License to Thrill

[Damian Starchaser]

It was another aimless day, another useless night within the Casino city of Canto Bight. Fireworks lit up the sky as per usual as debutantes and dimwits lost their ill gained cash at games of chance. Flashing lights, loud rhythmic beats and scantily clad women attracted the marks to the many establishments in competition with each other. It was a contest seen on many worlds throughout the galaxy amplified on the scale of a cityscape.

Damian wanted none of that, his goal was slightly different. On the outskirts of the city was an estate, a modern palace designed with amenity and luxury that few in the galaxy could ever afford, and currently there a party was being held. The perfect time to infiltrate.

Fanfare and foolery were the two words that best described the little celebration happening in the large estate perfectly. It wasn't a coincidence that city officials and public figures were in the home of one of the planets largest crime lords, 'The Big Man', criminals often protected their wealth by using a shield of philanthropy. While the grounds were patrolled by a number of guards the main door checked in arrivals and announced their presence.

None of this stopped Damian who waited for his time to strike darting up to a nearby wall protecting the grounds of the estate.There was a blind spot, and when the guard looked away he vaulted the wall with preternatural abilities granted to him by the force.

....

"It's all so boring here," a woman on the other side of the wall said into a small com unit. wearing a long dress with a slit entirely too far up it's side for proper company, another reminder of the type of party this truly was. She disinterestedly swirling a drink and lounging in the garden adjacent to the large pool. "There is no one her but playboys and poor philosophers debating life after death."

Damian landed hard in the garden nearly falling before regaining his balancing standing up and readjusting his tie. He walked towards the startled woman grabbing a glass of champagne from the table without breaking a stride. "Well I don't give a damn about life after death," Damian said to her with a smile that had gotten him this far in life, "But I'm still looking for proof there's a life after birth."

Into the party he blended with the various guests paying careful interest to the guards stationed around the manor. There was security, vid recorders and guards, and then there was those mixing in with the guests. Damian had clocked more than a few seeing their side arms underneath their jackets. It was a serious thing to protect a mob boss.

Moving across the courtyard the young man found himself in an opportunity and moved inside through a window opened with his trusty chronometer to break the locking mechanism. As the window swooshed open Damian vaulted silently through closing it behind him. Inside now he was content to find the stairs to the basement, there he would find, if his informant was correct, the databanks of this criminal. Copying and transmitting the data would put all of his dealings in the open.

A minute went by as he crept through the domicile and found the stairs. A secure facility the basement was a strange amalgamation of bunker and office complex, which of course was occupied. Feth. two men stood up and began to draw blasters. Damian responded by darting forward and grabbing the hand of one before throwing him to the ground taking his blaster and shooting the second man.

For his part Damian remained calm walking over to the databanks and inserting his transmitter. He watched the bar climb showing the progress of the download to offsite. There wasn't supposed to be anyone working during the party, at least not down here. One of the mens communicator started to beep just as the transmission finished sending. "No time to talk," Damian said into the com, "There is a fire."

The transmitter exploded trashing the databanks and causing smoke to billow out of the command center funneling up the stairs like a chimney. Damain emerged from the smoke to see a guard waiting for him weapon drawn. Alarms were going off throughout the house now as the guests panicked either thinking a raid was commencing or otherwise believing their lives were in danger. In the chaos Damian caught the muzzle of the blaster and flung it from the security guards hand before unleashing a dart from his watch which lodged into the mans neck. The guard fell unconscious a fraction of a second after the impact.

More guards and Damian knew it was time to run. He wish he'd brought his umbrella, and not just because of the water and foam fire suppression units. Blaster bolts lanced out from all directions coming straight for him. Damian for his part ran up, a move which security no doubt found stupid.

To the second and then third floor of the building Damian ran dodging blaster bolts the entirety of the way until he was as high as he could get before exiting onto a balcony. "You are surrounded with nowhere to run." a man said stepping out from between the guards with weapon drawn. "Surrender and you may yet be allowed to live."

The villa edged up next to a cliff and from his vantage point Damian was up far too high to survival a fall, even into the water below. Still he edged himself backward towards the railing of the balcony and then jumped.

His body flipped before moving into a more traditional diving position. Pulling a cord on the inside of his jacket there was a sudden rush of energy as the repulsorlift in his belt and vest came to life. Mere feet above the deadly water below he was stopped by the device. He looked back up and smiled waving at the man as he disengaged the device and fell into the water.

It took less than a minute for the water to become unsettled as the spaceship rose from beneath the depths and took off, Damian having made his escape...

Spoiler

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Qrm_md68uA

 

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

THUNK-THUNK

Limbs fell limply on the fine marble floor as Joycelyn released the crushed throat from her telekinetic grasp grasp. She drew her hand through the short, black hair on top her head and let out an exhale of exasperation. Her fingers twirled the long braid dangling from the back of her head as she considered their options and calmed her fury.

"Find out whoever did this." "I want that son of a nerf-herder on a spit in my kitchen, and I want it now!"

One of her giant hands slammed down on the table, flat meeting flat with force enough to create a significant 'CLAP' and spooking the men into action. Leaning back into the tall, black chair, she closed her eyes and steepled her fingers in front of her mouth. The two spire-like protrusion at its top swivelled from one side to the other as her left foot pushed back and forth in concord with the cogs spinning in her mind. Her two pet vornskrs, Alk and Ilke, stirred from their lounging and sauntered over to their vahlacanthix master. Alk pressed his snout into Joycelyn's arm while Ilke seemingly stared into nothingness, ears perked and turning left to right - right to left, repeat.

"My lord." -A new voice piped up from the side of the otherwise awkwardly silent room. Joycelyn's eyes remained fixed, but the two vornskrs perked and looked straight at the one who spoke. "Forgive me, but concerning the galla, should we proceed as instructed?" "Without funds, you mi-" Joycelyn interrupted "The Gala will proceed. I will make funds."

​

*'*'*'*​

A luxury ship sailed through the colourful wingspan of a nebula, the blues, purples and pinks mixing and shifting slowly in the aquiline cloud. Little did the exuberantly celebrating burghers on board know that the proverbially raptoral talons of their most magnificent view now turned to rake the ship prow to stern. They did not realise what had come to occur until the ship was rocked by a series of blasts.

Wine glasses jumped from tables and crashed dramatically against the floor, and obnoxiously large coins scattered in every direction as the finely dressed would-be princes and princesses rose to their feet if seated, or tumbled over if standing. Utter chaos broke loose as a blast of turbolasers from the attacking ship cracked open the viewport of the luxurious lounge. First the glass shattered inward, blasting the inhabitants with great force and much debris. Then, the violent pull of the void expelled the bodies as the ship closed its blast doors to prevent further air-leak.

Boarding ships hammered onto the ship and a horde of Hyal'hask rushed through the breaches. They tore through customer and crew alike, taking delight only in the shedding of blood and the violent plundering of the visitors' riches. The prime vacation spot soon became a nightmarish scene of looting and bloody massacre.

Joycelyn Zambrano, clad in her obsidian armour, observed more than she participated, not out of distaste, but out of a sense of dignity. After all, these were mere civilians of a strange land. Cattle, so to speak. And Joycelyn? She had first and foremost come for their resources. Some would call it an act of piracy, others would call it the right of might. And as the sithspawn and their master withdrew with all the credits they could carry, the bare hulk of the luxury ship smouldered.

 

[Damian Starchaser]

Meanwhile at an undisclosed Chase Fashion location....

Damian walked into the office and up to the desk that he, in theory, occupied. The truth was others dealt with the business on a day to day basis while he appeared mostly to go to high end meetings with important clients or other companies around the galaxy. The company was first and foremost a front for the independent spy agency Damian had created. There was a pad already on his desk and prepared with information. Looking over it briefly he considered before standing up and walking away.
Down stairs and heading to the 'Brain Trust', the analytics group of Chase Fashion who was tasked with combing through all the data to find patterns. Into the maze of corridors Damian moved looking for the briefing room that had been set aside. He passed by one of the spider droid and gave it a polite nod before moving into the briefing room. Inside was more of the multi legged metal spiders whose abdomen consisted of a brain in the chair. This was the Brain Trust, a splinter group of B'omarr Monks who used their intellect and metal abilities for the good of the galaxy. A year ago their monastery had been the target of pirate raids and occupation. Damian had seen the bandits off and offered the monks a chance to use their intellect and metal abilities to assist him. Many had choose to sign on in a real coupe for Chase.

"Ah there you are Damian," a man said standing over a holoprojector.

"Desmond," Damian said with a nod as he glanced about. "Is Management in?" Damian nodded to a curtain drawn in the back of the room.

"That's Quartermaster to you Damian, or Q for short," the older man chided. "M will be ready for you momentarily." Desmond, or Q, started to move away towards the door.

"Right, so shall I see you in the gun library-"

"Armory," Q interjected rolling his eyes.

"-when I'm done here." Damian paused and stared for a moment.

"Well if you want your goodies I suspect you should." waving a hand Desmond left the briefing room.

The door closed with a mechanical clank behind him as the lights dimmed. A holographic projection came up and a mist covered the floor in an overly dramatic fashion. Data was projected as the curtain was pulled back and Management made his appearance. Pulling back the curtain he appeared wearing a black suit and red undershirt. "Mr. Chase," he said with a nod. "A pleasure as always. As you can see the brain trust has been going over the data you leaked earlier."

"Found anything?"

"Absolutely. We followed the money trail." Management manipulated the data bringing up a number of accounts and transactions. "The Big Man was very naughty. We've connected his money to a number of syndicates and pirate groups operating on the fringe of civilized space." A news report came up showing the remnants of a cruise liner in space that had been raided, "And his stock portfolio showed a cruise ship struck by one such piratical raid has recently lost its major investor."

"The Big Man pulling back his stock before the market collapsed?"

"Precisely, I'm glad to see your time as CEO of a corporation hasn't been completely wasted." Management raised his hand up to forestall any witty quip that might have been on Damians tongue. "In following the money we found a little organization that's throwing a Gala, supposedly for a charity probably for money laundering or covert purchases."

"And you want me to attend?" Damian said looking back at Management.

"I have your invitation here Mr. Chase."

Glanced for a moment at the invitation to study the details Damian replied, "I'll leave at once."

Damian excused himself for the moment and headed down to the armory where Desmond was waiting. There was several men and women in lab coats messing with various devices. One man threw out a fishing line the lure on the end exploding. "Now that's a real catch."

"Oh do grow up Damian." Q moved though the lab gathering up a variety of goods. "Today we have standard issue chronometer. All the bells and whistles you're accustomed to." Looking it over for a moment Damian placed the watch on his wrist folding the sleeve of his suit over it. "And then we have your cufflinks, I don't believe you've worked with this model before. A simple press of the button and..." a blindingly bright flash erupted around the room. "and of course a strobe function"

"Truly dazzling," Damian said. "well this has been an illuminating display Q."

With an unamused look Desmond walked up to him and handed him an umbrella, "And of course always plan for rainy weather."

-----

Dac, or Mon Calamari, was a hell of a place to throw a Gala. More known for shipwrights than anything the mostly ocean world had a number of resorts built on tropical islands near its equatorial region. It was at a resort like that where the Gala was to take place. The Silver Cove, an unimaginative name for a rather stunning destination. Catering to more wealthy members of society the private all inclusive resort was everything Damian would have wanted in his own vacation destinations. Then again his last trip to Zeltros hadn't ended very well. "Damian Chase," he said presenting his invitation.

[member="Joycelyn Zambrano"]

 

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

Dac was a luxurious place if you had the right money and the right connections. Joycelyn Zambrano definitely had the connections, and for all anyone knew she had more than money to spare thanks to her father's vast Empire. For years she had been a quiet shadow in the Zambrano Household, favouring the company of her faith and her mother's kin over her namesakes. Yet, it would appear she had come into her own and claimed the place she thought rightfully hers. Since then, the giant woman had made something of a splash in certain sordid circles.

In Damian's prior bust, it would seem she had made herself a small fortune exploiting the discord of the Core and the blockade of the Commenor Systems Alliance to raid luxury ships, plunder the riches, and ransom whatever captives she bothered to spare.

This, combined with her military exploits, had earned her something of an underground reputation for brutality

Yet, the Joycelyn Zambrano who presented herself in this extravagant galla on Dac did not appear like the brutal privateer commander and warlord. Nay, she seemed like another dignitary, shaking hands most cordially and giving greetings from her Empire with a plastered smile on her chiselled face. She shook the hand of a Quarran delegate and quietly slipped a datachip into his fingers with the practised movements of a diplomat, the quarren curled his tentacles in a wicked smile.

She turned to see who was announced, looking straight at Damian with a curious glance. The black braid trailing from the neck of her otherwise short cropped hair fell over her shoulder, colour mixing with the simple, black dress. A smile curved on her lip as she plucked two glasses from a droid's tray. Her heels clacked as she moved down through the crowd and approached the blonde newcomer.

Her left hand extended the glass in an invitation of conversation.

"Chase, was it?"

Her head cocked slightly to the side, eyes narrowing and lips curling up at the ends in a hint of a smile.

[member="Damian Starchaser"]

 

[Wyatt Morga]

Wyatt looked out the viewports of the small gunship, washing blue eyes over the darkness that persisted outside; the dead husk of a luxury liner filled with the blood of the innocent and not a credit more. He almost cringed at the thought of how the denizens died, sweeping it from his mind with a contorted frown; All before a second rebel came forth and put a hand on his shoulder, presenting a holopad in front of him with a series of key notes from the team that went aboard the ship.

“Any survivors?”, Wyatt asked as his first question, taking the holopad and looking it over.

“If there were, there aren’t any left. Whole ship was picked clean.”, he said with a shake of his head.

Wyatt chose not to respond, instead looking over the rest of the closing notes the team made as the squad leader continued to brief him.

“However… there was some evidence of who might have done it.”

“Who?”, Wyatt asked as his attention was ripped away from the holopad.

“Hyperlane registers acknowledge an unknown vessel entering the system around the time this ship goes missing…”

“And?”

“And - there is evidence on board that a trail made its way back to Sith space, but goes cold there.”

Wyatt feared the Sith were involved, hoping instead that whatever might have done this would be something far more simple. Something easier to bring down, but the Sith were resilient, and even more dangerous than any single pirate fleet could be. The same contorted look fell on his expression before he sighed, almost out of pain.

“Fine, run a trace on the credits missing, see if they show up on any known channels.”

“Understood, Captain.”

---

Present Day

Wyatt moved with as much dexterity as he could, bobbing and weaving the tray of drinks through the crowds with an almost hectic pace. A woman rested a hand on his chest as he was passing by, bringing his gaze to meet hers, and his voice to take on its cheery customer orientated nature;

“A drink, Miss?”, he asked lightly.

“Only if it's you…”, she responded in a slightly drunken slur.

At a loss for words, Wyatt stood there for a moment as she ran a finger down his chest, only to have him quickly look for some sort of excuse to leave. Acting as if something in the distance had caught him off guard, he pushed himself forward with the flimsiest of excuses;

“Be right there, Boss!”, he said with a nervous undertone.

Moving through the groups, he sighed as this patron and that took a drink from him, but his gaze attempted to memorize everyone he saw. He didn’t have enough information to know who here was related to the pirate activity near the core, only that someone was; his best hope was to overhear conversations.

A pipedream really, but he didn’t have any other choice.


[member="Joycelyn Zambrano"] │ [member="Damian Starchaser"]

 

[Damian Starchaser]

It was a party. Like any party it had its own internal rules governed by the social contract with people forming general groups, or as Damian called them gaggles, based on perceived similarities taken subconsciously from visual cues. At least that was the theory. The truth was these arbitrary groupings were based mostly on appearances and other outward cues that could be fake or misleading.

There wasn't any time to consider these little implications though as Damian was approached by a tall dark haired woman with fair skin. There was cues to tell a genuine smile from one forced. Lips that go back instead of upward, a bottom jaw that was lax often separating the teeth. In no way was this definitive, but more often than not Damian could take these cues along with a simple intuition that fellow Jedi often associated with the force, to get a feel for a person.

"Damian Chase," he said with a smile taking a glass from a nearby waiter. The woman was easily identified as the one in charge, if not by her ability to practicably ooze authority but rather by the reserved demeanor of those around her. "And who do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

A Zambrano. With an application of basic self control that many Jedi seemed lacked Damian stopped any reaction from this revelation from showing. He recognized the woman from intelligence reports the alliance had, and had to suppress a hand from hand from moving to his chest and cradling the broken ribs her father had given him.


[member="Wyatt Morga"] [member="Joycelyn Zambrano"]

 

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

[member="Damian Starchaser"] [member="Wyatt Morga"]

Her smile was well crafted, the jaw firm, but not tense. Yet, to the discerning eye, it was definitely put on; while the muscle-movements themselves were more or less correct, it lacked the effortlessness of a true smile. And then, of course, she had no smile in her eyes. No, they were watchful, calculating, expecting. As Damian accepted a glass from a waiter, she passed the one she had offered him onto the waiter's tray.

"Joycelyn Zambrano. A pleasure."

She took a small sip of her glass to punctuate. The drink looked comically small in her hand, as if it was made for a child and handled by an adult. The sip she took looked little, polite, and yet the glass was noticeably emptier.

She half turned, her shoulder inviting him to follow her. The neat braid fell down from her shoulder and tumbled down the open back of her dress before aligning itself with the chiselled line of her spine. There were visible scars trailing over the fair skin, but she carried them with a distinct ownership, if not pride.

"And what is it you chase?"

Her watchful eyes followed the footsteps of a waiter walking a little fast, looking a little worried. It tickled her curiosity for a mere moment, as though there was a loose string there she wanted to pull. Ah, no, she had to maintain focus on this new mystery guest. He was one she did not know the reputation of, and that made him both dangerous and interesting.

 

[Damian Starchaser]

Damian extended his hand with a wide smile looking over, or rather up, at the massive woman. A cocksure smile crossed his face as the introductions were made and [member="Joycelyn Zambrano"], daughter of the man he once fought and blew up, make a quip. She was much more sociable than he imagined given her parentage.

A subtle invitation was accepted and Damian followed the viper further into its nest. That was a good enough analogy for the situation. Damian was currently one of those crazy animal handlers you saw on the holovids who would find a dangerous creature and poke it in the head with a stick. He had always been fascinated by those shows as a child and was now content to follow the most dangerous game.

"I 'chase' mostly money," Damian said honestly. It was why he was here after all of course. "Droll I know, but I have to admit I'm currently killing it in the galactic market." A broad and genuine smile formed on his face as he looked directly into Joycelyn 's eyes.

That was important, to maintain eye contact. Other subconscious cues were drilled into him during the cloning procedures. He talked with his hands, showing open palms as often as possible. Open palms meant empty hands and most species, humans among them, subconsciously thought people with open palms were more trustworthy. "So Miss Zambrano," he started with another cue. Stating names often had the effect of making people believe you cared. "You don't mind if I call you Joycelyn do you?"


[member="Wyatt Morga"]