//------------------------------//
// Uninvited Guests 
// Story: Alone In The Galaxy 
// by Purple Patch 
//------------------------------//

“Natasi?”
“...mph...not tonight ,Will...I have a headache...”
“...what?”
The eyes of Captain Natasi Daala opened without grace or comfort. She coughed, tasting blood, strands of her fiery-red hair over her face.
She grew conscious of the scenario.
She was tied up and nearly naked, left only in her underwear. Behind her, tied to her in fact, was Rae Sloane in a similar position, still unconscious. They were seated on the jet-black block that made up a chair in the interrogation room and, next to them, Pipsqueak was awake, lying on his side, his four little hooves strung together like the corners of a sack as he struggled feebly.
Natasi took a good long assessment of the situation then looked up with murder in her eyes.
“Alright...just who’s responsible for this?”
“Hey, Dollface.”
She looked up, eyes blazing.
“Who’s a ‘Dollface’ and how many bones does she have to break for you to take it back?!”
“Don’t try to struggle, honey. You’ll give yourself wrinkles.” The sultry Zeltron, Drazala Nuwaan, trailed a hand over Natasi’s back with a leer.
“You’ve no possible idea how much crap you’re in right now!” the young redhead snarled “Rough estimation?! Up to the eyebrows! Do you know how many members of Imperial High Command I have the ear of?!”
“Babe, we all know you have something on one of ‘em but it ain’t his ear!” Radds snorted, grabbing the front of his trousers “But don’t worry. Once this is over, I might show you what a real man’s like.”
“You’re welcome to try, murglack, if you want a window where your groin used to be!” With her bared teeth and blazing green eyes, Natasi Daala looked for all the world like some ferocious tigress.
“Ooh-hoo-hoo, little kitty want some rough pettin’, yuh?” the pasty, rotund Klatooinian guffawed lecherously.
“You’re crazy if you think is going to end well for you!” Captain Daala growled “On this floor sector alone is no less than six of the highest ranking members of the Empire!”
“Yeah, that’s kinda’ the idea, sweetie.” Drazala Nuwaan said with a smirk “Also on this floor sector is a power grid which this room serves as a bypass to the mainframe.”
“To hook up your favourite torture toys.” Goldenboy added, holding up a small device and pacing idly over to the control desk “So if I plug this in juuuuuust right...”
He did so, connecting the device with the console. There was a humming as the lights went off and on. Natasi and Pipsqueak stared around the room.
“What are you doing?!”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Drazala cooed.
“Simple, Dollface.” Radds chuckled “From here, we can decide who on this floor gets power without anyone being the wiser. Lights, locks, communications. It’s all ours now. Officially, Sector Xi is our bitch!”
“An’ Thracca shoulda’ taken ‘dat armoury by now. Dat’ lil’ blonde boy’s gonna’ be hobblin’ ‘cross the ship on stumps!” the Klatooinian snorted “Then Snirk’s gonna’ take his pretty lil’ uniform and go hunting in the woman’s baths at the end of dis’ ‘ere Sector Xi.”
“I reckon he’ll enjoy that.” Drazala said, rolling her eyes.
Natasi stared, weighing the severity of the scene.
Froul Sr. Veers. Screed. Mors. Grant. Therbon. Teshik. Yularen. Thrawn.
Among others.
All of them now at the mercy of these scum.


“And you think you’re the ones to murder them?”
“Lady, we know we are. Why else would we be hired?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Oh, sweet ginger thinks she’s funny.” Drazala gave Natasi’s hair a tug, her hungry sapphiric eyes staring into Natasi’s furious emeralds.
Radds pressed a button on the control desk and spoke.
“Okay, roll call.”
The Zeltron groaned.
“Really?”
“It’s more professional. C’mon.” Radds insisted “This is your command. Radds Burl, Goldenboy of Maldovar, taking roll-call.”
“Drazala Nuwaan.” The Zeltron said with a sigh.
“Magro ‘Stinkyboy’ Slim” the Klatooinian grunted.
One by one, Rae, Natasi and Pip heard the names of this band of rogues.
“Edmin Ferglyn!”
“Droov F’mek!”
“Ornar Xapp!”
“Swaldo Pottle!”
“Yutane!”
“Urr-Yompa!”
“Belwana!”
“Brezna the Beast!”
“Sh’Zago!”
“Giszla Dosst!”
“Gorvy ‘Go-Long’ Lomberd!”
“Munce Hughbrick”
“Bar’Jin Bast!”
“Docor Danstan!”
“Snirk McNoyd!”
“Grraaaaoooofff!” The sound came from the Wookiee, Thracca.
And at this, the Zilkin jumped up and bellowed at the top of his voice, spinning his stun-baton.
“An’ all you butt-breezing belly-itchers sure as Shadda-Bi-Boran know who I am! Cap’n Snertling Haph-Pinter of the Ol’ Patitite-Punchers 13th Regiment, NBSS, STFD and UGH, certifiedy! Yessir!” he gave an elaborate salute which few paid any real attention to.
“Yeah, great.” Radds announced “And together we are...”
Drazala noticeably sighed before answering with the others.
“The Maldovar Boyz!”
“Boys with a ‘Z’!” Radds finished making some crude, street-gesture “So, all you bros knows the drill. Go in there, lasers popping, vibs chopping, any oldie in a fancy suit goes down hard. And make sure it’s caught on the holos. And we need at least three headshots and a no-scope.”
“Oooooh my god...” Natasi groaned, scarcely believing there were people like this in the galaxy, let alone that they’d run afoul of them.
Radds grinned.
“We’re gonna’ put this all over the Outer Rim by tomorrow! Hutt Network’ll pay big wupi-upi for this! We’ll be livin’ it up, big-time!” He whooped, largely ignored by his fellows.


Pipsqueak was struggling with his own bonds, wriggling like a fish, trying to crane his neck over to bite at the cords around his hooves.
The Zilkin calling himself Snertling Haph-Pinter hopped up onto the seating and cast the colt a menacing glare, raising the crackling stun baton like a spear.
“What’s this little Gullipud puddle-glugger think he’s doin’ over here, huh?! Lookin’ at me? You eyeballin’ me, boy! You doin’ sniggerin’ at me, boy?!”
Pipsqueak stared uneasily at the chattering alien standing over him.
“What?”
The Zilkin’s eyes bounced on their stalks as he raised his stun-baton meaningfully.
“You dumb or somethin’, boy?!”
Pipsqueak looked from the Zilkin to the stun baton, one to the other. Sweat beaded down the side of his face as he mumbled.
“Um...yes?”
“Wrong answer, maggot!” Sternling barked as he jammed the stun baton into Pipsqueak’s side.
The little colt screamed as electricity coursed across his body, his limbs twitching rapidly as he struggled to break free. Again and again, the Zilkin prodded the baton at Pipsqueak’s side and shoulders, one actually hitting his muzzle.
Struggling against her bonds, Natasi Daala gave a cry of rage at the sight of the colt’s pain.
“Get off him!” she shrieked “Leave him alone, you spineless dung-worm!”
Snertling Haph-Pinter gave a sneer.
“Gneh! Plug yer’ lips, ya damn schutta-nadga! I ain’t never took no orders from no hu-woman an’ I sure as Shanpan ain’t starting now!”
“Shouldn’t that be ‘I have never taken any orders from a human woman’?” Pip found himself asking, met by another clout with the stun baton across his brow, narrowly missing his eye. He cried out in pain and huddled, curling himself up to shield his face from the harder strikes, sniffling quietly.
Natasi Daala pulled herself forward, looking honestly ready to snap at Snertling Haph-Pinter with her teeth.
“You’re dead...” she growled “You’re gonna’ be a stain on the goddamn floor when this is over!” She was answered by the Zilkin dismissively clouting her thigh with the baton. She twitched in pain with a muffled growl but remained as hard-eyed and furious as ever.
“Hey, Snerts!” Radds called “You’re supposed to be at the communications box. Next to the...” he checked the minimap on the panels “Rooms E and D, whatever those are. It’s opposite the dispenser shaft.”
“Say what?! C’mon! I'm needed where the action is!”
“That kind of action ain’t for things lower than my calves! Beat it!” Drazala kicked the air near Snertling and, for all his talk of never taking orders from a woman, he didn’t seem to need much convincing to silently comply, throwing down his stun baton and shuffling out the room muttering obscenities.


Light hit the stinging eyes of Rae Sloane, as if slamming into the back of them, adding to her headache.
The jerk Natasi had given her when she’d moved to defend Pipsqueak had at last brought her out of comatose.
She managed to mumble.
“Ugh! I had that dream again! Where me and high command are tap-dancing!”
“Okay, glad you’ve been busy...” a morose female voice sounded behind her.
“Nat? Is that you?”
“No dearie, I’m an Angel of Iego come to give treats to all the good girls.”
“We can do without the sass, Nat. What the hell’s going on?”
“Well, how to put this...You’ve noticed, I take it, our distinctly constricting bonds and our recent detachment from the fully-dressed circles?”
“Seriously, Nat.”
“Rae.” Pipsqueak piped up, stuck on his side, barely able to glance up at her and smarting from his injuries.
“Pip.” Rae exclaimed “They got you too?”
“Sorry.” the little colt wore a shameful pout.
“No, it’s not your fault, kid.” the lieutenant said “I just wanna’ make sure you’re okay.”
“He’s fine, Rae. Focus. We need to get out of here!” Natasi barked, practically ignored by her captors “They’ve got the sector on their own lockdown. The officers on this floor are at their mercy!”
Rae groaned.
“That’s not the worst of it. Even if the crew get back this floor, if they find us like this...we can kiss our careers and our asses goodbye...And Pestage’ll probably find a way to use this to discredit all women in the Imperial workplace.”
“Not my highest priority but certainly one to keep in mind.” Natasi agreed “So we need to get out of this ourselves.”
“Okay, first...” Rae tried to tone the atmosphere down somewhat “It’s pretty clear these kids are in over their heads and there’s still a lot about Zann we don’t know. So let’s try to sort this out...reasonably.”
“Are you serious?!” Natasi snapped “They’re planning to kill our commanders.”
“Reasonably.”
“They knocked us both out and tied us up!”
“Reasonably.”
“They stripped us to our goddamn underwear!”
“Reasonably.”
“One of ‘em used the shock-baton on Pip.”
Rae paused, weighing the words, noticing the singed fur and bruises on the little colt beside her.
Her voice came just as quiet and straightforward as before but the words were very different.
“...They will all die here.”


*


Actually being able to stand to his full height felt like a luxury to the intruder.
With the right equipment, bypassing the floors leading to his destination and any defences between, had been a simple matter.
Overriding the sensors was also fairly simple. With the resources at his disposal.
Even in spite of the fools he’d hired. His curses upon them and Toora for not going to anyone more professional, i.e. more expensive, without her permission rung in his head.
He hated the fact he had to work with such an irrational and self-interested individual but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Toora would get what was coming to her in time.
First though...
He turned to his friend who whistled.
Zann nodded and gave his order.
“You use the emergency stairs. The lift here’s been shut off. That’ll take you to the dumping grounds. Work your way up and bring me Tarkin’s head.”
“While Thrawn’s is yours, of course.” came a low, growly reply.
“Naturally.” Zann said dismissively to his accomplice “Any emergency transmissions, you go and handle it. Getting down and back again won’t be much trouble for you, of course.”
He loaded his blaster.
“I have been waiting for this moment for twenty years and nothing...” he hissed “Nothing will get in the way.”


He heard his accomplice’s heavy but soft footsteps turn as they passed the corner.
He was alone.
And right outside the office of his old nemesis.
He breathed deep and pressed a button on his wrist-guard.
The door opened silently bare inches before him. All it took was a step and he was inside, the door closed a bare inch behind him.
Nothing stood in his way.
He found himself at the top of wide stairs leading down into the room.
The office of Admiral Mitth’raw’nuruodo was placed on what one might call a secondary bridge. As a flagship, it had many control booths, leisure halls and observation decks.
Thrawn had sectioned off one of them for his own personal place of meditation, it seemed.
There he was, standing stately, looking upon the expanse of space, the gradual coming and going of the fleet members...
The movement of the stars.
The correlation of the moons.
The ways poets would describe it.
And all the other useless things he’d taught him.
His old teacher had his back to Zann.
Fatal mistake as ever.


He drew his blaster with a grin.
The noise made Thrawn turn.
Zann’s voice killed all remaining tranquillity.
“Remember me?!”
Thrawn’s crimson eyes widened, stunned, looking up at his old student grinning at him from the top of the stairs.
Tyber Zann’s blaster rose.
“Of course you do...”
With a screech of gunfire, a stream of plasma-fire flew through the air, into Thrawn’s chest and out the other end. The Chiss’s scream was stolen from his throat as he fell backwards and slumped limply to the ground.
Tyber Zann’s piercing chrome-coloured eyes lit up with zeal mixed with some amount of surprise.
He’d just...gone down.
Then again. However smart he liked to think he was, Thrawn had never confessed to being bulletproof.
He just lay there twitching.
Tentatively, each step like the swig of a strong drink, intoxicating him, Tyber Zann approached.
He stood over the man he’d once called ‘Sir’, primed another bullet and finally, after twenty years, was the one giving orders.
“Get up.” he growled “You’ll look me in the eye when I...”
He stopped.
The image of the prone Thrawn wasn’t just twitching. It was flickering. Dissipating.
He went bright blue, not just in his skin but all over.
Zann stepped back, confused.
Behind him, a Sienar Endymion-Series Imagecaster under the desk switched off.
Thrawn disappeared.
“Wh...” Zann mumbled, the concentrated elation, brewing for over twenty years, snatched from him, ashes in his mouth 	“Wha...”
Click!
He felt something small and hard poke through his hair and jab the side of his head.
The barrel of a blaster.
It’s wielder, having seemingly materialised out of nowhere, stood primly with one hand behind his back and a look 	registering nothing more than tired contempt on his blue-skinned face.
“It’s called a hologram.” Admiral Mitth’raw’nuruodo said plainly “This is called a trap...And I am calling you dead.”


*


Maximilian Veers gave the models in his office one last look.
Reflection came as easy to his mind as it did to the glass domes that protected the mementoes of his early war years.
He’d served in the Republic Militia for over twenty years now. And every bold step forward made him feel younger.
Bare hours ago, he’d gotten the news from Yularen and Teshik.
His pleas to High Command had been answered.
The Armoured Corps. Fully reinstated and operational. Machines of war that had been gathering dust in armouries at the whim of over-sceptical senators and obstructive bureaucrats were now fully revitalised and ready for action.
Heavy walkers, attack pods, juggernauts, artillery transports, repulsortanks, missile platforms, turbolasers, ion tanks, walking cannons and more.
The march of thunder would, once more, be heard across the galaxy.
And Veers would lead the vanguard.
As a General.
He had learned, early on in his military career, what insufficient armour did to an army and its campaign.
Culdroon’s horrors still burned in his mind and that was only recently.
The first time he’d seen military setback of such scale was the Evacuation of Rhen Var.
He’d lost a good many friends from his academy years in that battle. To say nothing of how it looked for the clones.
Bred out of some Kaminoan facility to plug the gaps in Republic defence with their own corpses.
He drew a glass of brandy and toasted a good riddance to the Senate and its total disdain and disregard for the war it knew nothing about.
It was a fine thing for them to speak of potential loss of life when the loss happening as they spoke was already greater than they could comprehend. But that didn’t bother them.
People were a resource to them in the end. Why else would they word it that way.
‘Waste’ of life.
They’d known nothing. They’d wanted to know nothing. Yet they judged and judged and judged.


Veers shook his head and thought of something more pleasant.
He drew his holoprojector out of his desk and sent a request for transmission.
It was picked up almost immediately and the image of a young boy, about six, with curly ginger hair and a wide smile, gesturing wildly behind him.
“Mum! Mum! Dad’s calling!” he was close to yelling with excitement.
“In a moment, darling.” A quiet, slightly tired voice that always managed to be sweet to Maximilian’s ears sounded as a woman in her late thirties, thin and frail but smiling brightly, her dark-ginger hair long and braided over her shoulder.
She carried a baby, a bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked little thing just beginning growing a head of blonde hair.
“Hello Max.” the woman cooed.
“Hello Urmeth.” the sight of them elated him considerably as he spoke to his wife “How are things back home?”
“Mostly quiet but considering the years we’ve had before, that’s a plus.”
“I’ve told all the boys at school that you’re the reason there’s no more bombings in the streets or raids on the shipyards!” the boy piped up. It made Veers chuckle.
“Now, Zevulon, you know I’m not the only man defending Denon.”
“I know.” Zevulon replied cheekily “It’s just that you’re better than all of them.”
Veers laughed again.
“You’re a good boy, Zev. Urmeth...” his tone grew concerned “Any news from the doctors?”
Urmeth Veers spoke in a gentle, reassuring manner.
“Yes, Max, there was. They tell me it’s all very curable and I’ll be fine in a few days with the right medication. It was a bit more serious when they checked but that’s down to stress. I’ll be alright now.”
“I’m helping mum with Tassy whenever she needs it.” Zev added.
“That’s my boy! Good to hear it, darling” Veers replied contentedly, giving an adoring look to his baby daughter “And how’s little Tasserine today? Going to give daddy a smile?”
Little Tasserine Veers gave the holographic image of her father a look and managed a line of baby-talk, taking her hands out the blanket she was being carried in and waved them merrily at her father.
Maximilian laughed in delight at his daughter, already growing so fast.
“She’s beautiful.” he sighed “Take care now. If all goes well, I’ll see you at Anaxes after the-”


There was a thump on the other side of the door. Then another and another.
“Frak’s sake, Ornar! We’ve got the key! Stop banging the door.”
“I don’t bang doors, Droov, I break doors. I bang your mom!”
“Will you guys shut up and open the frakking door already?! Geez!”
Veers listened to the noise and turned to his family who now wore looks of concern.
“Max? What’s happening? Who’s out there.”
“Don’t worry, treasures. I won’t be long.” he gave them an assured nod and pressed the button on the holoprojector.
“I love you all.”
The door swung open and Maximilian Veers found himself looking at four young crooks. Two young men, a female Iktochi and a large male Dowutin.
One of the men, a lanky, sunken-eyed fellow with a single, spiky stripe of hair and more piercings than teeth, held the door.
The other, a pudgy, pallid individual with a double chin and folded neck prickly with unkempt stubble held up a gun that Veers could tell from a glance he’d never used until now and gave an order.
“Alright, get your frakking hands in the air, ya’ scrump!” he ordered in a foul-mouthed yet flat-toned voice.
Veers gave the group a glance and raised one eyebrow.
“He’s not taking you seriously.” the Iktochi girl said flatly.
The fat man fumbled with his blaster and tried to sound moderately scarier.
“Hey, scrump! I’m gonna’ frakkin’ blast your ass with this big frakkin’ gun and then I’m gonna’ frak your wife’s scrump! So you get up and prepare to frakkin’ die, got it?!”
Veers stood.
And took a deep breath.


*


“Well, this is a right bugger.”
“A more formal term for the situation might be appropriate, old friend.” Tarkin said frankly as he and two friends observed the sad state of Sector Xi’s camera footage from the sensors deck in Sector Theta. Flat static which they’d had to mute to stop their ears bleeding from the sudden deafening screech the malfunction had produced.
“The Dreadnought Fantasia is equipped with the most state-of-the-art security and surveillance systems available to the Core Worlds.” Hurst Romodi said in his usual discerning tone, wearing a scowl of suspicion “It sees everything, oversees everyone, checks everywhere...This is not a glitch.”
“So we should hope, Tarkin, for your sake.”
The sly, weasely voice of the Grand Vizier sounded behind them.
Tarkin, Romodi and Bannidge Holt all groaned together as they turned to see Sate Pestage, Croesus Crodd and Rear Admiral Labryn Thurg standing in the doorway, all wearing surreptitious smirks.
“This would not reflect well on your record, now would it...” Thurg said in a slow, syrupy tone that sounded almost short of breath. In fact, Labryn Thurg’s overall disposition struck any observer as being one who worked himself to breaking point to look calm. With bulging red veins all over his neck and bald scalp, and lips and eyelids that had gone blue by some means or another and total absence of eyebrows or lashes, there was something not quite right about him. Likely the reason Crodd kept him close; to unnerve others.
Behind them entered a concerned-looking Eli Vanto.
“Pardon me, Excellencies, but are the elevators meant to be locked out?”
“Damn it all!” Romodi cursed “Can we contact Screed?”
“No. He’s down in Sector Xi, I’m afraid.” Tarkin said “I have a...moderate knowledge of computer implementation.”
“Ah...I always wondered how he won that court case.” Crodd interjected.
Tarkin ignored him and busied himself with the control panel.
Holt shook his head.
“Sod this for a game of stormtroopers!” he barked “I’m going down there myself!”
“The elevators are locked down. Didn’t you hear him, Holt?” Thurg said tiredly.
“Admiral Holt.” The intimidating old fellow fixed Thurg with a withering glance “And I heard perfectly. My point still stands. What other entrances are there to the elevator system?”
“None. The doors have locked by remote.”
“I didn’t say doors. I said entrances.”
Romodi, Vanto and Tarkin looked to each other with concern while Pestage, Crodd and Thurg cast unimpressed sneers Holt’s way.
“Well...” Vanto pondered “There’s the ventilation systems.”
“Excellent.” Romodi interjected “We can send a probe droid. Maybe even...”
“Bollocks to that!” Holt barked “Never send a droid to do a human’s work!” He unbuttoned his jacket and threw it over Vanto’s shoulder before striding out the room.
“Bannidge, have you finally gone bonkers?” Romodi spluttered “You won’t find the elevator on this floor, only the shaft. The elevator, currently, is locked on the top floor. Getting from here to Sector Xi is an eighty-five foot drop and much further if you slip!”
“Haven’t you forgotten, Hurst?” Bannidge cracked a gnarled grin as he jabbed as his own chest with a thumb “Inner Rim Academy Spelunking Champion, five-years running!”
“Sir, with respect, you must desist. You won’t be able to drag spelunking equipment through the vents.” Eli interjected.
“Equipment?! Pah! Do I look like a bloody school-boy to you, Captain?! Where’s the damn hanger bay?!” Bannidge roared at the young officer then turned and strode out in usual brusque manner, barging by Sate Pestage and nearly knocking the withered old man down like a bowling pin.
“Well...” Romodi gave a dry chuckle and whispered to Tarkin “This should be worth watching...”


Standing in a cloaking, black coverall over her unique burgundy uniform, Captain First-Class Tessela Corvae made some adjustments to her TX-130 Saber-class fighter tank.
Most wouldn’t think it proper to have an Imperial officer working on her own vehicle but Corvae had very specific standards when it came to vehicles she used. She hated droids working on her own vehicle only slightly less than she did other people working on them.
Such horrors she’d find after people had been in her tank. The need to stock and restock the munitions, the whole thing smelling of cleaning fluid, the flares not being where they should be, the interface not opening where it should, the distance between the seat and the loudspeaker being changed, the number of mints in the cubby-hole being lessened without her leave.
It was worth taking that crash-course in engineering to avoid the calamities.
She worked silently, only the humming of work-droids protecting the room from total silence.
Dabbing the cloth into the mechanical lubricant, her thick gloves protecting her spotless hands from mess, she made sure to get the right finish, combining maximum velocity with clean reflective appearance for maximum elegance in performance.
There was a bet going round the officers for whether her tanks or Captain Freja Covell and his attack pod squadron were the first to meet the battle zone.
Her tanks. Not her fathers. Hers. Her father hadn’t taken to battle for some twenty-years since he came down with Kanju’s disease.
Yet some officers, Thurg just that morning, felt it necessary to suggest it was him that allowed her to lead her own force, as if a doting parent’s treat.
She never shied away from a challenge. It was how she’d got as far as she had.
The doors swung open, jerking her out of her concentration.
Cursing silently, she turned to see the full-figure of Admiral Bannidge Holt standing in the hanger doorway, glaring at her determinedly.
“Captain Corvae!” he barked “Have you got any grease?”
Corvae glanced at him, then the bucket of lubricant.
“Yes...yes, I do.”
And with that, Bannidge Holt reached his enormous hands over his collar and tore open his shirt in one go.
“Then grease me up, woman!”
Corvae blinked.
“...Okie-Dokie.”


*


“So...” Natasi mumbled as the two women struggled in vain at their bonds “You have a plan?”
“Well...you’re one with a reputation for deception. You hang around Tarkin after all.”
“What, so therefore I’ve got a set of all-purpose escape utensils hidden up my knickers?”
“Have you?”
Natasi paused awkwardly.
“...would it help?” she found herself asking.
“Well, can you reach them?”
The red-haired officer wrestled with her bound wrists.
“No. My hands are tied too far apart.”
“Okay...um...my hands are slightly lower down, maybe if I...”
“Absolutely not!” Natasi interrupted “I am not having a lower-ranking officer fooling about in my underclothing!”
“Right...” Rae muttered sarcastically “Whereas higher-ranking officers-”
“Sloane, you shut your mouth!” the woman behind her hissed.
“...Fine...What about Pip?”
“Star’s sake, Rae. He’s not old enough to see that kind of thing!”
“No, you dumb-ass! I meant he might be able to undo the cords or something.”
Natasi gave it some thought.
The cords were tightened fibercord, quarter-inch thick.
And dumb as Drazala Nuwaan seemed, she clearly knew quite a bit about tying people up. What that said about her probably spoke for itself.
“I don’t know. Pip, what do you think?”
“Showwy. Cahng taww. Mom mfff’sh fll...”
An unintelligible mumble from the colt caused both women to glance down.
The little colt was gnawing hard at the cords at their wrists, biting with all his might.
“Nice one, Pipsqueak.” Rae said with praise.
“Third rope down. That’s the knot-end. The rest should come loose.” Natasi advised, glancing at the three thugs at the control booth.
They seemed occupied. Radds was fumbling at the control booth with one hand occupied with his earpiece.
“No, no, use the fob...Whaddya’ mean it’s not working? Fine. Blast the door with your gun then...Whaddya’ mean it’s not working?! Is your blaster even frakking’ loaded! We left the ammo on the ship, remember?! Okay, okay, I’m trying to get you on the cameras. How the hell do you work this?!”
“No, no, you’ve got the wrong setting.” Drazala fussed “Power here. Then sensor. Then camera number.”
“No, wait...Damn it, no! I didn’t want the interactive map!”
“You know, you could download a lot of real-time pornocrons off this thing.” Magro Slim interjected.
“Slim! Not now!”
“Just sayin’.”
“How much?” Drazala asked with interest.
“Guys! I need to focus here! Ugh, why is so much smart-tech so frakking dumb?!”
“You know, I’m almost starting to pity this sorry lot.” Natasi muttered.
“Just remember they took our clothes and used a stun-baton on Pip.” Rae replied as between them, there came a dull snap.
Part of the fibercord had come loose, curling at the pale, gnawed edges.
With a mumble of discomfort, Pip winced and stretched his jaw.
“Ow...that stuff’s tough.”
“Nice one, Pip.” Natasi whispered “I’ll handle the rest of it. Turn your eyes.”
“I’ll distract them.” Rae said “Play along...”
“Ooh, this might come in handy.” Pipsqueak managed to nudge the stun-baton between Rae and Natasi “That mean little walking frog-thing left it here.”
“Oh yes, Pip.” Rae’s eyes gleamed “It’ll come in handy indeed.”


Radds was fumbling again with the communicator.
“Well, then use the barrel to beat them to death! It’s big enough! Just stop calling me, I’m working! Goddamn it, this is meant to be the big pay-off!”
Rae gave a series of gasps of exasperation as she obviously and audibly struggled with the bonds.
As Radds turned to her, she gave him an odd look. Half-closed eyes and pouting lips.
What was it? Invitation?
“What’s wrong, sweet-cheeks?” Radds asked “Never been tied up before?”
“Well...” Rae sighed “Not against my will.” She sucked her teeth and tossed her hair, seemingly a different person “Ugh! How could this happen? It’ll be so embarrassing when all the other officers find out about this...”
“Well, you know, babe, we’re always hiring.” Radds cracked a smirk he must have thought looked gallant.
Rae gave one of her own and then placed her heels up on the corners of the box, raising her hips higher.
She just prayed Pipsqueak didn’t know enough about humanoid anatomy to know what it implied.
“I tell ya...Goldenboy...” she murmured sultrily “If I had to be tied up in a locked room, alone, with anyone...I’m glad it was you...”
“Oh really?” Radds’ attention was completely taken up and the other two looked just as dumbfounded.
Rae took a deep breath and chanced her luck, sliding the secret weapon from between her and Natasi and under her raised hips. Stars forbid how it must have looked. Never before had she been so happy the security cameras were down.
But needs must.
“Yeah...Cause only you...are that...damn...STUPID!”
The sound of the shock-baton thrusting into his groin was swiftly joined by his scream. Radds Burl convulsed wildly with a stupid look on his face and an even stupider sound escaping his throat.
Before the wretched boy could gather his senses, Rae linked arms with Natasi who threw herself forwards, propelling Rae Sloane up over her shoulders. The hardy lieutenant kicked out with both feet at Radds’ face (For if she had ever seen a face that needed a good kicking, it was his) sending him flying into his cohorts.
Rae rolled to the end of the room, holding out her hands to cup for her friend.
Natasi stepped forward and was vaulted back, lucky that the control room was rather high, and somersaulted back to drop-kick the oncoming Magro Slim. Ducking Drazala’s knife, she back-kicked the Zeltron and tore off Pipsqueak’s bonds which she’d managed to clip in Rae’s distraction.
The two formidable females stood before the three nonplussed would-be hijackers, payback chiefly at the front of their minds. They nodded to each other with eager grins.
And havoc ensued.


Vaulting over the seat, Natasi roundhouse-kicked the staggering Radds while Rae ducked and dived the lumbering Klatooinian’s punches, kicked the back of his leg then drove her knee up into the underside of his trousers. With a high-pitched gurgle, Magro Slim froze in pain while the Lieutenant grabbed the back of his collar and hurled him to the floor.
Drazala came round with her knife again. Rae grabbed the wrist of the hand and the two women wrestled with the weapon.
There was the sound of something crunching.
All at once, the Zeltron gave a yelp of pain and dropped the knife. Hopping frantically, she appeared to be shaking herself all over. Craning her neck, Rae saw why.
Pipsqueak, in a moment of either quick-thinking or animal instinct, had bounded up and dealt Drazala Nuwaan an impressive bite on the backside. He landed on four hooves, a large patch of shiny fabric from the back of Drazala’s hot-pants clutched between his teeth, shaking his head, looking for all the world like some angry puppy defending its owner as best it could.
Fighting the urge to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, Rae moved to help the little colt but found the angry Klatooinian in her way. The two slugged at each other while Pipsqueak scuttled under the desk. Gulping, he realised his plan of attack might not have been so well thought-out.
“Get outta’ there, you little bastard! You’re dead!”
The Zeltron was snarling as she crawled down, reaching out to grab at him while the other reached for a spare knife. Pipsqueak felt a hand tug at his tail and drag him forward. Reaching out for anything, his forehooves found themselves clutching onto a bucket of some sort, half-filled with some sort of thick, blue liquid. Lubricant for the repair-utensils and mouse-droids.
Instinctively, he drew the bucket round and thrust it forward with all four hooves.
Drazala gave a cry of dismay that quickly became muffled as, with a low squelch, her head was enveloped by the grease-bucket. As she grabbed frantically at the air, Pipsqueak sought to escape her grasp by kicking at the bucket-top rapidly with his back-hooves. The Zeltron was trapped and fighting furiously to remove the thing stuck on her head.
As Rae slammed her fists against Magro’s temples, she took advantage of his discombobulation to check on the foal.
Grabbing the back of Drazala’s torn hot-pants, she hauled the Zeltron out from under the desk and slung her across the floor, the blue grease from the bucket causing her to slide across it, knocking over Radds Burl in the process.
Turning back to the Klatooinian, Rae Sloane, jumped on the seat and locked her legs around his torso, her fists slamming into his flabby, canine face over and over until he began keeling over like a falling tree, kicking back right before he hit the floor to quicken his landing, knocking him out cold.
Radds, stumbling groggily, threw a punch with the stun-baton which Natasi caught and drove her knee into his stomach. As he doubled up, she threw him over one knee, drew the stun baton, switched it to full voltage, and clouted him with it across the rump with what could only be described as ferocity as she bellowed each each clout to the sound of his squeals of agony.
“NEVER! EVER! EVER! CALL! ME! DOLLFACE!”
And with that, she threw away the baton and grabbed him by the back of his collar and belt. Rae meanwhile, weaved her way round Drazala Nuwaan, still struggling to pull the bucket from off her head and held her in a similar position.
“Welcome to the frakkin’ Fantasia!” she yelled as the two women threw their foe’s heads against each other. Radds and Drazala met each other in the middle with a satisfying ‘crunk!’ and fell atop the prone Magro Slim in one idiotic heap.
The victors cheered as one. Pipsqueak made his way out and hopped about on all four hooves merrily while Rae and Natasi punched the air.
“Nice one, everybody!” Natasi whooped “This was fun. We should do this again.”
“Yeah, we make a pretty good team.” Rae held out her hands “Hug?”
Natasi raised an eyebrow.
“As long as you don’t grab a handful.”
“Oh shut up, you.” The two women hugged.
“It was nice working with you.” Natasi chuckled “Now, we should get our clothes back on. You’re really quite cold...”


There came a whistle behind Pipsqueak.
The little colt noticed a familiar little mouse droid in the vents under the desk he’d taken cover in.
He looked to the two women tentatively.
“Rae! I’ve got an idea!” he piped up “The doors are still locked and I need to see if Parisian’s okay. I remember where the armoury is and Minnie might be able to help.”
Before Rae could voice her opinion, Natasi tossed Pip the stun baton.
“Go get ‘em, Pip. Knock ‘em dead!”
“Wait, what?”
“Thanks, Nat!” Pipsqueak took the stun baton in his teeth and began navigating the vents behind Minnie the Mouse Droid.
Rae turned to Natasi exasperatedly.
“What are you thinking?! He’s just a kid!”
“Rae, he’s smart. If you don’t let him sort things out himself, he’s never going to grow up.” Natasi said with a shrug “Besides the door’s locked. If anyone can get out, it's him.”
“Then help me get back into the mainframe.”
“Fine. I mean if you really want to let High Command see what you wear to bed.”
Rae paused and cast Natasi a grim look.
“Does everyone you know simultaneously want to hug you and strangle you?”
“No. Just everyone who I prove wrong.” she smiled “Clothes first. Mainframe later. And don’t worry about Pip. I know the look of a kid with a plan.”


*


“Hey!” Docor Danstan yelled for about the sixth time as the officer in the communications room refused to look up from his work, his headphones blotting out all sounds in the background as he tapped concernedly at the comms mainframe.
Terrinald Screed was busying himself trying to regain control over the sector frame. Wasn’t the most harrowing experience he’d ever been part of. And with a bit of smooth Bith jatz, playing through his headphones, he was in the zone, as it were.
He was jerked out of it at last as Docor jabbed the side of his shaven head with the barrel of his blaster impatiently. He switched off his music at the headphones and turned to the newcomer with a patient expression.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Motherfrakker, I’ve been standing her trying to get your attention with this huge frakking blaster for five goddamn minutes!” the hijacker yelled.
“Have you, now? Apologies. I was trying to recalibrate the communications. I think someone might be trying to hack it.”
Docor blinked.
“That’s us! We’re the ones hacking it, you frakking idiot!”
“Ah.” Screed simply nodded, seemingly seeing nothing out of the ordinary “That would make sense. So this is a hostage situation?”
“No this is a ‘two rounds of plasma right up your frakking ass’ situation!” Docor Danstan primed his blaster, his face completely lost of patience.
“Ah.” Screed said again, placing his hands behind his back and sighing “Well...that’s a pity.”
“Right...” the Maldovar Boy’s lips twisted in a leer “So...any last requests, old man?”
“Yes actually.” Screed pulled off a glove.
A metal finger pointed right at Docor’s torso as the officer gave his request.
“Stand up straight.”
The fingertip shot out of its socket and jabbed into the nonplussed thug.
It was attached to two thin fibercords linking back to the hand.
All at once, Docor Danstan did exactly as requested, arching back convulsing as electricity coursed through him. He dropped the blaster on the floor and jittered wildly on tip-toes.
The fingertip shot back as Screed balled up a metal fist and slugged Danstan across the jaw, sending him out for the count.
Putting his glove back on, he shook his head and tutted.
“Never disturb me when I’m working.” he muttered as he switched his music back on and managed to relay signal from the other sectors. At least to his room.
So far so good.


*


“Well, well, well...” Grand Admiral-Moff Octavian Grant sighed in amusement “Apologies, Teshik, old chum, but you may have to do without me for the early part of this campaign...”
Three Grand Moffs had stood in the leisure hall observing the oncoming reinforcement fleet around the Dreadnought.
All had begun to busy themselves with their own antics. Suadela Therbon was either meditating or sleeping, under that visor it wasn’t certain; Osvald Teshik was taking in the sight of a small replica of the Subjugator-class Heavy Cruiser in a glass case; and Octavian Grant had taken the opportunity to answer some calls.
“Crashing shame, I’m sure.” Teshik said slightly sarcastically from across the room “To whom do you owe your attention in earnest?”
“Home sweet home, if you must know.”
“I thought Tapani didn’t hide any rebel cells.” Grand Moff Therbon said suspiciously.
“It doesn’t. And I don’t intend to let it do so under any circumstances.” the Tapani prodigy said sternly, turning to get a better read of the message he’d received and communicate personally.
“Hello? It’s me.”
A soft, kindly voice of uncertain gender came from the other end.
“Dear nephew of mine...” Suzerain Loalo Ettagon, a woman Octavian had known all his life, although at times he’d been a man Octavian knew all his life. Whether the Suzerain changed the approach of his or her gender as a means to further the Order’s interests or simply as a calling was not something Grant felt he needed to pry into.
Male or female, Loalo Ettagon had always been one of the greatest assassins in Tapani and the worlds surrounding it. It was her, him at the time though her before that, that had taught him to defend himself at an early age. And to kill. And to get away with it.
Now Loalo Ettagon operated as the head of intelligence among the Mecrosa Order and that intelligence she would always share with Grant.
After all, he was family. Long had the Mecrosa Order operated alongside the noble House Mecetti. The Household financed the order and its cryptic ways while the Order ensured the household would never be overtaken by their rivals.
It was a good partnership that had gone on for centuries.
“Hello auntie.” Octavian said with some amount of affection “You’re quite certain this is the full list?”
“All direct connections to the sprouting weed that is the potential Tapani Rebellion. There is more, students, journalists, lawyers, criminal classes and so forth. Our novices can deal with them or your household’s own guard.”
“Or an Imperial garrison.” Grant suggested, looking over the list “And the Senator in their midst?”
“Gem Sirrom of Dahvil. The very same Senator Gem Sirron of Dahvil who is prepared to meet the Tapani Royal Council in two days time.”
“Sirrom’s just another of Mothma’s flunkeys. She hasn’t any real thoughts on this or that. Prove to her that Tapani won’t bend their way and she’ll be off like a shot. Besides, it’s not officially Tapani business what we do to a visiting Senator.” Grant supposed while skimming the list “What we do to those planning to stay however...that’s a different matter entirely.”
“You cannot imagine the things they had in store, young one.” Loalo crooned “On your birthday no less. That lovely parade your mother and sisters have spent so much time on is to be concussion-carpet-bombed and sprayed with rebel slang. Broadcasting slander over every station. Inviting pirates to our shipping grounds...They’ve proved highly hurtful creatures even without drawing weapons...In a way, I’m impressed.”
Grant raised his brow at the look of the plans the Mecrosa had intercepted.
“They seem interested in me...Maybe even obsessed.” he chuckled “All these publicity stunts and raids they have planned just to ruin my good name? I’d be flattered if the whole affair weren’t so...clumsy.”


The double-door swung open as six men and women in salvaged armour and blasters in their hands. One was a girl, around seventeen, with a mob of dirty blonde hair and sunken eyes practically mobbed by eye-shadow. One heard her long before they saw her.
“Get the frak down! Get on your frakking knees! You’re gonna’ frakking die, motherfrakkers! Frak you!”
The three Grand Moffs slowly got to their feet, their expressions those of mild confusion and no small amount of derision.
“I presume you want our attention in some way, young lady?” Teshik said flatly.
“No, scrump! I want to frakking kill you, motherfrakker!” the girl screamed.
Teshik placed his hands behind his back and gave her a measured glance.
“I’m sorry you feel that way. Have I offended you in some manner, young madam?”
“You shut the frak up, you scrump!” the girl yelled, looking ready to be the youngest person ever to burst multiple capillaries. She turned to the flat-faced Suadela Therbon, standing prim and flat-faced.
Brezna the Beast, as she called herself, hauled her massive blaster up to Suadela’s face. The Grand Moff gave no sign of unease. None of them did.
“You...” Brezna hissed “I’m gonna’ frakking put this gun right in your frakking scrump and frak you with it until you frakking die, you scrump!”
Therbon simply gave a sigh.
“We can do without the language, madam. It’s possible to get one’s point across without profanity.”
“Frak you, you frakking scrump-sucker!”
If they could see past her visor, they would have seen that Therbon cocked an eyebrow.
“If you abstain from ceasing it, at least vary your cursing.”
“Brez, cool it!” A stocky male Devoranian strode forward, spinning a blaster in one hand “You bros get out the camcorders! This is the 360 No-Scope comin’ up!”
“Frakking really?!” Brezna snapped.
“I concur, is this truly necessary?” Octavian Grand piped up.
Before Brezna could respond, the Devoranian, Sh’Zago, flexed his shoulders, as if failing to notice that the Theelin before her could see and hear all he was doing.
“Okay, guys! 360 No-Scope, Badda-Bi-”
Thwomp!
As Sh’Zago attempted a 360, he found himself instead doing a 720...then a 1440...in mid-air...before falling flat on his face. Suadela Therbon had dealt him an uppercut that was, to the opinion of those present, worth a lot more catching on camcorder than his original plan.
Brezna was the first to collect herself, for lack of a better phrase.
“You frakking scrump!” she lined her blaster as she continued yelling “Frak y-”
The second person in a row to get cut off mid-sentence, Suadela Therbon spun and delivered a ferocious back-kick straight in the lower face, flying back, clutching her face, Brezna the Beast gave the first sounds the three Grand Moffs had heard that weren’t vulgarities, screaming through her hands.
Therbon finally cracked a smile.
“Oh dear!” she chuckled “Right before the command meeting, I go and put my foot in something nasty!”
Teshik’s massive chest shook with laughter as the three shook of their half-cloaks over one shoulder and drew decorative batons of white, black and red.
‘Blackjacks’ as they were known colloquially.
“And here I was thinking my time on the Fantasia would be a dull affair!” he laughed.
“Shall we?” Octavian Grant said with a smile as the three appeared to crack their batons down the middle.
The blackjacks electrified and the three went about giving the Maldovar Boyz a lesson in courtesy.
At times like this, Osvald, Suadela and Octavian reminded themselves, they really did love their job.


*


Minnie the Mouse Droid paused at the grating at the end of the vent and a small light came on at its front.  The grating slid up. Avoided the need to kick it down.
Pipsqueak, carrying the stun baton under one foreleg, wriggled out the vent and turned to the Mouse Droid.
“Okay, Minnie. We need to get to the armoury quick. But we could run into any of those...what did they call themselves? Boys? With a ‘z’, which I’m pretty sure Cheerilee told Snips and Snails isn’t the way to spell it...”
Minnie gave a series of whistling and shook.
The buttoned panel on her back raised and halved itself. The two halves extended outwards and made way for a flat layer with a gap under it for the halves to slide under and connect again. Probably a means to protect the buttons from damage if the situation called for it.
But Pip had another use for it.
Throwing one hind leg over the side of it and leaning forward, his foreleg still wrapped around the stun-baton, he readied himself.
“Giddy-up, Mousey!” he cheered.
Minnie the Mouse Droid emitted a series of little tooting whistles, wiggling about on her wheels, before speeding off down the corridors.
From out of an open panel in the wall, a familiar creature jumped out, grumbling audibly.
“Gah! To Hok with this!” Snertling Haph-Pinter snapped, struggling to fully take apart the communications box outside the locked communications room “Who do these whizz-drunk, wet-wheezin’ nyork-heads think they’re dealin’ with, huh?! Don’t they feel the terror they should when they hear the name Cap’n Snertling Haph-Pint-agh!” he stopped, startled at the sight of Pipsqueak and Minnie staring at him from the end of the corridor.
The Zilkin took a step back, his eyes on stalks wide and terrified.
Pipsqueak gave a menacing grin.
Now, Pipsqueak had been raised properly and the doctrines of harmony and peace ran strong in Trottingham. He had always been taught, by his mother, Miss Cheerilee, Princess Luna and others, that violence was never the answer and that revenge was not a noble cause.
He acknowledged that, understood that, accepted that and was happy it was learned.
...
But just this once, while they weren’t around, he’d make an exception.
“Chaaaaarge!” he yelled as Minnie beeped a merry tone and surged forward at top speed.
With a scream, Snertling belted down the corridor with the mouse droid and the colt upon it on his heels.
Barely inches away, Pipsqueak jabbed the bullying Zilkin in the bottom with the stun baton again and again as Snertling Haph-Pinter babbled on in hysteria, his eyestalks fixed on the colt behind him.
“Gagh! You can’t do this to me, I’m a war veteran-Ow! Okay, clearly we got off on the wrong foot, we could still get along-Ouch! If you let me go I’ll give you one of my medals-Ow, damnit! Look, do you want money? I know people who have money-Agh-hoo! Curse these short legs!!!”
As Pipsqueak turned a corner, Snertling breathed a sigh of relief...
Swiftly interrupted by the wall before him he hadn’t chanced to turn his eyestalks to. Slamming straight into it, he slid down the wall like a sponge and fell unconscious on the floor.


Pipsqueak continued speeding down the corridor, heading for the armoury doors.
“Stop!” he called out as Minnie screeched to a halt.
The code-panel was right above him. Pipsqueak got up and had to stand on one hind-hoof to just about reach it, Minnie raising her top-panel a few inches to give him better reach.
The Mouse Droid gave a series of beeps, one after the other, like telegraphic code.
Pipsqueak managed to key in the buttons, having to turn off the stun baton to use as a stick.
With Rae, Natasi and Screed back in charge of the mainframe, there was no more trouble with the lock-down from outside in the corridor.
The door swung open and Parisian Froul, bound, gagged and stripped to his underwear, fell out and thumped to the floor, struggling at his bonds. Minnie lowered her top-panel, allowed Pip to clamber off and opened a side-panel from out of which came a set of small but powerful pliers which cut through the knot in his bonds.
Ripping off the gag, the corporal got to his feet.
“Pip!” he gasped “The man in my uniform, where was he headed, do you know?!”
The colt wracked his memory.
“Yes! He was heading to the mini-spa at the end of the corridor.”
Parisian paled.
“Moff Mors is there...and Shayla...I have to hurry. Can you take care of yourself for now?”
“Course.” Pipsqueak said happily, spinning the stun-baton in his forehoof.
“Right. No time to waste.” Parisian pushed his blonde hair out his eyes and sprinted down the corridor. Pip thought he would have looked a lot more heroic if he was wearing trousers but then he didn’t know much about how humans regarded things like that.
Just then, from behind him, there came an almighty crash.
Whether the door had opened or had broken was unclear but four of the Maldovar Boyz lay in a heap, struggling to their feet and groaning in pain.
General Maximilian Veers strode out his office before them, his face a picture of indignation and fury.
“I do not appreciate being interrupted while I’m speaking to my family!!!” he roared. The four who’d crossed him scrambled up and started running down the other corner towards the elevators, lugging their ungainly weaponry like trash-cans strapped to their arms.
“Run! He’s frakking crazy!” one of them screamed.
“Get back here, you milksops, I’m not done with you yet!” Veers bellowed, passing the little colt with a friendly nod as he took off.
Looking back into the armoury, Pipsqueak noticed a buzzing, blinking object that had laid discarded under one of the benches. Tentatively, he picked it up and pressed the button on it.
A voice came through, vaguely familiar.
“Hello? Corporal Froul? Can you reach your father from here? I need you to open all frequencies. The armoury doors have opened so you might be able to relay the signal short-range. Are you there?”
Pipsqueak had never been good with taking calls but this one was urgent.
“Um, no, this is Pipsqueak.”
“Oh, you’re that pony, aren't you.” the voice replied “Fine, you’ll do. This is Screed. Can you please hold down the button on this communicator, stand in the corridor and turn the button about a quarter?”
Pipsqueak did so, managing as best he could with small hooves.
The voice of Glandon Froul came through at last.
“Parisian?”
“No, he went off but he’s fine.” Pipsqueak replied “Is this on...whatever you called it?”
“Yes, I’m getting communication from the Sector Xi channels. I should be able to get the doors working again but the elevators are another matter. I need someone to go up and find the emergency manual override. It’s opposite the dumping grounds. I’ll be able to open the door for it but that’s about it. I’m not sure how many doors could stand in your way from there on.”
“We could get a probe droid running and send it up through the dispenser shaft.” Yularen suggested.
“Excellent plan. But we have none.”
“I could go!” Pipsqueak piped up “I just passed the dispenser shaft. Opposite the communications box, right? I’m small enough and if I could take this, you could direct me.”
There was a pause.
“Well, I suppose we’re out of options.” Screed replied “I don’t know if the signal’s going to last long up there but you should do fine. Quick now, there’s a good lad.”
“Righto.” Pip hopped back on Minnie as they ventured down the way they came.
He stopped.
Veers had halted just before the open doors of the absent elevator where the full strength of the remaining Maldovar Boyz, around ten, had reassembled, priming their blasters. They were trying hard to keep the three Grand Moffs locked up in their room, bearing the bruises of their Blackjacks.
The Devoranian stared at the General before him.
“Think I can still get a 360 No-”
“Shut your scrump mouth and just frakking shoot them!” Brezna shrieked.
“Don’t swear in front of the boy.” Veers said offhandedly, turning to the colt.
“You go, Pip. Quickly. I’ll hold them off.” he ordered.
Before Pip could fully comprehend the gravity of the situation, there came a yell seemingly from above them.
“Tally-Bloody-Ho!”
Like a bundle of dominos, the Maldovar Boyz collided into each other as something flew out of the elevator shaft behind them.
Standing above them, a hulking mass of gnarled skin, knotted muscles and spiky silver-hair stood in shiny, black speedos and a giant grin.
Admiral Bannidge Holt raised one fist and bellowed.
“INSURGENTS BEWARE! I’M READY FOR BATTLE, ARMED TO THE TEETH AND HUNG LIKE A KYBUCK!”
“I want out! I want out! Get us outta’ here!” The Maldovar Boyz crawled about on the floor, all sense of order in their organisation lost as Holt and Veers busied themselves turfing them down the corridor.
“We’ve got this, Pipsqueak! Make us proud!” the General called back as the little colt soldiered on.


*


“Finally!” Yularen gasped as the doors of Moff Glandon Froul’s office finally opened. The two old veterans glanced about, Glandon fumbling with his commlink.
“Are you there, Screed? Yes, we’ve got the door opened...You can’t get the cameras online? Right, we’ll come down to lend assistance, just stay put and-”
He stopped as he and Yularen stared at his grandson, wearing only grey boxers and a zealous expression, sprinted down the corridor like a bolt, yelling at the top of his lungs.
“GET OUT OF THE WAY, I’M ON A MISSION!”
The two blinked as the bizarre sight was gone as quickly as he appeared.
Yularen cast his old friend a weary glance and shrugged.
“Ours not to reason why.”


Snirk McNoyd, not the name he was born with but one he took upon himself on Nar Shaddaa, primed his blaster and turned on his camcorder.
This was the part of the job he really enjoyed.
He showed his pinched, pale face to the camera with a sinister smirk.
“You’re watching live, uncut footage...Moff Delian Mors and Shayla Paige-Tarkin taken down...hard...”
With baited breath, sweat of eagerness and impatience beading down his brow, he opened the door.
It was a modest mini-spa. A pool and showers adjacent and two massage benches.
Delian Mors was resting on one of them in a towel. Her twi’leks wore their usual garb, splashing each other playfully in the pool. Shayla couldn’t be seen.
Still, Snirk thought, plenty of time to appreciate the surroundings.
Mors looked up at the newcomer, right as he drew up his gun.
“You give me back my uniform, you scruffy-looking nerf-herder!”
With a crash, Parisian Froul collided with Snirk McNoyd from behind. The two men fell straight in the pool with a mighty splash. Two of the twi’leks screamed.
Breaching the surface of the water, the furious Froul hauled the intruder up by the collar and laid punch after punch across his face, throwing him against the slabs.
As the bedraggled Snirk McNoyd, weighed down by the wet uniform, clambered out the pool, the corporal who’s clothes he’d stolen grabbed him again, slugged him viciously and yelled.
“And the cost of my dry-cleaning will be deducted from your financial account in due time, thank you!”
Shoving him by the scruff of his neck, Parisian laid the thug out cold as the back of Snirk’s head met the hard floor.
Catching his breath and taking in the surroundings, his ardour slowly left him.
“Well, well, well, Corporal.” There came a voice “Never knew you had it in you.”
Before him stood Shayla Paige-Tarkin in a bathing suit, crimson with streaks of electric blue.
Blush flooded Parisian’s face.
“M-m-m-my lady...” he mumbled.
“Yes?”
Parisian cleared his throat and saluted.
“I am most sincerely apologetic for the state of my undress, my lady.”
“Don’t be.” Shayla wasn’t blushing but there was a perculiar grin on her face, either through genuine interest or amusement at his discomfort, the latter sounded much more ‘Tarkin’.
“Um...complications arose. W-with your permission, I shall immediately dress and collect myself in a manner befitting an Imperial officer.”
“That’s nice...but I haven’t given you permission.”
Behind him, Delian Mors, who hadn’t moved a muscle since throughout the fiasco, gave a giggle.
Parisian shuffled bashfully.
“Please can I wear my clothes now, ma’am?”
Shayla tutted.
“If you must.”
“Thank you, my lady.” He clicked his heels and saluted to the other women.
“Good ladies of the Empire, as an officer of the Imperial Armed Forces, I must request your help in getting this man’s clothes off!”
Words he had never said before and hopefully never would again.
Grinning broadly, Delian Mors clicked her fingers.
“You heard him, my treasures! Up and at ‘em!”


*


“Just come with us to Screed’s office, Parisian, and let us never speak of this again.” Pipsqueak heard Glandon Froul on the commlink. He couldn’t help but giggle.
“Sorry, sir...I’m just afraid I’ll trail water down the corridor.” Parisian mumbled.
“Nothing better to wash the scum from it in my opinion.” Veers’ voice sounded.
The dispenser came to a stop as Pipsqueak hopped out.
Before him greeted a strange maze of black walls and red lights. The sight was heady to look at.
“Okay, Mr Screed.” he spoke through the commlink “I’m upstairs. Everything’s black and red, is that normal?”
“In these ships, yes. Sadly. I’m not a decorator. But anyway...” Screed spoke “Alright. Take the first right, then right, then the third left, then first right. At the end of it, you should find what looks like half a wheel in the wall with a lever.”
“Righto.”
Cantering down the byways, struggling to tell one route from another, he slowed as he approached.
The lever was there.
“Right. Now turn the lever fully down, then up half-way.”
Propping himself up with his forehooves against the wall, he reached the lever and did as he’d been bid.
“There we go.”
There came a voice from across the corridor. Flat but female.
“Manual Override in Sector Xi. Power administrated directly to sector control point and primary mainframe. All independent power regulators blocked.”
“Well done, Pipsqueak!” Rae’s voice came through the commlink.
“Happy to help, Rae.”
“Do you need any help up there?” Screed asked.
“No, no, thanks. I’m fine.” Pipsqueak said “No problems up here as far as I can-”
Clrng!
There came a sound from down the corridor. Pipsqueak’s ears twitched and face paled as he slowly turned, dreading what he’d find.
“Um...” he fumbled with the commlink “Could be a problem...Could be a big problem. Really quite a big, large, enormous, giant, really, really scary problem!”
A knife flew from the darkness.
Pip gave a scream as the commlink was cut from his grasp sending sparks flying as it fell perfectly in half.
Checking his hoof for a moment, he looked up.
Before him stood what appeared to be a giant humanoid bird-of-prey with bristly white fur and feathers and a massive beak like the end of a hammer. His leafy-green tunic showed off formidable muscles and his sunken blue eyes were fixed on him.
He spoke, his voice quiet but gravelly.
“You...”
He flexed his shoulders and threw out of his hands.
With a hiss of metal, two colossal blades appeared on his hands.
One side of his beak twisting up in a menacing grimace, he drew his blades along the walls as he paced forward.
“You’ve proved a nuisance...I dislike that...”
Pip edged back, feeling the wall against his hind-quarters.
He was trapped.
His breathing came rapid as he fell to desperation.
“Wait! Stop!” he found himself screaming “You-you-you don’t need to do this!”
“Incorrect...” he snarled “I need to remove any and all nuisances to me and my employer...”
“Your employer’s Zann, right? You don’t need to do what he says. What’s he offering you?” Pipsqueak babbled.
“Enough!” The bird creature clashed his blades impatiently “All you need do now is beg for your life. It won’t aid you but it may provide me some light amusement.”
“B-b-but you don’t need to!” Pip stammered “P-please just listen! Whatever you want, just please, there has to be-”
“Quiet!” he snarled, standing over him, the little colt frozen with terror, too hesitant to chance a last ditch attempt to run “Cease your inane questioning! This is not a cross-examination! For star’s sake! I did not expect an Imperial Inquisition!”


Something dropped down from the ceiling, by what means Pip knew not of.
There was an eerie sound, like a cross between ripping paper and a motor jump-starting.
The bird creature’s blades had stopped on their way down, blocked by a strange weapon with blades of glowing red.
A gaunt figure, almost thin enough to resemble a stick figurine, with a bald grey head with blood-red tattoos, a hooked nose, sunken cheeks and flat grey caps where his ears would have been, was standing between them.
With a grin of crooked teeth and an effete gesture from his free hand, he announced for all those present.
“Nobody expects the Imperial Inquisition!”
The man-bird snarled and drew his blades round. The two clashed.
Weaving his way around his foe, using the cramped space to his advantage as he pressed the weight of his feet against the wall, this Inquisitor glanced nonchalantly at the foal and spoke.
“Now would be a good time for you to run. I’ll handle things.”
“Thank you, sir.” Pipsqueak didn’t need telling twice. Fast as his hooves could carry him, he belted down the corridor, the sounds of the blade-fight ringing in his ears.
Finally reaching the dispenser, he clambered in, smacked his hoof upon the button and was carried down. He gave a weighty sigh as the floor dropped out of view and he slid down the wall.
He was forward to sleep after this.


*


Zann couldn’t imagine how long it they’d both been standing put, Thrawn with the blaster to his head.
He looked up, hatred burning in his eyes.
“You knew I was coming.”
“Obviously.” the Chiss said wearily “Tell me, how much did it cost to send your, what are they calling themselves...‘Maldovar Boyz’ here?”
Zann growled.
“Too much.”
“Clearly.” Thrawn shook his head.
“It wasn’t my choice...” the young man protested “Toora wouldn’t give me enough credits!”
“And if you’d stayed with us, you’d have enough for your own fleet.”
“It wouldn’t be my fleet!” Zann hissed “I’d be nothing! I’d be in your shadow!”
“Not if you’d been patient.” Thrawn sighed “I see you’ve allowed your impulses to rule you absent my tutelage.”
Zann gritted his teeth.
“Yeah...yeah, I have...Let me show you what they’ve taught me!”
In what must have been brilliance or madness, Zann headbutted the barrel of the blaster.
Before Thrawn’s finger could tighten on the trigger, it had clattered to the ground. He saw Zann reach for it.
Thrawn kicked it out the way and took a stance of Teras Kasi, standing before his wayward ex-student.
Zann cracked an eager smile.
“Right...Old school.” he chuckled “Just how I like it.”


Tyber Zann roared as he threw himself forward. His fist and foot met the back of Thrawn’s arms. As he landed, he caught Thrawn’s fist in his hand but wasn’t quick enough to dodge his side-kick to his shoulder. Placing a foot atop Zann’s knee, he drove a flying-kick straight into his former student’s chin.
Zann fell back, struggling to his feet and expectorating a mouthful of blood.
Thrawn gave him a tired, disapproving look.
“Don’t spit on the floor.”
Snarling, Zann threw another punch.
Catching it, Thrawn measured the scenario.
‘His greatest strength; his instinct...
My greatest strength; my sense of strategy...
His greatest weakness. His rage...
My greatest weakness...
Ah...’
Dodging or blocking the swift series of punches and kicks, Thrawn edged back, up against the wall. With one hand, pinning his shoulder, the Chiss was struggling. The two even headbutted simultaneously, pressing their craniums against each other. Zann’s face was a picture of demented fury. Thrawn meanwhile, betrayed only mild contempt.
“What was I always telling you after class, Zann?” the Admiral managed to ask.
“Let me see? Always remember your limitations?!” Zann hissed “As if the rules that held you back did the same to me?!”
“No.”
A blue hand shot forward and grabbed hold of long silver locks.
“Get a haircut!”
Zann’s face was slammed against the wall again and again. As he knocked Thrawn loose with his elbow, he missed following up with a spin-kick as the Chiss ducked and drove both fists into Zann’s solar plexus. Doubling-up, the young man attempted a charge. Thrawn let himself fall back, pushing Zann’s weight off and over him with his boots and hurling across the room.
Tyber Zann hit the floor half-way up the stairs and rolled down the rest of the way. Landing by the blaster previously kicked away, he reached for it.
Like a landing aiwha, Thrawn ran up the stairs and launched himself from it. With as much graceful elegance as formidable force, he landed a flying kick directly upon Zann’s wrist.
The mercenary leader screamed as his arm was crushed beneath high Imperial boots, only his wrist-guard stopping the bone shattering entirely.
The blaster flew from his grasp, bounced off the wall and landed in Thrawn’s outstretched hand.
Thrawn brushed off his uniform with his free hand and drew up the blaster in front of Zann’s face.
“As ever with any of your rages, Zann...” he said disdainfully “A whole lot of kicking and screaming just to end right where you began...”
Zann sent him a look of loathing.
“This isn’t over...”
With his undamaged band, he reached behind his ear.
A visor came out before his eyes.
The other hand drew out something small and shiny.
And slammed it to the floor.


There was a dull ‘boom’ followed by a terrible ringing in Thrawn’s ears, accompanied by a blinding light. Closing his eyes and trying fight through the noise, he caught two punches his way but missed the third, falling to the floor, clutching his shoulder.
As the ringing subsided, there was the sound of boots up the stairs and the door opening and shutting.
Gathering himself, knowing Zann wasn’t one to hang around lost ground for long, Thrawn trudged over to his desk and turned the room’s surveillance and communications systems back online.


*


“There we go.” Romodi said as Tarkin saw the open feed button light up again for the Sector Xi cameras.
The first sight that greeted them was Rae Sloane and Natasi Daala standing primly in their uniforms, grinning with hands on hips, standing before the three thugs they now had bound and gagged in the interrogation room.
“Sector Xi is secured.” Natasi said to the cameras as the two threw their caps on.
“You’re welcome!” Rae chuckled.
“This is Screed. Yularen and the Frouls are with me.” Screed’s one-eyed face greeted them from the communications booth.
“Can we turn this music off?” Yularen said sulkily “I’ve never liked Bith music.”
“My room, my rules.” Screed replied flatly.
“This is Mors. Shayla’s here with us. Today’s been a rollick, hasn’t it just?!" Delian Mors whooped.
“Hello, uncle. I’m fine over here. We apprehended one of the blighters.”
That seemed to bring a genuine smile to Tarkin’s face.
“This is Holt. Veers is with me. The enemy are routed and fleeing down the sector. It’s my theory they must have used the private hanger to land their ship.”
“Makes sense.” Romodi said “The hanger belongs to Admiral Zsinj. He went out to check on the state of affairs in Kamino.”
“Thrawn to headquarters.” a familiar emotionless tone sounded “Found contact with the enemy commander. He escaped. It’s likely he’ll take the ship alone. He’s closest to the hanger. But he gained nothing. Achieved nothing.”
“That makes two of you.” Pestage sneered.
“You okay, sir?” Vanto piped up tentatively “We feared the worst.”
“I’m fine, Vanto. Your concern is appreciated. I shall rejoin you shortly where we may recuperate.”
Vanto sighed with relief while behind him, Crodd turned to Pestage, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek as if to suggest something about Thrawn’s relationship with his aide-de-camp.
“We have repelled the boarding party. The worst has subsided.” Tarkin said plainly “We’re sending a squad down for inspection and apprehension of all prisoners.”
“Cancel that order.”
Crodd spoke up as Thurg pushed his way to the controls and logged in some form of code.
“Sector Quarantine is now in effect.” Pestage said menacingly “All personnel are to place any and all unregistered persons in the corridors then barricade themselves in their current location. We are sending someone to properly cleanse Sector Xi of...unsavoury elements.”
“Someone you haven’t told us about, perchance, Grand Vizier?”
“I assure you, old friend.” Crodd said with a broad smile “She is...very keen.”


*


As Pipsqueak hopped out of the dispenser, he hoped to find Rae Sloane. Or Parisian Froul. Or even Minnie the Mouse Droid.
Instead, someone tripped over him. Him and two others landed in a heap.
A familiar face greeted him as a lilac twi’lek and her tropical-toned companion got to their feet.
Lunae Minx blinked at him and positively screamed in exasperation.
“What are you, some kind of disaster magnet?!”
“S-s-sorry, sorry.” Pipsqueak stammered “This is all a mistake, I promise.”
“You need to run, Pip, quick!” Ayy Vida interrupted him, a look of terror on her face.
Then the lights went out.
They came on again, all red, rows of them along the ceiling.
The rest was darkness.
Slowly, hearts thumping upon the insides of their chests, Lunae, Ayy and Pipsqueak turned to look down the very end of the corridor.
The door slid open.
A figure in a trailing black cloak and cowl walked out.
The one Pipsqueak had seen watching him from the hanger before.
Steadily, its arms pulled themselves out of the cape, clawed, green hands reaching up for the sides of the hood.
It showed its face.
A female alien, pale-blue-green with round, black, unblinking eyes and, instead of hair, a mass of slippery tentacles trailing out the back of her head and around her shoulders.
The rest of her face looked, more or less, human.
But it was her mouth that was the most frightening.
She was wearing the most demented smile Pipsqueak had ever seen, pulled back to such an extent it appeared to be tearing at the muscles.
She was shaking.
And it was then Pipsqueak realised she was laughing.
“It’s her...” Ayy whimpered “Oh god, it’s her...”
“Run!” Lunae commanded. The two twi’leks needed no convincing. They took off.
Pipsqueak struggled to keep up. He lost them at the next corridor and found himself alone.
Trapped in a black and red expanse expanse with...whatever that thing was nowhere to be seen.
He heard her voice. High-pitched, almost childlike, but dripping with dread as she called out playfully, setting the fur on the back of his neck on edge.
“Run, Nuna...Run, Nuna...Run...Run...RUN!”


*


“Sirs, I must advise against this.”
It was not common words that came out of the Grand Inquisitor as he appeared on the holoprojector. The avian mercenary had fled into the outer workings of the dumping grounds and had, likely escaped. Now he was standing before Grand Moff Crodd and Grand Vizier Pestage with what could only be described as worry.
“Then it’s just as well you’re not an advisor.” Pestage sneered again “The choice has been made. She’s more than capable.”
“Ilitha is unreliable.” the Grand Inquisitor declared “Capricious, foolhardy...to put it bluntly, raving mad. There was a reason we would not take her as an Inquisitor.”
“I can imagine there was, though we won’t hear it from you.” Crodd guffawed “We’ve put her to good use. Pestage and Isard gained clearance from the Emperor. She takes on the role as...you might call her an Imperial Jester.”
“Jester?” Tarkin asked, dumbfounded.
“Yes, you know, a Mummer, a Pantaloon, a Fool.” Pestage sniggered “Well, all women are fools but she’s one of the few who actually seems to enjoy it.”
“Sirs, I implore you. The Inquisition runs on the capture and questioning of prisoners, something Ilitha was never able to accomplish successfully. She’s sadistic to an inconvenient degree.”
“For you, perhaps. But whatever we’ve done, she’s very willing to bring us prisoners. Perhaps you just need to rework your techniques.” Crodd said with a superior smirk “As of now the Sector Cleansing is under our jurisdiction. You’ve done enough for one day. Now if you excuse me...”
Leaving the frowning Tarkin, the scowling Romodi, the anxious Vanto and the facepalming Grand Inquisitor behind, Crodd closed the door behind him and pressed his commlink.
“Do what you like with the others but the two Twi’leks from Coruscant...you bring them in alive...and the foal.”
His yellow eyes gleamed.
“Bring the colt to me.”