that would matter.
Peggats were Hutt currency, but the First Order liked to operate in areas where they were available. The coins themselves had value for their metal content, which the First Order had been stockpiling for years. Dealing in peggats would mark him as someone who was willing to work either in Hutt Space, for the First Order, or both.
He took another seemingly inadvisable mouthful of his drink, putting a hand to his collar as he swallowed it down. There was no burn, thanks to the neutralizer. "But, I'm doing a run from here to Anthan soon. I'd be willing to negotiate the price for a tag along." Edge of the sector, mixed-species population, notable for a high-atmospheric resort for the hyper-rich. New Republic territory, but identified as a possible area of First Order clandestine activity. It hadn't been mentioned in recently intercepted transmissions, however. Enough plausible room to make it a coincidence rather than the deliberate bait it was.
"Ident cards and documents cost extra."