Avalonia Nights

[Davin Jusik]

The air of Avalonia was clearer than any major modern city he'd ever visited. First Order Planetary Environmental Protection Laws had provided that. Was supposed to contribute to the moral of the people and demonstrate National Pride. Amin stood on the balcony of a newly purchased apartment in a well to do sector of the grand Capital, observing the vast sky before him and it's plethora of visible stars. Also a courtesy of the Government, via light pollution legislation. It was a strange feeling. Standing in civilian clothes, in an apartment he owned, and contimplatively staring at the chaotic gulf that lay above the planet's atmosphere. A slight breeze blew lightly over his now non regulation haircut. These were all sensations he hadn't felt in years. Not since Dromund Kaas. The day he'd first killed a man.

He'd lived in barracks and adhered to military life since his wife had been killed. The transition had been surreal. After Thakwaa and Hoth, Amin was approached by a liaison from the newly reformed ISB and offered a chance to join their organization. Which, following his "incident" at the National Park when he was on leave, the soldier eagerly accepted the opportunity. That much constant warfare was bad on the soul. Besides, the man had more than done his time, with distinction. A few months of training (and a name change later) and he'd found himself in Avalonia. The hardest part of the training for the trooper hadn't been the deception, pysch classes, or various espionage tactics courses. It was the "demilitarization" section that had hemed him up. Relearning how to walk, talk, and act in a manner that didn't advertise his service to those who shouldn't know about it.

He lit a cigarette from the same military issued brand he'd smoked for years and took a a long drag. Officially he'd been honorably discharged from the Corp and resumed his civilian career as a musician, playing the violin at various high end functions. It did one well to have a cover when doing Intel work, and the life of a musician would explain flighty travel and a nocturnal lifestyle. A loud beep from the room behind him broke his musing. Amin put the cigarette out with his fingers and placed it back in the pack, another old habit.

The door closed unceremoniously behind, the twenty nine year old checked his communicator, the only illumination in the darkened room. Quietly, and with a hint of ritual, the "rookie" spy placed a suppressed slugthrower in a concealed holster along his waistband before putting on his jacket and placing extra magazines in a holder on his calf and a couple in the jacket itself.

Gone were the days of heavy assaults on fortified positions.

Amin left his apartment and took an automated cab to the location his communicator had designated, a rather empty looking cantina in a mostly industrial area that had an air of quick fabrication about it. A quick frisk and ID card check from a bouncer that had an extra dangerous vibe about him later and Amin found himself in an empty bar. The frisk had been for a transmitter or recorder. If a field agent didn't have a firearm they'd be considered mad. A lone bartender gave him a nod towards what should've been the kitchen. Amin entered a room filled with electronics and a couple other ISB Folk he didn't recognize. He stood along the back wall and waited for the briefing to begin.

 

[Davin Jusik]

The steel colored room slowly filled in with various folk affiliated with the Bureau. As he waited Amin took careful note of the diverse cast of characters that slowly filed in. They came in all shapes in sizes, most Field Agents cut from the same cloth as himself. Men and women who shared that burning dedication to Folk and Country. Not that you'd know it at a glance. On the street they appeared as everything from drug dealers to teachers. While it was logistically impossible to have eyes in every back alley or closed room, the First Order came closer than any government entity Amin had witnessed. He lit a cigarette and smoked as he continued waiting.

"Light?" A light skinned agent in the clothing of a well to do professional asked Amin in a monotone voice. The light in the room reflected slightly off the oval glasses the man wore.
Amin casually flicked his lighter out before returning it to his pocket.

"Wonder what treasure they fucking got for us today." The Agent said in a grumble. A statement that would've been a question in another tone.

Amin offered a chuckle but didn't reply. A lot of these folk had been in for months, a few for years. Watching and waiting for the moment an enemy would reveal themselves. He mused that a few of them probably felt about espionage what he had felt about warfare.

An older man in uniform entered and the room fell silent. "Agents. One of you has discovered Intel on a potential cell of saboteurs living within the city limits. We believe they're responsible for both the attempting bombing at the National Bank's branch in Sector Seven and the rash of subvertive literature that seems to be popping up everywhere . We don't know the size or function of the cell yet, so we're casting a wide net. You've all been brought in because you aren't doing anything particularly important at the moment and Command wants all hands with this. We can not allow this shit within the Capital. Not now. Failure is not an option." His tone was calm, but spoke with an authority to the urgency of the situation. Another uniform, much younger than the one in charge, brought out tray that held a row of holotapes. "Take the tape that has your service number, memorize your assignment, then destroy them. Some of these will be dead ends, but one of them won't be. A few of you will be working together, the tape will let you know if you are on a team. Good luck." The older man finished and exited.

The Agents formed a line almost instantaneously and took their individually labeled tapes before exiting into the crisp night air.

 

[IT-88]

88 had taken a bus to an area in the center of the industrial district of the city on Avalonia. There he exited and pulled up his comm, the location was a cantina...there...he thought. He walked over, the bouncer at the bar would search his person and the bag on his back, to find random papers and a datapad with a history of orders. He'd appear to be a courier, but that was the point...

After being allowed in, his ID was scanned and he was directed to the back where the kitchen would be. There he saw a man smoking against the back wall, as well as dozens of others working on consoles and terminals. 88 walked over and propped against the adjacent wall to the smoker ([member="Rick Müller"]) and pulled out his datapad. He began scanning the room for open portals, then he installed a trojan horse onto the holonet that would grant him access to the servers inside this building. His optics zooming in on one of the attendants that was working on his console and followed the keystrokes and mentally copied his access code. 88 knew it would spark interest as the same access code would be used twice, but he'd send his IP pinging all over the room, no one console could be tracked. They'd need a reset to stop it, but by then, 88 would have the server copied, then he'd be a part of the network even after the restart. He'd look like another terminal in the sea of desks before him.

Now, one would think he'd done this out of malice, but in fact, it was the safest way for him to access the system, so in the event he was ever caught by a rival, he'd not give up any info if they tried to use his code. With that, he uploaded the copy into his hard drive and wiped the datapad, erasing the process he'd completed before. Now was time to wait for the meeting to finish, as a new member of the FO armed forces, he'd been called as he was a blank slate, a new face. It was a chance for the CO's to use a scapegoat if things went wrong, 88 knew that... Taking a holotape, he plugged it into his hard drive in his pocket and downloaded the message as he left the cantina...

Once outside, he tossed the tape into a passing utility truck's bed. He'd wiped the data before tossing it. The message scrolled across his optics...To any onlooker, he'd appear to be remembering something, since no one knew he wasn't actually an organic lifeform. He had a pseudo-heart to fool scanners, he'd just appear cold, but alive. Since he'd been 'born' he's pretended to be human, and now, he'd landed a gig with the FO ISB, moving up in the world, perfect...