Inquisition

[Samka Derith]

[SIZE=11pt]“And where was your source, Mr Viscu?”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“I-I don’t remember, I never met them. We only spoke through messages. Please!”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“Lies[/SIZE][SIZE=11pt],” her voice hissed inside and outside of his head then was followed by an intense pain as though the man’s brain itself was being torn apart. He tried to scream but no sound left his open mouth. His head began to spasm and eyes rolled back until there was nothing but white. Then it stopped. Viscu’s head slammed back onto the metal restraining block he was tied to. The man groaned through gritted teeth and closed eyes, struggling to endure the pain.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“Let’s try that again, shall we?” The teenage Ren smiled down at her captive, her tone and manner oddly amiable. She behaved more like patient teacher calmly helping a pupil reach the correct answer rather than the cold blooded torturer she was showing herself to be. “Where was your source, Mr Viscu?”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]---[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]That was three days ago. A lowlife smuggler by the name of Viscu, an associate of the mostly defunct Resistance against the First Order, had attempted to intercept the transportation of prisoners from Dosuun to Endor. His efforts had failed and he was in custody as a result. The mystery was how Viscu had learned of the convoy's timing and route. The only explanation gleaned from the smuggler's now shattered mind was that they had a leak, a leak traced here to the heart of their Empire: Avalonia, Dosuun.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Samka Derith set a determined stride towards the military barracks. Avalonia was a most beautiful city and the sun shone brightly this day but the barracks rested on the outskirts, away from most of the glitz and glamour; after all, no reputable citizen wanted their view blocked by a large building full of Stormtroopers. It was a great shame since that meant the high culture loving Ren had to miss out on most of the sculptures and gardens she enjoyed visiting if she was in the city. Instead she would be spending it in the bland, beigeness of a military structure.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]As the Ren approached a checkpoint she was signalled to halt by one of the Stormtroopers there. She did so. There was no need to antagonise men following appropriate procedure when approached by a stranger. Samka paused, held her hands behind her back and kept her face perfectly neutral. Two Stormtroopers in full armour and one bureaucratic type of some sort or another holding a data pad made their way over to size her up. They seemed confused. Dark robes and a cloak over a slim-fitting, smart uniform spoke of importance of some kind or another but here she stood as a small, youthful teenager.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“What’s your business here?” The Stormtrooper who first stopped her asked.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“Authorisation 2015 dash 1712. Decitus,” Samka spoke almost lazily, her expression still unreadable.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]The Troopers looked at one another for a moment as the bureaucrats fiddled with his datapad. Then his face paled. “Stand at attention!” the man yelled and the pair of Stormtrooper snapped upright and saluted.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“Ma’am, this is an unexpected pleasure, we are honoured by your presence!” The man’s voice seemed to falter for a moment as he motioned for Sam to follow him up a pathway to the barracks.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“Yes, I would imagine you are,” a faint smile appearing on the girl’s lips. “But I’m not here for social calls, I have responsibilities to attend to.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“Of course,” the man bowed his head.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“I want to meet an appropriate officer as soon as they’re able. Let’s not dally around,” Samka’s pace quickened as she reached the double doors to the barracks.[/SIZE]



[member="Shaydae Desmaris"]

 

[Shaydae Desmaris]

The armory was a mess. At least, in terms of scraps of Duraplast, Duranium, Amourweave, and magnetic clips scattered about the desk and overflowing on the shelves. Staff Sergeant DesMaris would be appalled at the state of the room if she wasn’t so focused on the projects at hand.

In the aftermath of the invasions of Skor II, Hoth, and Bespin, her small operation had been overrun with repairs, modifications, and special projects for the elite of the First Order Stormtrooper Corps. Des had spent much of the time when not in the medical bay caring for her injuries, elbows deep in parts, metal, and diagrams, continuing to search for ways to further strengthen their personal defenses. The result was a wealth of new armour designs, from chest plates that were elongated to cover the fragile connections on the sides of the torso armour to pauldrons that were permanently attached to the appropriate shoulder pieces.

Each design had a new set of flaws and weaknesses, leading the Sergeant in a dizzy of constant redesign and trial and error. Her second, the recently promoted Specialist Landis, watched on from his spot in the corner, a wry grin disguising a keen and intelligent mind. Years of companionship on the battlefield meant a familiarity that gave insight into the woman’s behaviors more than most. Her dedication and obsession with her work would often drive her to forgo sleep and food for days on end until her body finally submitted to exhaustion and malnutrition. He was here to ensure that she took care of not only those under her command, but herself as well.

The chirp and whirl of mechanics interrupted the officer for a moment, the clamour in her ear shaking her from her concentration.

”M.U.S.H.U, go away. I don’t need you buzzing up my ear while I’m working with thi- FETH!”

The curse sent the mini-dragon droid flying off to hover behind the half-molten remnants of its mother droid, the Duranium skull resting on the edge of the Staff Sergeant’s desk as a trophy from their battle. The mass of scared and burned metal gleamed with a recent polishing, the fangs, nearly forearm length daggers meant to rend and tear flesh and muscle from bone with relative ease. The exposed gears and mechanisms within the metal casing were too far destroyed to be salvaged, instead, providing the quartermaster a rough schematic as to how to fashion her own version of the beast from Hoth.

Slamming her palm against her thigh to stop the blood that welled up from the nearly received laceration, she grabbed a scrap of cloth from a nearby pile, the bloodstained rag having seen its share of wounds from repairs gone wrong in recent history. Muttered curses and threats towards the pint-sized reptile flowed from under her breath as she bound the cut with a gimlet glare directed towards her second, the man covertly covering a fit of laughter behind one hand.

As she opened her mouth to reproach him, the comm unit on the wall of the small workroom buzzed to life in a crackle of static.

::AD-1340 reporting. We have a request for your presence in the conference room under authorization 2015 dash 1712. Immediately, sir.​

Sharing a glance with Landis, she tossed the pair of pliers in her hand onto the workbench with a curse, tearing the goggles from her head and moving to the door. A quick sequence of taps on the screen to the left of the entrance flared the connection back to life. The datascreen filled with scrolling information, the officer’s eyes widening as she skimmed the little bit of information provided.

”Oh this is karking glorious. Landis, finish the repairs on that third set of armour and report to the conference room when you are finished.”

A salute and an affirmative followed the girl out the door. The authorization code meant one thing, trouble thy name is Force User.

[member="Samka Derith"]

 

[Samka Derith]

Samka walked into a bustle of activity in the barracks. Stormtroopers. Only a handful were in combat uniform, most of them with their helmets off. She paused to observe the scene as her guide attempted to lead her to the conference room. The man stopped as well after a few paces, clearly unsure what he should do. He had no real power over her, she was fit to act as she wished and for now she wished to observe.

The girl went unnoticed for a while, the soldiers continued chattering and laughing among themselves but ever so slowly the room fell piece by piece into silence. Pairs or groups would spot her one by one and joyous conversation would fade into murmurs, people questioning who this young girl in dark robes was. Her face was unreadable, her body language stiff. She remained glaring at the gaggle of troopers, her expression cold yet neutral until she was satisfied that her mark had been left.

These 'soldiers' were far too relaxed, had they forgotten how the Ssi-Ruu had struck this city? How the Galactic Alliance could do the same? She wouldn't stand for it. Sam turned on her heels and marched briskly towards the corridor her guide was standing awkwardly besides.

---

A short while later she was in the conference room, pacing back and forth as she waited for an officer's appearance. "You," the Ren finally broke the silence to speak with the bureaucrat from the gate, "do you know what the delay is?"

"Our Quartermaster has many responsibilities, rest assured that Staff Sargent Desmaris shall be here momentarily," the man replied.

A single brow rose on Samka's face. "Quartermaster?" She repeated, her voice dripped in venom. "Staff Sargent?" Sam took a few steps towards the man. On a better day, perhaps she wouldn't have reacted so harshly but she was short on time thanks to the sensitivity of the mission and mood further soured by the lack of discipline and professionalism displayed by the troops on her way in. "I am an elite operative of the highest authority possible, neither the Grand Moff nor the Supreme Commander could give me orders," Pressure would begin to build around the man's throat, tightening with everyone word out of the Ren's mouth. "So when I ask for an appropriate officer to meet with to discuss matters of the utmost importance and secrecy, I do not expect to be passed into the hands of a soldier who plays dress up!"

As the man began to wheeze, collapsing onto his knees and holding his throat on the floor, the door to the conference room opened. Sam's crimson eyes flickered to the new figure in the doorway: [member="Shaydae Desmaris"]

 

[Shaydae Desmaris]

"So when I ask for an appropriate officer to meet with to discuss matters of the utmost importance and secrecy, I do not expect to be passed into the hands of a soldier who plays dress up!"

It took but a moment to survey the scene, the easy expression Des adopted during most of her time not spent pouring over new projects wiped away in an instant. The man on the floor coughed and sputtered, his face turning all manner of blues and purples as he fought for air, the phantom grip around his throat held there by the will of the young girl standing feet away from the Sargent. Crimson eyes bore into her, a shiver rolling down the officer’s spine as her hand moved towards the blaster at her waist.

Copper eyes met the gaze unflinchingly for a moment, before lowering respectfully, hand relaxing just shy of the holster and weapon hanging from her belt. Little good would come from opening fire here in the barracks, much less against someone who’s authority far usurped hers, no matter how badly the trooper wanted to defend her reputation and her subordinate.

Stiffly, she stood at attention, eyes still cast down and away from the crimson glare, but glittering with determination.

”If you wish to speak with one of my superiors, I can arrange that. Although my presence was requested with urgency and I doubt you’d find much from them, given most are away dealing with the politics that come with the aftermath of such a long and costly war.”

There was a reason she’d been promoted above the rest of her unit. While they were fine soldiers in their own right, she was the only one who knew when and how to shut the kark up.

”Although you are more than welcome to continue debating my failings while I return to my work. It takes a lot of effort to look this nice playing dress up.”

And sometimes her mouth ran away with her.

One corner of her lips quirked up into an unamused smile as she waited for a response, acutely aware of the appearance she made before the dark robed, violet haired teen. Capris and a sleeveless shirt stained in various oils and covered in dirt smudges clung to her athletic frame, a utility belt weighting the fabric low across her hips. Hair pulled back into a messy bun framed her no-nonsense expression, eyes surrounded by the red line of indentation where her goggles had sat for too long pressed against the bridge of her nose and forehead. Combat boots that had seen better days but were still well maintained completed the outfit, the injured hand wrapped in a dirty rag held behind her back as she stood at a soldier’s rest.

Des had been accused of many things in her life, but never had she been mistaken for someone who preferred a dress uniform over the practical comfort of fatigues. Besides, she stained clothing just looking at them.

[member="Samka Derith"]

 

[Samka Derith]

There was a solid thud from the side as a body hit the ground. Her guide had passed out from the choke but Samka didn't look around or flinch, she didn't even move. Her scarlet eyes continued to study the newcomer. She'd noted the twitch, small as it was, of the officer's fingertips instinctively reaching for her sidearm.

Her first instinct was disciplinary, even the slightest act of insubordination towards her should be punished, however the Ren reconsidered upon noting the largely differing attitude in the soldier. The woman's head lowered into a bow and she remained stood at attention. No, seeing one's colleague attacked could bring an understandable defensive reaction. So long as the Staff Sargent knew her place, there was room for forgiveness.

But then she had to open her mouth.

The first comment was an acceptable explanation, the second was sass.

Samka took in the woman's appearance from head to toe, truly studying her now. A pretty thing despite the unkempt appearance but there was something Samka's vanity simply couldn't understand: dirt, grime, oil, sweat. It was in sharp contrast to the teenager groomed to near pristine conditions.

A single eyebrow rose: "Perhaps that effort isn't enough."

"You're to help me in an investigation," the Ren moved swiftly on, tucking her arms behind her back and entering a firm, straight stance. "There's been unregistered message coming from this base. I need access to all communications."

[member="Shaydae Desmaris"]

 

[Shaydae Desmaris]

Her eyes glittered with true amusement for a moment, before her expression schooled itself again. The effort the Staff Sergeant put into her looks daily was little to none, something she suspected the meticulously groomed young woman wouldn’t understand in the slightest. Perhaps if they’d met at a military dress function or celebratory ball, her opinion of the engineer would be different, but during work, looks fell to the bottom of Des’ priority list.

The unconscious soldier drew her attention long enough to establish that his chest rose and fell in a regular rhythm, the man having passed out from lack of oxygen but otherwise unharmed. He’d have one hell of a headache when he awoke and a newfound respect for short girls with vicious smiles.

The girl’s second comment drew her attention back, eyebrows winging up in a bit of surprise and curiosity as the Ren mirrored her own stance. An investigation in an unregistered message originating from her base of operations? Quickly the surprise turned stormy, copper eyes swirling with anger at the implied failings of herself and her chain of command to intercept such a security breach. As well as subtly insulting the entire command structure, the Forcer had also managed to insinuate that among her company was a traitor to the Order, or a spy.

”As you order, sir.”

If her words were tense and more than a little angry, the Sergeant did not acknowledge it, instead turning and moving a few quick steps to the data pad and comm unit installed in the wall near the conference room’s entrance. Typing in the quick code to open up the comm link with the Armoury, she waited until Private Landis’ voice and code crackled over the line.

”Change of plans, Private. Leave the repairs for a later time, I need all communication logs uploaded onto personnel account 2015 dash 1712 as well as a master authorization override.”

Shutting down the communication link, Des turned back towards the woman and gestured to the table that dominated one half of the room, a datapad imbedded at the head of the table.

”You should have access within moments, if you care to use the equipment provided.”

Returning to attention, she watched, waiting for the girl to demand a better computer, private access, or any of the asinine demands those in power seemed to require to get any work done. Her mind ticked with possibilities, the need for additional information and anger overriding self-preservation.

”I would assume the message contained damaging or confidential information, otherwise such a display,” Glancing pointedly at the man on the ground for effect, she continued, ”Would seem unwarranted. Sir.”

[member="Samka Derith"]

 

[Samka Derith]

The tone of the woman's voice did not go unnoticed. As she turned to the coms, the Ren cocked her head to the side, gazing at the Stormtrooper with curious eyes. How curious it was that the woman seemed unafraid. It was true that the young Ren hadn't been emitting her darker, more chilling aura but she had assumed that the sight of her colleague unconscious on the floor would be enough to unnerve the soldier somewhat. But no, there was obedience through gritted teeth without a hint of fear. For now it could continue as such, on some level she admired the gall being displayed far more than any simpering yesman, and yet her tolerance would only stretch so far.

"Here?" Samka asked with mild surprise as she scanned the small room. There was nothing more here than a rectangular box with a table and chairs in the centre. "Hm, I suppose we can't expect the grandest rooms from a standard military barracks. Very well."

The Ren checked her datapad, seeing the file upload begin before flicking her eyes upwards as the Trooper spoke once more. "Indeed, an insurgent movement acquired knowledge of a prisoner transfer and attempted an intercept. They were foiled, naturally, but they were well prepared and knew exactly when our ships were coming. One of the Rebels claimed his source was from this very base. Information leaks cannot and will not be tolerated and so, here I am," the Ren gave a very short, sarcastic curtsy. "Make no mistake, traitors and those who knowingly harbour them shall be dealt with without mercy."

[member="Shaydae Desmaris"]