Cleaner One: Saga of a Reluctant Agent

[MishaCantu]

I really loved how Cleaner summed up each of the hunters so astutely. Turret two, being predator and not prey, the twins ineffectual and the cathar as former inmate. His taunting of Tight@ss is amusing and what makes it even better is that Shem is right about his approach to the situation. Something the subordinates understand but Tjen never does. Typical imperial hubris.

 

I don't remember Yjal being that big a threat in game, but again what is anymore. It will be interesting to see how you resolve this in this much more dangerous and colorful world you have created.

 

Hats off to another great chapter.

Edited August 24, 2016 by MishaCantu

[frauzet]

Prey checked. Predators didn't.

Cleaner knows the rules of the game

[Striges]

I really loved how Cleaner summed up each of the hunters so astutely. Turret two, being predator and not prey, the twins ineffectual and the cathar as former inmate. His taunting of Tight@ss is amusing and what makes it even better is that Shen is right about his approach to the situation. Something the subordinates understand but Tjen never does. Typical imperial hubris.

 

I don't remember Yjal being that big a threat in game, but again what is anymore. It will be interesting to see how you resolve this in this much more dangerous and colorful world you have created.

 

Hats off to another great chapter.

 

Thanks! The game suggests a clear class difference between enlisted Imperial troopers and the officers. The generic, low-level troopers have a variety of UK regional accents, while most of the higher-ranking ones use RP ("Received Pronunciation" or what most of us outside the UK think of as "BBC British" English) . Lieutenant Pierce (originally enlisted, non RP pronunciation) in the SW story delights in taunting Quinn (officer, RP) who for his part thinks of Pierce as crude. The Smuggler story show it best, where the rest of the ranking officers (again, RP) look down on the Voidwolf (non-RP) as an upstart who shouldn't have his rank. This might not be intended, but given how both the US and historic British militaries worked, I don't think it's a stretch.

 

I wanted to play with that a little. It was a street-level conflict, not a military one. Shen/Cleaner understood that, as did the lower-class troopers. Tjen didn't. Plus their goals were different. Tjen is looking at advancement in his career as a primary goal. Cleaner and the troopers wanted to get the job done.

 

This was a fun episode to write because I went into it knowing I was going to be writing a big shootout at the end. But characters often have different ideas. I'm really glad that despite the buildup, you weren't disappointed Cleaner didn't level a city block for the finale.

 

Cleaner knows the rules of the game

 

I really liked that line

 

 

Thanks again for reading. More tomorrow!

[Striges]

Mutiny over the Bounty

 

"Remind me again how a dead guy writes a bounty contract," Cleaner yelled.

 

"Because he's not karking dead," Kaliyo retorted.

 

"And whose fault is that?" Cleaner asked.

 

"If you met him at the cantina instead of strafing it we wouldn't have this problem," Kaliyo objected.

 

"You were on guns. How the kark do you miss an entire karking cantina?" Cleaner yelled back.

 

"I hit the pwusko cantina! He survived!" Kaliyo bellowed, "If you'd shot him in the face he'd be dead!"

 

"Oh, so it's my fault now," Cleaner hollered.

 

She popped a hand on her hip, "It was your idea," she said, softer and more menacing.

 

"Emperor's black blood!" Cleaner swore. His fist mashed the autopilot toggle, sending a shock up his arm. They left Nar Shaddaa behind two hours ago and been in hyperspace for maybe half that. By rights he could have engaged the autopilot as soon as the navicomp computed the jump but manual gave him something else to concentrate on. Something besides the karking karked-up headache Kaliyo's monster bounty gave him. In more ways than one. He spun around in the pilot's seat, grimacing at the squeal he still hadn't fixed, "You're not Nem'ro's bouncer anymore. Being top of the bounty boards isn't good for your rep. It doesn't mean you demand better pay. It makes you a liability. The kind of liability The Minister sends me to deal with."

 

Kaliyo folded her arms over her chest and leaned against the bulkhead, "So why'd you come get me?"

 

He pondered that question since before they left Nar Shaddaa and still didn't have a good answer. He could have ignored her message. He could have turned back after reaching the firefight. He could have bailed anywhere between those points. Why didn't he?

 

He had answers, None he’d reveal to her. For one, she knew too much. Kaliyo might not have figured out the Imperial Intelligence Retirement Plan yet but it was no less inevitable. A Kaliyo out of his immediate supervision, whatever the reason, was a dead Kaliyo. It was the reason he'd give to the Minister if he had to. It was mostly a lie. Mostly. In truth, she was fun when she wasn't being a complete pain in the ***. They liked the same things. She didn't give him disapproving looks when he destroyed stuff, she joined in. Hell, she suggested it. She half believed his stories and he wasn't done screwing with her yet.

 

Who was he kidding. He wasn't done screwing her yet, period. It was nice having a hookup any time he wanted. Especially now with his own ship. He wasn't about to give her that kind of leverage. Fuming, he spun back to the controls with a final, "Kark you."

 

"Yeah. Thought so," Kaliyo said. She strode into the cockpit and leaned against the controls, her back to the hyperspace vortex and its riot of unnamable colors. They played over her pale skin, distorted on her curves.

 

"Why'd you call?" Cleaner snarled. He declined the tempting sight, staring at the instrumentation without really looking. He shifted his weight in the chair to make it squeak. She'd remember. She wasn't done screwing him either.

 

Her thoughts ran their course, no doubt in much the same vein as his. "Yeah, well, whatever," she said, recrossing her legs. "Have Intelligence cancel it."

 

He picked at grime around a switch, "If Yjal's as determined as you say he is he'll just post a new one."

 

"Sooo," she sidled closer, "Couple thoughts."

 

He brushed her thigh with the back of his hand. Lokin's supercharged kolto repaired her injury with neither scratch nor scar. Muddied the one tattoo but no one in a position to notice cared. He sighed. At least one of her plans would sound like a blast and both would be bad ideas. "Let's hear it."

 

Kaliyo shifted her hip to press against his caress, "I holo Yjal, set a meet. When we get there you shoot him in the face. Done. Like we should have when I first got the info from your people."

 

Yeah. Bad idea. His fingers drifted down to her knee and slipped around the inside as she uncrossed her legs. "They're not my people," he said without venom.

 

"Your annoying contacts, then," she said and he laughed despite himself. If only they were just contacts. She grinned her patented mischievous grin and went on, "Or we could play a game."

 

His fingers crept higher and traced the ruined tattoo, unseen through the fabric, "What kind of game?" he asked.

 

She stroked the top of his head and tickled one lekku, "The fun and profitable kind," she said.

 

Now for the really bad idea. He knew better than to ask but did anyway, "What kind of fun and how much profit?"

 

Kaliyo leaned in and gripped his shoulders. She rotated his seat until he faced away from the console and nestled herself in the space between his legs. His hands automatically went to her rear. She toyed with his lekku, "Role play," she said.

 

"Role play?" Cleaner asked. Sounded like a true Kaliyo-level bad idea. Fun, no doubt, but terrible.

 

"Mm-hm," she said. She drew the length of his lekku through her hands, let them fall back and did it again. "You still have that holo-disguise thing from Tatooine or did Intelligence confiscate it?"

 

Cleaner inhaled her scent. She hadn't changed or bathed since they retreated to the ship and the smell of ionized tibanna gas clung to her clothing along with a vague whiff of ale and cigarra smoke from whatever bar she hit before the fight. Beneath it all, the smoldering aroma of adrenaline-laced perspiration. Kaliyo's natural perfume. "I still have it. Why?"

 

Hands stroked his lekku. "Since Yjal's offering such a nice bounty, how about playing the Big Bad Bounty Hunter for him," she kissed the top of his head, "and then shooting him in the face?"

 

Stars above, it was a terrible idea. Even in the realm of Kaliyo ideas. He ought not encourage her. Especially if he were going to veto it anyway. But the thought was damn tempting. Hilarious fun if they pulled it off. "I don't know there, missy," he said, doing a bad impersonation of Slate, the bounty hunter in the Ace of Staves holoshow, "I expect you want a cut. Why should I do that when I can collect the whole amount all by my lonesome?"

 

Kaliyo giggled and slithered down between his legs to the deckplates. "Well, sir," she said in an equally awful impression of Ace's Corellian Basic, "I believe we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement." She licked her lips and rested her arms on top of his thighs, her fingers laced under her chin and the mischievous grin again gracing her face.

 

Cleaner relaxed back in his seat. It moaned in half-hearted protest. He traced the delicate cartilage of her left ear, "Maybe so. What kind of arrangement do you have in mind?" he asked.

 

She snuggled in and kissed him through his trousers, her lipstick leaving a smoky smudge, "Let me explain," she said. Her breath blew warm and promising.

 

............................................................................................

 

Fixer 43 peeked around the doorframe into the medlab, “Are they always so loud?” he asked.

 

Doctor Lokin removed an earbud and set it on the counter. Tinny music spilled from its miniscule speaker. “The argument, or at present?” he asked.

 

“Both,” Fixer 43 asked.

 

“I ignore so the majority of their activities,” Lokin said, consulting the manual for his newest acquisition. The rapid gene sequence/resequencer refused to calibrate a baseline. He checked the output display, "Their cabin and the refresher are soundproofed. I recommend earplugs or music inserts if you find the remaining occurrences annoying."

 

Fixer 43 sighed, "Thank you, sir," he replied. Lokin went back to the stubborn equipment but the Fixer interrupted, "Sir, if you don't mind my asking, are you at all familiar with the Science Bureau’s Special Project 62991A?"

 

"Why do you ask?" Lokin said, checking the calibration matrix.

 

"Well, sir, Cleaner asked me to look into it quite some time ago but my request for the files was refused," Fixer 43 answered.

 

"You have them now, don't you?" Lokin asked.

 

"Yes, sir, I do," Fixer 43 said, "The biological sections are out of my league."

 

"I expect so," Doctor Lokin agreed, "I'm looking into those. Cleaner’s investigation is one reason I required upgraded equipment."

 

"I understand, sir," Fixer 43 scuffed his shoes on the deck, "I hope you don't think I'm stepping on your toes, so to speak, but I believe I've seen something like this before."

 

Lokin replaced the baseline verification procedure checklist on top of the sequencer's collection tray and focused his attention on the hesitant young man, "Oh?" he asked.

 

"Yes, sir," 43 continued, "But I could be mistaken. Biology really isn't my specialty."

 

"Understood, 43," Lokin replied. His gaze dropped momentarily to the datapad in the Fixer's hand, "Tell me about it."

 

Fixer 43 advanced into the medlab, "A few months back some mercenary types claimed they discovered a coven of Revanites--you're familiar with the cult, I presume--”

 

Lokin was all ears, "In general, yes," he confirmed.

 

"Ah, good," Fixer 43 looked as though he ate a sourfruit, "I don’t know much beyond the name, myself. I try to avoid Sith religious disagreements. In any case, these individuals claimed the coven, populated entirely with unknown aliens, was founded by Darth Revan himself and powered by some strange organic source. They brought a nugget of organic material with them and wanted a reward for their discovery."

 

“And it was forwarded to the Science Bureau?” Lokin prompted, leaning a degree or two toward 43.

 

“No, sir, it wasn’t,” Fixer 43 replied, “This was the Nar Shaddaa branch. We have screeners for that sort of thing, much like on Balmorra. The official on intake that day concluded it was a group of strung-out spiceheads with a scoop of something they dug out of the gutter.” Lokin frowned and 43 hastened to add, “In his defense, it’s a wild story even for Nar Shaddaa. If a crowd of ragged nobodies showed up on your doorstep with a hunk of smelly detritus, would you believe them?”

 

Doctor Lokin focused on the important issue, “Was any analysis done?”

 

Fixer 43 brightened, “Yes, sir, though it was minimal. It was scanned for explosives--again, one can never be too careful--then went to biological for toxin and infectious agent scan before appropriate disposal.”

 

“You wouldn’t happen to have the report, would you?” Lokin asked.

 

“Not as such, sir,” Fixer 43 replied, “I only remember the incident because I got stuck with the explosives scan.” He passed the datapad to Lokin, “I kept a record of my data, which includes 3D models and internal structure. It’s familiar. The biological analysis too.”

 

Doctor Lokin flipped through the images without reading the accompanying text. He set the pad down, “I don’t suppose you still have access to the official report and associated documents, do you?”

 

Fixer 43 smiled, “Yes, sir. As a nuisance report it requires minimal clearance to access. I can request it as soon as the comms come up after we leave hyperspace.”

[frauzet]

Different ways to create bonds. I like the contrast.

[MishaCantu]

Sometimes such simple things as listening to music is left out of stories, I'm glad you include the mundane, it adds a nice touch of realism.

 

 

The Infinite Engine, if I'm not mistaken? I always thought that was one of the more interesting side quests. Nice to see someone bringing that back into the mix, if I'm correct, that is.

 

 

I love the interaction between Lokin and 43 also, Lokin never gives much away does he? As for Cleaner and Kaliyo, the best made plans often go awry, and both of hers are pretty crappy. It should be fun.

[Striges]

@MishaCantu:

That's the one. I half wondered why they made no connection with it when they brought back Revan, but oh well. Glad someone caught it. It was an oddball quest for Nar Shaddaa and pretty obscure unless you went through and did the side quests. Congratulations!

 

 

Sorry I'm so behind on commentary. It's been a weird week.

[Striges]

Fetch

 

Cleaner took the controls as the vortex dissolved into discrete stars. He felt the slight dip in his stomach with the translation to normal space. Outside the window hung a planet marbled green and gold. One of the Empire's ag-worlds. The planet, however, was none of his concern. He set a course for the trade depot on the perimeter. Located outside the star's hyper-distorting gravity well and in a stable orbit among its planets but not close enough to any of them to trouble hyperdrives. It hung out at the system fringe like a wallflower.

 

He didn't actually need anything here. It was a friendly destination near Hutt space. One he entered from memory when he had to set the navicomp for somewhere. Out of Here wasn't specific enough. He didn't even need to hit the sex shop this time unless he wanted to drag Fixer 43 out with him.

 

His private com warbled and he checked the message. The Minister. Wanted him to check in when he hit realspace. Great, probably pissed about Kaliyo's bounty. He scratched his crotch. Hell, he was still pissed about Kaliyo's bounty, but at least he got some sorry-not-sorry makeup sex out of the bargain. All the Minister got was a headache.

 

It was mid-morning Kaas City time. Maybe he was in a meeting. Cleaner hit the comm button and waited for the connection to establish. The Minister accepted almost immediately. Damn. "Got your alert," Cleaner said.

 

"Fixer 43's transfer papers are listed received. I presume he is on the ship with you?" The Minister asked.

 

If only Fixer 43 were with him. 43 settled in all right. With Doctor Rakghoul. Cleaner, he avoided. At least Cleaner got to look at him a lot. "Yeah. He's here. He and Lokin spend all their time in the lab. Medbay. Can't hardly tell the difference anymore. I hope I don't get shot; he'll have to fix me up in the galley."

 

"Keep me updated with their progress," The Minister ordered, "In the interim, I considered your other request."

 

"And?"

 

The Minister brushed his uniform, "I have a candidate for you. Military, not Intelligence, currently stationed on Hoth and attached to the Chiss Expansionary Defense Force."

 

"Not going to risk another agent, huh?" Cleaner quipped.

 

"Irrelevant," The Minister said, "She is slightly force-sensitive, making her the perfect-"

 

"Pwusko ittu no no no that's a terrible idea," Cleaner interrupted, popping bolt upright in the pilot's seat, accompanied by its complaining squeal, "Not another Sith. A regular, ordinary minder. I can sell that as a servant."

 

"I did not say Sith, Cleaner. She is a member of the Imperial Military," the Minister said, "Her transfer to Intelligence is already approved. However, communications on Hoth are difficult. It is possible the notice has not reached her or our Chiss allies."

 

"Back up. How does someone Force-sensitive end up in the military and not on Korriban?" Cleaner asked.

 

The Minister sighed, "This is a very sensitive matter, Shen. Are you prepared to listen?"

 

The Minister almost never used his name. Not since his promotion from annoying sidekick to Cleaner One. He settled into the seat. "Like a real briefing?" he asked.

 

"A real briefing. Pay attention."

 

.........................................................................................

 

Cleaner emerged from the bridge, "All right, people, we got a layover of about a day at the depot for fuel and--" He stopped. Only Kaliyo was in the common room, "Where's Doc and 43?" he asked.

 

She looked up from her solo holochess match-at which she was cheating, by the look of it. "Infirmary. Discussing Science."

 

Fixer bonding. "We're hitting Hoth next so get some cold-weather gear."

 

She froze the game, "Hoth? Why?"

 

"Picking up a minder for Zhorrid," Cleaner replied.

 

"On Hoth?" she asked.

 

"No, Nal Hutta," Cleaner countered, "Yes, Hoth."

 

"Lots of pirates on Hoth," Kaliyo said, "What about my bounty?"

 

Cleaner shrugged, "Hope their comms are as bad as ours."

 

She kicked back on the couch, her feet taking up residence among the holo-creatures on the chessboard, "Not very reassuring," she said.

 

"Shoot 'em first. You've been itching for a fight since Nar Shaddaa," Cleaner said.

 

She grinned, that slightly crazy, watch-this expression, "Yeah. That'd be fun."

 

"Just wait until we're out of the base," he cautioned.

 

"I'll wait," she said. "You know, I heard it’s so cold on Hoth beings shoot each other with blasters to keep warm. It’s cheaper to abuse the heat-dissipation systems in powered armor than run thermal units."

 

"That's a load of poodoo," Cleaner said. He heard variations of that story as far back as Naos 3 when he was a kid. Some of the beings with blasters were dumb enough to see if it were true. It wasn’t. “You have any idea how much blaster gas it takes to transfer significant heat through armor?”

 

“Blaster gas is easy to get,” she insisted, “Power isn’t,” she said, turning the game back on. One of the pieces, in combat with another, phased and swapped places with higher-stat piece. It handily defeated its opponent.

 

“Uh huh,” Cleaner said. He declined to pursue the point. Ignoring the rest of the game, Cleaner proceeded to Lokin's new hideout. He heard his favorite Fixer speaking as the door slid open.

 

"...I see that, sir, but the reported power output from the cellular generator is insufficient for--oh, hello, Sir," 43 said as Cleaner entered.

 

"Afternoon, 43, Doc," Cleaner said, with noticeably more enthusiasm for the first, "How's the collaboration coming along?"

 

"Rather well, I believe," Lokin said, "You were quite right about your friend, Cleaner. The brief journey has been a stimulating experience."

 

Doc's word choice as well as tone suggested he knew exactly why Cleaner wanted 43 on board. "Great. Anything to report?"

 

"Not as such," Lokin replied.

 

"Actually, sir, I was hoping to use the comms," Fixer 43 advanced, "since we've dropped out of hyperspace. If that's convenient, sir."

 

"Comms?" Cleaner asked. Kid should know better than to holo people in the field.

 

43 fanned his hands, "It's to the Nar Shaddaa bureau. I need a copy of one of my reports. I understand I can't reveal anything about our mission or location, sir. Basic security and all. Everything through proper channels, even personal messages. But in this case, sir, I just need a copy of my own report. I’m obviously cleared for it and it’s to another branch of Intelligence. There’s no conflict, I assure you, sir.”

 

Seemed awfully apologetic for something innocuous. “You don’t have a copy?” Cleaner asked.

 

“Well, no, sir, I didn’t imagine it--”

 

Lokin interrupted, “It may hold information useful for our current endeavor,” he said.

 

Cleaner glared at Lokin. If Doc was on board his request was probably legit. Or at least not a holo to his girlfriend. “Fine,” he acquiesced with a wave, “copy me, yeah?”

 

“Of course, sir,” Fixer 43 agreed.

 

“Short layover at the system depot for fuel. Then Hoth. Stock up on thermals and handwarmers, you’re gonna need ‘em,” Cleaner announced.

 

“Hoth?” Fixer 43 squeaked.

 

“Relax, we’re not staying,” Cleaner said. Intelligence had a handful of punishment assignments. Hoth was one. “Picking up a transfer.”

 

Fixer 43 relaxed, “Oh. I see, sir.”

 

“Will my services be required?” Doctor Lokin asked.

 

“Transfer’s stationed with friendlies,” Cleaner said, “theoretically no.”

 

“Theoretically,” Lokin harumphed, “I’ll pack a bag.”

[Striges]

A Chilly Reception

 

Even with heat on, the landing platform was cold. Cleaner inhaled frigid dry air and felt the chill all the way down into his lungs. Heat left his body in a puff of vapor on the exhale. He pulled the neckwrap up to his nose. Kark manners, he wanted to stay warm. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kaliyo adjusting the controls on her armor. "Crank it too high and you'll drain the power cells," Cleaner said.

 

"Bite me," she complained, her voice modulated and alien through her helmet's vocabulator.

 

"Later," he replied.

 

Kaliyo straightened, a hand on one hip, "Keep it up and I'll turn off your lekku warmers," she teased.

 

"Don't you dare," Cleaner said. He bodged them together from tights made for human females and low-power thermal tape when he struck out on proper equipment at their last stop. The way the chill crept in he planned to requisition a parka and rip off its arms. Stupid human-only supplies.

 

Doctor Lokin strode down the gangway, "Rather brisk," he announced, interrupting their conversation and pushing between them, "I'm going to guess your transfer hasn't gotten her message yet."

 

"Guess not," Cleaner agreed. The platform was deserted. Whether from fear of Intelligence or not wanting to freeze he didn't know.

 

"I trust you have an alternate contact?" Lokin asked.

 

"Yeah," Cleaner said, "Base Commander. Colonel Vannis."

 

"Hope he's got more than contact frequencies," Kaliyo said, "the atmospheric static on this planet is unreal."

 

With her helmet monitors up, she would know. "Best find out, then," Cleaner said.

 

They made their way to the control center in the frozen bunker, “Colonel Vannis?” Cleaner asked.

 

“Colonel Vannis is not here at present. I’m Commander Tritan,” said a sandy-haired officer, "Ah, you're here, Agent. About time Intelligence honored my request," he said, addressing Lokin.

 

"What request?" Cleaner asked over Lokin's amused chuckle.

 

Tritan's attention shifted to Cleaner. "For Intelligence support of our position here, of course," he said, returning to Lokin. Obviously his idea of 'Agent' did not include a masked Twi'lek wearing women's hose on his head. "Frankly, I hoped for more regular aid but I suppose your alien associates will help you blend in with the local pirates. They're a varied lot."

 

Lokin, still amused, cleared his throat, "I expect you want Agent Cleaner One. I'm Fixer Fifteen."

 

Cleaner wished he had a cigarette right now, just to annoy Commander Tritan. He settled for yanking down his scarf. "No one requests a cleaner agent, what are you on about?" he asked. Kark all, even indoors was cold. Dribbling meltwater from the walls refroze in the corners, sealing all kinds of floor crud in lumpy ice. His breath puffed in the air. He'd been in warmer freezers.

 

The Commander shifted his weight, "The operation here requires up-to-date information on Republic placement and troop movements. I've repeatedly asked for Intelligence to provide this information or operatives to collect it. When I heard an Intelligence Agent arrived I assumed it was in answer to my requests."

 

"No," Cleaner said. Great. Inter-bureaucratic crossfire was the last thing he needed.

 

"Well," Commander Tritan said, squaring his shoulders while the rates behind him pretended they weren't listening, "since you're here, I need reconnaissance done on the snowfield. Our repeater towers are suspiciously-"

 

Cleaner broke in, "I'm here to pick up a transfer. That's it. If she's not here I want a comm to the CEDF."

 

A smirk crossed the commander's face, "If I might finish. Our comm towers are suffering suspiciously precise damage, limiting range and power. At present, we are unable to reach our allies in the CEF. However, if you were to investigate the sabotage and eliminate the source, I would be in a position to aid you."

 

Kaliyo leaned toward him, her vocabulator turned low, "Notice how damage turned into sabotage?" she whispered in Huttese.

 

Cleaner's only answer was a curl of his lekku. He addressed the commander, "Your repeater towers aren't my problem."

 

"Then I'm afraid I cannot accommodate your request at this time," Tritan said.

 

Cleaner's lekku went from curl to straight and rigid though he confined the accompanying irritated shiver to the lower third. "What are the coordinates for the base?" he asked.

 

The commander took half a step back, "I don't recommend-"

 

"Coordinates, a speeder, and an accurate map to the CEDF," Cleaner demanded.

 

"Cold-modified speeders are at a premium," the commander insisted, "I can't spare more than one." He crossed his arms. This discussion was over.

 

Of all the karking-- "One speeder, Coordinates, map, and a parka rated for at least 200 degrees Kelvin," Cleaner demanded.

 

The smirk reappeared, "Our speeders seat no more than two."

 

Cleaner ground his teeth. "Speeder. Parka. Coordinates. Map. You two will have to stay here."

 

"Aw. I was looking forward to freezing," Kaliyo said.

 

"You can wait outside if you want," Cleaner grumbled.

 

Lokin chimed in. "Fixer 43 and I can use the time to concentrate on our project."

 

Great, more bonding over schematics for his favorite fixer and least-favorite doctor. He turned to Lokin, "I need some solid progress on that," he said.

 

"We have some very promising avenues at the moment," Lokin assured him.

 

Cleaner frowned. Sounded like Fixer-speak for not having a clue. "Fantastic. Who do I see for my gear?" he asked, attention back on the commander.

 

The chalky officer looked like he just kissed a sourfruit, "Captain Yudrass," he replied.

 

One of the background officers disengaged from his instruments, "May I be of assistance?" he asked.

 

Chiss. His Basic oddly accented as though he hadn't quite thrown off his native pronunciation. Not unattractive if he didn't already have the galaxy's hottest fixer waiting back at the ship. Now that he noticed it, there were a lot of Chiss here. Side effect of the CEDF, maybe.

 

Commander Tritan's sour expression didn't change, "Yes. This Agent requires a speeder and other equipment. Take care of it," he ordered.

 

"Of course, sir," Captain Yudrass replied, "This way, please." He indicated a second, ice-filled passage.

 

Cleaner followed. The entire exchange smelled bad. Bureaucratic crossfire with a little chain-of-Command rivalry on the side. Maybe a dash of anti-alien bias as well. Lovely. The one time he got a real briefing and ended up going for a stroll in an unmarked minefield anyway. "You having trouble with the motor pool?" he asked. Nice and innocuous, leave the guy an opening.

 

"Our resources at this base are limited," Captain Yudrass admitted, "But do not be concerned. I am certain I have the equipment you require.” He hesitated, “Standard Imperial equipment does not suit your species,” Yudrass said, almost an apology, “and Hoth’s environment is unforgiving. With an hour’s time, I can provide gear with proper fit and better reliability than,” Yudrass’s gaze swept Cleaner’s dodgy headgear, “your present items.”

 

Cleaner suspected a catch of some kind hidden in the offer, but even so it sounded better than repurposed parka arms, “Yeah?” he asked.

 

“Oh yes,” Yudrass assured him, “Hoth reminds me of Csilla in many ways. One of the reasons Chiss are more integrated here than on other Imperial worlds is our expertise with this environment.”

 

Commander Tritan didn’t seem to appreciate his expertise. Commander Tritan also impressed him as an moron. Yudrass seemed to share his opinion, if he was more circumspect about expressing it. “That’d be nice,” he accepted. Probably meant he was on the hook for a good word in Yudrass’s record. Small price to pay for not losing lekku to frostbite.

 

A quick stop by the base quartermaster--also a Chiss and a cute one at that, with freckles--for measurements and other assorted, non-modified gear, and Captain Yudrass led the way to the speeder pool. The service desk was unmanned. “Sergeant?” he called.

 

Cleaner heard a clatter in the repair bay beyond and a melodious curse in language he didn’t understand, complicated and full of vowels. It was familiar, though Cleaner couldn’t quite place where he’d heard it before. Captain Yudrass answered in kind, his words long and ornate, like graceful architecture that served its function while being pleasing to the eye. An answer from the bay beyond. It might have been a rebuke, written in calligraphy and delivered on antique flimsiplast. The voice uttering it was almost familiar, too.

 

“Sergeant Thent,” Yudrass said as another Chiss emerged from the back room, “I need to requisition one of the modified speeders--”

 

“Blue?” Cleaner blurted out in Huttese. His annoying minder from Nar Shaddaa was much the worse for wear, having lost one red eye somewhere along the line. Probably to The Flame’s crazies. Cybernetics replaced it, their active red glow not quite matching the remaining biological one.

 

“Hello, Pinky,” Blue replied in kind, Huttese a scrap metal shed compared to the elegant structure of the Chiss’s native speech, “Welcome to Hoth.”

[MishaCantu]

Not much makes me laugh, but I am still chuckling over Cleaner's makeshift lekku warmers, that was brilliant. I have always been very intrigued by the Chiss race and enjoyed your description of their language very much. I had always pictured them as very elegant and you hit the nail on the head.

 

This chapter was especially entertaining, thank you.

[frauzet]

I second that. Another great chapter.

Great descriptions of Hoth, the base, and the people.

The simile to describe Cheunh is fantastic.

And I like the recurring problems a non-human faces in a human centric society.

[Striges]

I'm so glad you enjoyed the episode, especially Cleaner's wardrobe difficulties. That was fun to write. With the Empire so Human-centric, I doubt it even occurs to them to have nonhuman specific equipment, like lekku/montral socks or helmets that fit Zabrak or bodycombs for Cathar.

 

I heard the same about Cheunh; that it was elegant and difficult to master. I missed the recent Rebels episode with Thrawn, so I don't know if we have canon examples of it spoken. I'm happy I was able to convey the feeling of the language. Not the actual sounds, but the way it sounds.

[Striges]

Temple in the Snow

Blue didn't sabotage the speeder.

 

Whether for fear of reprisal or just being a better person, the speeder Blue gave him didn't stall or run out of fuel or otherwise malfunction on the way to the CEDF base. Cleaner zipped along across the snow, squinting into the glare of Hoth's blue-white primary. Captain Yudrass’s goggles cut the worst of it, but riding into the sunset on a snowfield was like flying straight into a plasma reactor. Without the nav projection overlaid on the terrain he'd be lost. Being so dependant on someone else's programming and equipment didn't sit well.

 

He gripped the guidance controls and angled left, following the bright green guideline in his HUD. At least the quartermaster's improvised cold-weather gear worked. Despite his speed, his lekku were warm.

 

A green flag appeared on the blinding landscape. The CEDF base. Still several kilometers out. He slowed to a stop to try his comm again. "Chiss Expansionary Defense Force base, this is Agent Cleaner One, currently 6.3 kilometers east of your position. Are you receiving?"

 

Static.

 

He put the comm up. Kaliyo wasn't joking; Hoth's atmosphere played hell with transmissions. An earlier attempt rewarded him with an incoherent burble that might have been speech but nothing else since. Cleaner verified the speeder's IFF corresponded with Dorn Base protocols. Hopefully the Chiss wouldn't shoot first. Hopefully Blue hadn’t altered the IFF.

 

The facility itself was tucked into an icy canyon. He spotted turret emplacements hidden in the walls as he coasted in, tracking his movement. If the Chiss wanted to shoot him, they could have. But they did not. He slowed the speeder at what looked like the entrance. A guard disengaged from the wall, all but invisible in camouflaged gear, "Identify, please."

 

Please. Nice to get a please; Blue didn't alter the IFF. "Imperial Agent Cleaner One," he said, hands close enough to his blasters for his peace of mind, but not so close as to be threatening. "Your military loaner got reassigned," he said.

 

"We've received no transmissions," the sentry objected.

 

"Dorn base lost their repeater towers. I tried hailing you and got nothing just six kilometers away," Cleaner said, "ID and orders are in my coat. You're free to verify them but I'd rather not open up outside."

 

The guard nodded and waved him in. Two more emerged from cover and approached him. Damn, they were good. Barely showed up in IR and not at all visually in the fading light.

 

Cleaner wrestled his speeder through the entrance and left it in the bay behind the ice wall. Their path wove through a series of baffles and the air grew warmer the further into the base he went. At last the zig-zag hallway ended and they reached a guard station. "Present your credentials, Agent," the sentry said.

 

Cleaner popped his goggles up on his forehead and pulled his scarf down, unfastened his jacket and handed over the battered grey datacard that was his ID. The uniformed soldier on station ran it, then a couple functions besides, likely because she couldn't access Imperial records with no comms. She removed it and handed it back, "Verified, Agent Cleaner One. You stated you were here for a personnel transfer?"

 

"I've got orders for an Ensign Raina Temple," he began, "You're free to check the stamp’s official but beyond that is classified. Command-level only."

 

The guard frowned. Even that level of verification might be impossible without comms. To him she said, "Wait here." She passed word up the line in the same melodious language as Yudrass back at the base, dismissing his current escort with a nod.

 

Cleaner kicked back to wait some more. Wondered how many weapons were hidden in these walls. How many were trained on him. The rest of the entrance detail held blasters but aimed at the floor. Very reassuring.

 

Finally he heard crunching footsteps in the passage behind the guard station. Another Chiss, white-uniformed like the sentry, emerged. "I am Ensign Tama'zil'jiaan, Aristocra Saganu's assistant. He will see you now," he announced, "this way, please."

 

Same distinct accent as Yudrass. Cleaner rolled the name around, committing it to memory. He could get used to this please thing, "Great. Let's go." Cleaner said.

 

Tama'zil'jiaan led him further into the base. Unlike the standard Imperial preference for straight lines and right angles, the Chiss built with curves and arches. How they managed to keep the ice clean was beyond him. No garbage frozen to the walls, no crap hermetically sealed in melt layers on the floor as the environmental cycled. Barely any churned chunky snow marking most-traveled pathways. Reminded him of Blue's obsessive neatness. Maybe it was a species thing. Like the ambient temperature, several degrees on the chilly side in his opinion.

 

The hallway opened into a large central control hub. Active consoles and workstations fringed the space, all manned by Chiss. All Chiss. He'd never been around this many blue people who weren't Twi'leks. Felt weird. His escort alerted one of the Chiss, his white cape apparent evidence of his authority, “Ah. The Cleaner Agent. You have orders for our transfer from the Imperial Military?”

 

Dromund Kaas Basic with only a hint of his native language. “Aristocra Saganu?” Cleaner asked.

 

“Yes,” The Chiss confirmed. He quit hovering over the lower-ranked console jockey and approached Cleaner, “Ensign Temple is a valued member of my expedition. It will be a shame to let her go.”

 

At least he wasn’t going to contest it. These Chiss were too nice by far. “So where is she?" Cleaner asked.

 

"Ensign Temple requested she be informed of the reason for transfer, as she did not initiate the process," Aristocra Saganu said, "Since you said those reasons are classified, I arranged a private meeting in my office."

 

Half a dozen off-color remarks came to mind. Just as well he didn't bring Kaliyo. The Chiss were something of an unknown quantity; he figured it best to play polite for the time being. At least deep in their base on a planet where a disappearance and subsequent discovery of a frozen corpse was an all too believable occurrence. "Let's go."

 

With a swirl of his cape the Aristocra showed him to his office, a small, spartan affair whose only decoration was an iridescent finish on the icy walls. Assuming it was intentional and not an artifact of construction. Ensign Temple stood with her back to the door, focusing on the undulating tracery. Like the Chiss, she didn't bother with extra layers. Acclimated to the cold or wearing insulated underwear. Not a hair out of place, her head tilted just so, she might have been one of Zhorrid’s Kaas walnut carvings dressed up in Imperial grey. Perfect @ss rounding out her uniform--Cleaner cut his thoughts off. Clamped down hard. No idea whether she read him. The brief suggested she valued duty and loyalty; he’d never project those feelings with any conviction so he settled for the sense of routine, of just-doing-my-job. That he could pull off.

 

The door hissed closed behind them, “Ensign Raina Temple,” Aristocra Saganu began, “The Intelligence Agent with your transfer.”

 

“Would you mind staying, Aristocra?” Temple asked.

 

She turned and Cleaner caught her profile. Classic Kaas elite, same as her accent. High cheekbones, perfect nose, give her some blue-black lipstick and a crimson robe and she’d make a fine Sith. And she wanted a chaperone. How cute. "It's a transfer from the military to Intelligence," Cleaner said, "That's all."

 

Temple's gaze flicked between himself and the Aristocra, "I made no requests," she said.

 

He knew that. "Intelligence chooses its recruits," he said.

 

She focused on him, "There is no need to reassign me," she said, "I am quite effective here."

 

A shiver went down Cleaner's lekku. He delivered the orders. He really wanted to get back on the speeder and leave, the sooner the better. Except...he might not have realized what she was doing but for Zhorrid's recent mental groping. "Nice try," he said. He tipped his head at the Chiss, "Orders come from higher up the chain. You want some privacy to read ‘em?"

 

The pupils In Temple's deep brown eyes dilated, whether from surprise or effort Cleaner wasn't sure. "I am required here," she repeated.

 

"Ensign Temple has earned our respect, Agent," Saganu said, "not something I give out lightly."

 

Stars, Zhorrid would eat her alive. Wondered if she pushed her Chiss friends or if the Aristocra genuinely liked her, "Nothing to do with your performance in your current position," Cleaner said, resisting the urge to add mesh’la-mesh'la to the phrase, "Got an assignment that requires you. Orders came from higher up."

 

Temples' intense stare dropped. "I would like to confirm the orders, please, Agent."

 

Cleaner removed the standard Imperial datacard from his pocket. Temple inserted it into a reader. The blue glow from the screen cancelled the warmness in her skin. She stood as one of Kaas City's iron statues, her eye movement the only thing giving her life.

 

Finished, she handed the reader to Saganu, "Everything seems in order, sir," she said, “Might I speak with the Agent alone for a moment?”

 

“Of course,” the Aristocra agreed. He left the room with a swirl of his cape.

 

Cleaner reached into his pocket and clicked on a radio bomb, just in case. The Chiss probably had ways of separating the signal, but no need to make it easy for them, “The Chiss sure like you here. I'm impressed. They're the only species more full of themselves than humans. Or Hutts." he added as an afterthought.

 

Temple turned to him, "I cannot go. I cannot be assigned to Dromund Kaas. There must be another way I can serve."

 

"Intelligence knows," he said. Flat statement. No pity, no sympathy. "They've known for ages. If they didn't, your little demo just proved it."

 

Temple went ashen, the blue light of the reader no longer needed to turn her to stone. She spoke again with a tremor in her voice, "My father-"

 

"Is safe. Under protection," Cleaner said, "His trade goes the other way, now."

 

She blinked, "I...I don't understand," she said.

 

"I'll let him tell it," Cleaner said. He pulled a compact holoprojector from another pocket. One nice thing about dressing in layers. He hid a ton of stuff in his clothes with no one the wiser. He flicked the projector on and rotated the image so it faced the ensign.

 

The figure of a male Human resolved in the projection. Hair indifferently styled, a cybernetic interface eyepiece, no uniform. Instead, he wore coveralls or a flight suit. Between the grime and the labels, Cleaner guessed the former. "My dearest Raina. Be assured that I am safe. I record this message for you freely, not under duress. You know the sacrifices your mother and I made for you that allowed you the position you now have. I--we deemed it a fair price for your safety.” There was a pause in the recording, as though allowing Temple time to reflect. The man continued, “That position was always precarious. The balance is now tipped and our positions reversed. Intelligence requires your ability. The Minister’s representatives will not inform me of the specifics--I expect whatever operative brings you this recording has that information, and I am not cleared for it. Regardless, should you cooperate, Intelligence will make certain that I am safe from any Sith retaliation. They have already taken steps to do so. Which is why I am at last able to communicate with you.

 

“It pains me to ask this of you, and especially on my behalf. I am convinced it is for the better of the Empire. While the choice is ultimately yours, I believe Intelligence will make good on its promise both to myself and to you. No more hiding, Raina.” The figure shifted his weight, “No more hiding for either of us.”

 

The image flickered and vanished, leaving a timestamp two weeks old. Shortly after his conversation with the Minister, in fact. Cleaner collected the holoprojector and buried it in his clothing. The recording contained an implicit threat. Defying the Empire had consequences. Decline, and Intelligence removes their protection. People die. In ugly and painful ways.

 

Temple stood still. Her eyes embers melting ice, a drop of which she blinked away before it ran over and rusted her steel cheek. "What is my new assignment," she said.

 

Not even a question. "How about I explain on the way?" Cleaner said. Also not a question. No need to give the Chiss more than he already had.

 

"I need some time to wrap up my duties here,” she said. No tremor in her voice, barely a rasp betraying her emotions.

 

"How much?" Cleaner asked.

 

“A few days,” Temple said.

 

Temple’s eyes remained fixed on his but without the push he felt earlier. He could decline. Force her on the speeder now if he wanted. It stood at odds with his just-the-messenger attitude, especially with Hoth’s night on outside, and he needed her at ease. “All right. Don’t dawdle. People might get nervous,” he said. Kaliyo unsupervised was trouble. At least he’d be able to give the speeder a more thorough check and make sure Blue hadn’t left the surprise for the return trip.

 

Temple acknowledged with a tight nod, likely thinking of different people than Cleaner, “I understand, sir.”

 

Sir. Please and Sir in the same day. He almost felt like a proper agent.

[frauzet]

Sir. Please and Sir in the same day. He almost felt like a proper agent.

 

I've been looking forward to their first meeting. Temple, always so correct. I wonder if Cleaner will get her to disobey.

[MishaCantu]

I always forget about Temple, glad you didn't. And her to be Zhorrid's major-domo, that can't end well, can it?

Stars, Zhorrid would eat her alive.

 

I truly admire the workings of Cleaner's mind. Always looking for the angle, the way in, the way around or the way out. He is quite fascinating. Eagerly awaiting more.

[Striges]

Useful Developments

 

 

"Rataka?" Cleaner asked.

 

Kaliyo inspected one of the blaster parts arrayed on the common room game table, "I didn't do it," she said.

 

"Rakata," Doctor Lokin corrected.

 

"Isn't that the Zabrak thing with the noodles and the hot beetles?" Cleaner asked.

 

"Taraka," Kaliyo said, "for the raka beetles. Wish we had some."

 

"Ra-ka-ta," Lokin intoned, stressing each syllable, "accent on the second syllable. According to rumor, an ancient, star-spanning civilization long extinct."

 

Cleaner pointed his cigarra at Lokin and Fixer 43, cowering behind Lokin's lab coat, "Wait a minute. Don't tell me you believe that ancient aliens garbage. That's Imperial propaganda to prove no non-human civilization ever made anything."

 

"The holoshow is for the gullible, but the possibility of an ‘Ancient Empire' if you will, is quite plausible," Lokin explained, as though Cleaner's question was legitimate. "Some suppressed reports from the Reclamation Service suggest it is more than plausible, and that these Rakata were more technologically advanced than either the Empire or Republic. There is fragmentary evidence of a shared culture and language on many worlds that predates hyperdrive development as we understand it."

 

Cleaner set his cigarra in the ash receptacle, "Still think it's a load of bantha poodoo."

 

"Believe what you like, Cleaner," Lokin said, "If true, such a civilization would also predate Humans as well. The entertainment never stresses that point."

 

Lokin won again. Bastard. Cleaner propped his feet up on the gaming table, pushing Kaliyo's plasma booster out of his way, "And you think Jadus's Eradicators are some of this leftover technology?"

 

"Derived from it, certainly," Lokin agreed, and Fixer 43 nodded, "The genetic signatures are too similar to be a coincidence."

 

Cleaner puffed absently, "How'd you figure this out?"

 

"It was Fixer 43 who made the initial connection," Doctor Lokin said, "my subsequent work confirmed it and mapped the extent of similarly. Remarkable development. Quite fascinating devices, these."

 

"Good to know you two are getting along," Cleaner grumbled, "Okay. So who derived it? Did Jadus steal this thing from the Science Bureau or the Reclamation Service, or stumble on it himself?" Who was he kidding. Jadus didn't stumble over anything.

 

"It's difficult to say with the information currently at our disposal," Lokin said.

 

Meaning official documents. Lokin wanted Zhorrid's files. Great. Cleaner tapped ash into the tray, which happily vacuumed it into oblivion. "How will this help find Jadus?"

 

"Again, it is difficult to say, " Lokin admitted, "but it is, to date, your only solid lead."

 

Only lead period. Jadus did a better job of disappearing than Yvord Yanol and he had a galaxy to hide in. It was a safe bet he avoided Imperial holdings but that still left a lot of available real estate. "All right. I'll see what I can dig up. What about the tech?" Cleaner asked.

 

Fixer 43 froze like a jacklighted gizka. He took a half-step sideways and leaned so as to speak while looking in Cleaner's general direction, "It appears to be a standard orbital weapons platform with cybernetic interfaces, sir," he said.

 

"So what's on a standard orbital platform and what makes these different?" Cleaner asked. Playing to his interests usually put the jumpy Fixer at ease.

 

"Sir? Oh, well, most of the modern ones include plasma cannons as well as short-range lasers," 43 said, emerging from Lokin's proverbial and literal shadow, "I've seen blueprints for some that include mass drivers and other missiles, but none on the prototype eradicator plans-"

 

Cleaner sat upright on the couch, dropping his feet to the deck, "Prototype?"

 

43 quailed, "All the schematics were labeled 'prototype' and they differ in some ways from the device recovered on Hutta--"

 

Karking Imperial bureaucracy. "You don't have the actual specs on the Eradicators?" he snarled.

 

"You requested the files on Special Project 62991A and the Minder's report from Intelligence--" Fixer 43 explained.

 

Cleaner wished he had hair so he could pull it out, "Why didn't you tell me you didn't have the specs?" he asked.

 

Lokin intervened, "There might not be any others. I think it likely Darth Jadus pulled the project from direct supervision when it began showing promise and completed development elsewhere."

 

Lokin was probably right. Again. Bastard. "You think he's holed up in whatever facility he made for the Eradicators," Cleaner said.

 

"He was untracked for the better part of a year," Lokin said.

 

"No one was looking for him," Cleaner countered.

 

"True enough," Lokin agreed, "However, the fact remains that he acquired a great deal of equipment as well as completed and deployed his weapon without anyone being aware of it. No doubt he corrupted some Imperial apparatus to do so, but I find it unlikely with the development itself. A project of this nature would generate considerable discussion among members of the Science Bureau. Buzz, if you will. There was none. I would know."

 

Obviously the Science Bureau was as bad at keeping juicy secrets as Intelligence. Cleaner watched Kaliyo painstakingly reassemble her blasters. Until the conversation turned to targets or destruction, she had no comment. "He might have just bolted for the rim," Cleaner said. Even as he said the words he knew it was false. Jadus didn't bolt. He retreated. To his secret stronghold. Leaving his first puppet embedded in the Empire with a string of new code. Thinking about it started a headache. He did not like the implications.

 

"Possible," said Dr Lokin, "but as that leaves you with millions of places to check and no way to narrow the choices, I recommend a more systematic approach."

 

Cleaner rubbed at the growing pain in his temples. Not the Minister's restrictions so much as stress. Lokin didn’t want Zhorrid’s files. He wanted Jadus's biolab. Almost as bad an idea as Kaliyo's for dealing with Yjal. Fixer 43 jumped every time he looked at him. Ensign Temple kept to the crew quarters as much as possible. Managing people was a pain. He missed the good old days when he worked alone. "Nevermind. What's different about their armament? Anything on detection yet?" Cleaner asked of 43, avoiding the issues.

 

"Ah, no, sir. Sorry. Leaving out mass drivers and opting for only energy-based weaponry reduced their necessary size," Fixer 43 said, warming to the subject. "They're unmanned, so require only minimal life support. The biological portion functions as both power plant and command and control. Existing weapons and sensors graft onto the electro-mechanical hardware, served by a military grade cybernetic interface. It's an ingenious design, this. Very flexible, easy to tailor to the situation prior to deployment. Maintenance is an issue, but it seems they are meant as disposable."

 

Fixer 43 made it sound like the Eradicators were alive. Cleaner declined to think hard on that, too. "So no unique energy signatures, something for sensors to lock on to?"

 

"Ah, no, sir, not really," 43 admitted, consulting his datapad to cover his nervousness, "there is detectable energy, sir, but only at short range. They're very low-power and relatively small, given the lack of human-sized accommodations. To casual scan, the kind you might do for screening, readings are consistent with a one- or two-man craft or orbital habitat." He peeked over the top of his datapad, "Against the background of a typical inhabited planet they are virtually undetectable. Ingenious. The Balmorrans never came up with anything half as clever. If we can re-engineer them, or better still capture the lab and manufactory, we'll have an excellent weapon against the Republic or insurgent colonies." He paused for praise Cleaner was disinclined to give before moving on, "I'm sorry, sir. I-I can't help but admire excellent design. Even knowing what Darth Jadus planned to do with them, might still be planning, I can't hate such elegant weaponry. Or the engineers and biologists who created it."

 

"Well, with this on your CV I'm sure you have a promising career ahead of you in the Science Bureau or Weapons division," Cleaner said. Kaliyo's toe jabbed his foot under the cluttered dejaric table.

 

Sarcasm flew over Fixer 43s head like an old fashioned unguided missle, "Do you think so, sir?"

 

"Oh yeah," Cleaner replied. Kaliyo kicked him again. Lokin ignored the exchange. The end-of-jump alarm sounded and Cleaner checked the chrono. Mid-afternoon local time. Cleaner stood and targeted Lokin, "I'll get what I can on Jadus's old bases. In the meantime work on a better detection method or some other way to neutralize these things."

 

"Understood, sir," Fixer 43 said.

 

Always eager to please, was Fixer 43. About some things, anyway. Cleaner headed for the bridge but paused beside Lokin, "Need an update on that other problem," he said quietly.

 

"Of course," Lokin replied, just as quiet, “at your convenience.”

 

Cleaner nodded and proceeded to the bridge for the translation to realspace and final approach to Dromund Kaas. No sooner had the door hissed shut behind him than Kaliyo spoke up, "What secret project?" she asked.

 

Doctor Lokin harumphed, "Hardly a secret. Cleaner would prefer to avoid a repeat of his last encounter with Darth Jadus. I'm sure you appreciate that."

 

Kaliyo rubbed her ribs, "Yeah. I do. Why so hush-hush then?"

 

"Habit, I expect," Lokin said, "ask him yourself if you're interested."

 

"I'll do that," she replied before sauntering off toward the stern.

 

Fixer 43 minced up to Lokin, "Will she?"

 

One white eyebrow raised, "No."

 

 

 

 

Author's note: Zhorrid meeting next episode!

[MishaCantu]

I always enjoy the banter between Cleaner and Lokin and adding Fixer into the mix just enhances the repartee. I have been waiting for the meeting with Zhorrid, this should be entertaining.

 

Great chapter, as always.

[Striges]

Thank you! Lokin and Cleaner feel to me like two sides of a coin. They're both clever and ruthless; both view society's rules as optional and care little for the consequences. Because their backgrounds are so different, their approaches to problems are likewise divergent. I imagine Lokin ticking off the box on his massive mental game sheet "Ah, you've chosen that option. Interesting," where Cleaner is more "You're doing what? Fine then, here's a spanner."

 

Then there's poor Fixer 43, who just wants to do his job.

 

These guys are a lot of fun to write. I'm glad you're enjoying the story.

[Striges]

Introductions

 

 

"So let me talk, got it?" Cleaner said, "She'll sense your fear. Let her. She likes it."

 

Temple sat rigid on the shuttle's plush seat, "I'm no Sith," she insisted.

 

In her new robes--cobalt blue with dark copper embroidery, made to order and delivered to the spaceport at landing--she very much looked the part. Kaliyo did her makeup. Charcoal winged eyeshadow, eyelash extensions with tiny cobalt crystals on the tips, inky black lipstick, and a dusting of blue steel metallic powder on her skin. He downloaded a hairstyling program into the ship droid and it twisted her hair into stylus-thin dreds, then bound the whole into a copper wrapped ponytail. She looked fierce. Fierce and sexy as hell and he buried that train of thought before it left the station. "You're not supposed to be Sith. You're here to take care of Zhorrid's household so she can spend all her time on Kaggath." And report the goings-on to Intelligence, though he left that part unsaid in Zhorrid’s shuttle. Even without extra ears he wanted Temple focused on one thing only.

 

“Agent Cleaner,” Temple quit studying the passing scenery. "I've had no training for this kind of assignment."

 

"Sure you have," Cleaner said, projecting reassurance, "You spent your whole life pretending you were something you weren't. All that changed is what you're pretending to be."

 

She turned back to the window with a nervous little sigh, "Perhaps it's easier for you," she said.

 

"Learn quick, or it won't much matter," he snapped, "for either of us." Her head whipped back around and he didn't need the Force to know she was afraid. He saw it in her overlarge obsidian pupils and the crinkles in the powder on her forehead. At that moment the shuttle changed flight and pitched down on final approach to Zhorrid’s fortress. "I'll sell it. You play your role."

 

Temple just nodded. Light played off the crystals like tears.

 

One of Zhorrid’s identical metal-faced servants met them at the landing pad. Three more joined it inside the main door. The escort led them not to Zhorrid's trophy room but her audience chamber. Jadus' outsized furniture was gone, replaced with pieces more to Zhorrid’s taste. Thick velvet drapery in crimson with a silvery sheen covered the walls. A knotted carpet lay over the same green and red stone as the trophy room, its pattern a clever interpretation of the Imperial Emblem. Cleaner took more than a little pleasure in walking on it.

 

Seated on a raised dais at the head of the room waited Zhorrid herself. She wore an elaborate fairytale costume this time; nipped-in waist, long skirts and attached high-collared cape, all colorful varactyl plumes and spring metal cut to mimic them. She perched on the back of a humanoid statue, bent double in supplication. The table beside her was of similar design: a kneeling humanoid, eyes cast down, hands bearing a large, wide tray above its head to serve as her desk. Another mural backed her in the same jagged style as she employed in her Citadel office and the trophy room. Maybe she owned the artist.

 

He advanced to the edge of the dais and kneeled. He heard the rustle of cloth behind him and hoped Temple followed suit. "My lady," he said.

 

Darth Zhorrid rose from her seat, metal plumage chiming with her movement, "My Hand," she said. Meters of train puddled at her feet. Her fingers, claw-tipped, tickled the top of his head and danced down his lekku and ear to his chin. "You return. And with a gift."

 

He took the one hand in his and kissed the back of it. His lips lingered just long enough and with enough suction to make the chaste, storybook gesture a little dirty. Her bow lips turned up in a smile suggesting she appreciated it. "I have, my lady. As we discussed."

 

Zhorrid tittered and drew him up, "So who is this little one?" Her arm crept around his waist and she pulled him toward her. She wore a different perfume today. Powdery and soft with light floral notes. Suited her outfit.

 

Temple, having a strong sense of self-preservation, remained kneeling. "Raina Temple, my lady. Your new majordomo," Cleaner announced.

 

Claws dug into his side. "She reeks of the Force," Zhorrid snarled, "whose is she? You would betray me so soon, Hand?" Lightning crackled. Danced on her fingertips. Sparked on her gown's ornamentation.

 

Temple cringed. Cleaner tore himself from Zhorrid's grip and stepped between the two. He knelt again and took her sparking hands in his with a grimace of pain, "Please, my love, let me explain!" he begged.

 

"Explain. Yes. You will explain." Zhorrid said. Her lightning diminished to a violet glow. "If I dislike your words I will feed them back to you. Along with your offering."

 

Holding her hands was like gripping a live wire. He made himself endure it. "I only ever want to serve you, my lady. My love. You must win your Kaggath. You must. No distractions." He scooted forward and waved one hand at Temple, still cowering on the carpet, "She's no one's apprentice. Her family aren't Sith. She's not even Sith. She's not strong enough."

 

"Why bring this weakling to me then?" Zhorrid growled, "why bring her if she is useless?"

 

The voltage damped down. Cleaner stroked the plumage on one arm, "Because she can pretend to be your apprentice and leave you free to deal with Jadus." Not Darth. Not father. The bare name alone devoid of title and relationship.

 

Zhorrid tipped her head. The plumes rasped against each other, setting Cleaner's teeth on edge. Heat radiated from the punctures her claw-tipped nails left in his side. Blood tricked down in a thin rivulet. Zhorrid spoke at last, "He said you were clever." She took a step back, not out of reach, "And in that he was right. Rise and walk with me. You," she snapped, glaring at Temple without caring the other woman couldn't see her, "you stay here. Just. Like. That."

[MishaCantu]

Oh, he is clever and a fast talker, seems he knows which of Zhorrid's strings to pull, at least for now. Temple's fate is still up for grabs hopefully she can play the part fate (or should I say Cleaner) has just handed to her. Looking forward to more.

[frauzet]

I like the effort they took with Raina's appearance. I imagine she looks stunning. I hope she'll be able to keep up with it.

[ikinai]

And this is why I should have stayed out of the story forums, now I'm sitting around reading all these excellent stories. Sooo, what happens next? Huh? Huh? i just can't wait...tell me another bedtime story, please.

[Striges]

Thanks for the commentary!

 

Temple shows up so late in the Agent story, it feels like you don't get to know her well. She gets a lot of flack for the way she deals with the Sith tacking down her father while at the same time being so pro-Imperial. On one level, her actions are awful. I saw steel there, though. Temple isn't wishy-washy. She's not weak. She's willing to do what most consider unthinkable in order to spare her father greater pain. All the while still supporting the Empire.

 

I suppose it might be an object lesson on what the Empire drives its citizens to, but regardless, I still think she's an interesting character who deserves more story. I hope I can do well by her.

[frauzet]

I wouldn't underestimate Temple. She clearly adapted well to life on Hoth with the Chiss. That speaks for itself.

Now you're putting her in a situation where she has to face what she has been running away from. So she (and we as readers) are probably up for a more than interesting time.

As for her portrayal, I am sure she is in good hands

[Striges]

Tightrope

 

 

Zhorrid swept into the hallway. Cleaner followed, keeping clear of her lengthy train and billowing cape. "No ordinary servant or slave would do, my lady. Not for you. Not for a member of the Dark Council."

 

"So you chose this," Zhorrid snapped. She fluttered around a corner.

 

Cleaner hurried after her, "Yes. Yes. I thought and thought about how best to serve you. Who would know your moods? Who would know what you need before you do? Who would keep your house in order the way you wish, without having to ask your wishes? Who would be perfect?"

 

She wheeled on him, a tornado of feathers and screeching metal. He pulled up short but still ended up nose-to-nose with her. "Perfect. You call her perfect. Laughable," Zhorrid snarled.

 

"For this, yes," Cleaner said. He reached for her shoulders.

 

She twisted away, "For what?" she asked.

 

"To be your apprentice-" he started.

 

"I WANT NO APPRENTICE!" Zhorrid screamed.

 

"Please, my love," Cleaner reached again for her shoulders and caught the elaborate cape. His fingers dug into the fabric.

 

Her gaze went icy, "Release me or burn." Zhorrid’s voice buzzed with the threat like a lightsaber. Her real saber remained at her side. For now.

 

"I cannot explain if you won't let me," he pleaded, "please stop."

 

She seized one lekku and dug in, smiling at his grimace, "Then explain, Cleaner."

 

Pain lanced from her needlepoint nails as well as the pressure. "I thought of the Council. How they don't fear you," he began, wincing when her grip tightened. He counted his pulsebeat against her squeezing fingers. “It’s true. You know it’s true. I’m sorry, my love, but you know it’s true. To them you’re not Darth Zhorrid, Full Member of the Dark Council, Head of the Sphere of Intelligence, you’re just Darth Jadus’s daughter who inherited his seat without trial.”

 

She twisted his lek and grinned when he yelped, “You dare grant him a title? You presume to invoke my parentage? He is dead to me! I will kill him!”

 

Disjointed scraps of memory rose to the surface. The grimy smell permeating Nar Shaddaa alleys. Jenks, twisting his lekku the same way. The time a ryll crystal stabbed his finger and he put it in his mouth without thinking. The mingled taste of raw ryll and his own blood. A floaty sense of relaxation underlined with sick dread. A twinge in his temple that had more to do with impinging on the Minister’s restrictions than Zhorrid’s lekku abuse. Provoking her was not good for his continued existence. “You will, my love. I know you will. But the Council, they don’t see it. You have to show them you are worthy. That they underestimated you before, and they continue to do so at their peril.”

 

Her grip loosened ever so slightly. Score for flowery language. “Continue,” she ordered.

 

He exhaled, “A Master has an apprentice. An apprentice is allowed places a servant is not. Places I cannot go."

 

The vise on his lek relaxed another fraction. While-hot waves of fury broke and retreated, leaving a cautious curiosity, "She is a pathetic excuse for a Sith. No one will believe she is my apprentice," Zhorrid fumed.

 

"Jadus had only one apprentice. You," Cleaner said.

 

Her grip ratcheted back up, "He taught me nothing!" she exclaimed.

 

"But the Council doesn't know that," Cleaner said. Her fist brought with it the odor of the shipboard organic digesters, part of the waste reclamation system. It receded as the pressure on his lek did. "They don't know what he taught you. I could barely stand his presence. The Dark Side clung to him like a cloud. He might have amplified it to make others uncomfortable. He might have taught you to shield your strength. You could be hiding hers. No one knows what secrets he imparted because he never trained anyone else." The pressure decreased further. He could slip her hold if he wished. He did wish. But he let her keep her prize a while longer. "The only records are yours. You can tell the other Darths anything and they won't be able to check. Too much unknown, too many variables."

 

"They will fear the unknown," Zhorrid said.

 

He stroked her arm. The one attached to his lekku, "They will fear you," he said, and she smiled at him at last. "When you don't act the way they expect. That makes you dangerous. A force to be reckoned with."

 

"To be respected," she said, "to be feared."

 

"Yes," he assured her.

 

Her talons withdrew from his lek. Blood welled and dribbled, a new pattern against his natural markings. Heat filled the void where her fingers had been. Now he counted his pulse in the bruise. "But I do not want an apprentice," she pouted.

 

Cleaner gave a small shrug, "So don't teach her. Apprentice is for outsiders. I chose her as your servant."

 

Realization dawned in Zhorrid's eyes. “So you dressed her as Sith. For deception.”

 

“Yes,” Cleaner said, “Even to just bring her here. Your enemies have spies everywhere. The spaceport. The trams. Whoever questions what you say will look at the recordings and see only that your Hand brought you an apprentice.”

 

Zhorrid nodded once, "Walk with me," she reiterated. She gave his lek a slight pull then she turned and continued down the passage. He followed beside her until they reached a familiar set of pressure doors. A silver-faced servitor whisked open the locks and pulled it open at their approach.

 

The garden beyond was no longer barren. Precise knotwork hedges edged the beds. Black-stemmed vines bearing wicked red thorns and nothing else intertwined with a silvery shrub covered in tiny round leaves. A few specimen trees were on display. Cleaner couldn't guess at their names. Dark green ground cover grew everywhere else. Tiny blood-red berries hid among its shiny, leathery leaves.

 

Zhorrid led him along the paths, "I am still uncertain," she began, "Suppose she begins to think she should be sith?” She held the one lek like a leash, petting it gently.

 

"She won't." Cleaner assured her, "You said it yourself. She's too weak. And she knows it, or she'd have gone to Korriban already. She is good enough to know your moods, my love, but no more."

 

Zhorrid passed an unoccupied pedestal, "It is a long time since I had a servant with a face. Another servant," she said.

 

Which gave him another idea that he quickly buried. "I hope you'll be as pleased with her," Cleaner said.

 

"I won't be," she said. A slight breeze sent her plumage fluttering. The metal scraped and chimed. "But I am becoming accustomed to disappointment." Another tug. Zhorrid moved on.

 

"I'm sorry if I displeased you, my love," Cleaner said. Fear vibrated down his spine.

 

Zhorrid giggled. "Oh, not with you, dear Hand. Dear, dear Hand. With so many others. It is my curse to be surrounded by incompetence.” They paused before Yvord Yanol's pedestal, "You should have explained your plan sooner, Hand," Zhorrid admonished, but there was no acid in her voice.

 

Cleaner stared up at the remains of Jadus's former servant and tried not to shiver. "I did not want to trust the details to the comm system. Even one so secure as yours and with encryption as strong as Intelligence offers. The stakes were too high." Damn straight the stakes were too high. Dromund Kaas's everpresent moisture condensed on the statue. It looked as though it were sweating. Cleaner was, and not only from the humidity.

 

"Who is she, really?" Zhorrid asked. She gave another light tug on his lek. She was done here.

 

Cleaner walked alongside her as she strolled through the garden, "Who do you want her to be?" he asked.

 

Zhorrid giggled, "I mean it," she said.

 

"So do I," Cleaner said. He tickled the inside of her wrist with the tip of his captured lekku. What he could reach, anyway, before her arm disappeared into her long sleeve. "Tell me her life, and I'll put it in every database."

 

She turned toward him and left off stroking his lek to reach for a hand. He let her have it. "You make truth," she said. Her eyes twinkled in the overcast light, a mischievous smile on her lips.

 

"You make the truth, mesh’la-mesh’la," he said, "I merely distribute it." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it as he had before. Lingered. His tongue drew circles around her delicate central knuckle before he let it end. He stepped into her embrace and wrapped his free arm around her corseted waist, beneath her plumed cloak. He leaned down to kiss her sparkling lips. The florals in her perfume mingled with the earthy green outdoors smell. Her lipstick tasted like the first lick of a berry; waxy but with the promise of sweet beneath the surface. He pulled her up and cradled the back of her head in his best holoshow prince charming impersonation. He felt her weight shift. With the cloak in the way couldn’t tell if she popped her foot or not.

 

She broke off, dropping back but still clinging to his lekku. "You fancy her," Zhorrid said, “don’t you?”

 

A trickle of perspiration ran down the small of his back. "I find her attractive, yes," Cleaner admitted. Safer course than outright denial.

 

"Perhaps I'll let you have her sometime," Zhorrid said, "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

 

His stomach twisted in an unpleasant and unexpected knot. He touched the side of her face with the back of his fingers, "If it pleases you, my love."

 

...........................................................................................

 

"My Lady wishes to go over your duties," Cleaner said.

 

Temple looked up. Struggled to push away from the floor. The carpet left a pebbled impression on her forehead. There was a smudge of metallic blue on the step between her hands. “It’s been hours, sir,” she said.

 

He knew how long it had been. Zhorrid made him model the wardrobe she commissioned for him. Right now he looked like some historical military officer. He felt like an idiot. However, the bodyscan tailored costumes fit far better than any of the limited-measure-extruded stuff he usually wore, so at least he was a comfortable, well-dressed idiot. “She has magnificent plans. You are fortunate to be part of her household,” he said. He offered her a hand, the lace-edged cuff falling to the perfect break over his knuckles.

 

Temple’s brows scrunched together. Then unscrunched with dawning understanding, "I-- I am glad to hear it."

 

"You belong to her now," Cleaner said. Let the statement sink in for a moment before continuing. "She awaits you in the Hall of Trophies. I'll lead you there." Temple took his hand and struggled to rise. When her face neared his he whispered, "You're in. You know your role. To the rest of the Sith you're her apprentice." His words came rapid-fire from unmoving lips, a skill he rarely tapped since his Sevarcos days, "If other Sith ask about you, smile. Don't talk to them. Especially don't confirm you're Zhorrid’s apprentice, but don't deny it either. Be a mystery. Make them fill in the gaps with imagination. The data spike I just slipped you will let you in her back doors. There's also a code for her comms, bypassing internal security and recording. Keep her happy." His other supporting hand fell away from her hip, where he left the dataspike under her costume’s elaborate waistband.

 

Temple’s free hand twitched as though she wanted to confirm the spike’s existence, then halted out of caution, “Thank you, sir.”

 

Catching on, was Ensign Temple. “Come now. We don’t want to disappoint her.”