Graveyard of Alderaan

Star Wars

Rebellion Era

WEG D6 (GM: Charles)

"As we used to say in CorSec, if one guy calls you a Hutt, ignore him. If a second guy calls you a Hutt, begin to wonder. If a third calls you a Hutt, buy a drool bucket and start stockpiling spice."

-- Corran Horn (I, Jedi)

If You Can't Beat 'Em ...

"Nice limo," said Gris, genuinely impressed. "I was thinking about getting one of these for myself, actually." He nonchalantly examined the plush interior of the speeder. Whoever had furnished the luxury vehicle obviously had good taste and a large number of credits at their disposal. He was also fairly certain that they had probably incorporated various weaponry and heavy armor into the design. "Does she get good mileage on regular fuel?"

"Your reputation for bravado has preceded you, Captain Ben-dahli; and I must say I'm not disappointed."

Gris turned his attention to the person who was speaking to him. She was seated in the center of the rear seat of the limo, facing him as he rode backwards in the jump seat. He had mentally tagged the individual as a "she", but if he admitted the truth there was no way he could be sure. The figure across from him was dressed in a tailored suit of midnight blue accented by a large cloak that covered the head. Where the person's face would normally be seen under the hood of the cloak was instead a smooth, featureless oval-shaped hemisphere of mirrorized metal. Gris stared intently for a few seconds, trying to determine if the metal was a mask, or was somehow grafted directly onto the head.

"You may smoke if you wish," said the figure. Gris decided it was the voice that was prejudicing him towards female. He realized suddenly that it was a very beautiful, feminine voice. Under different circumstances, a voice like that would have been attached to quite a different sort of creature - the kind one invited back to one's cabin. Too bad, he thought.

He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a cigar, watching his reflection do the same in the shimmering surface of the woman's "face". For a brief moment he toyed with pulling his holdout blaster on her, but quickly discarded the idea. The Gotal who had escorted him to the curb at gunpoint and forced him into the speeder hadn't searched him despite plenty of opportunity to do so. That meant that whoever this woman was, she didn't consider him enough of a threat to warrant disarming him. Not to mention that the Gotal was riding in the front seat with the driver and had left the heavy partition between the forward and rear compartments sealed. Not a good sign. Either this woman is extremely lethal or the back seat is rigged with some heavy duty protective devices - probably both, he thought grimly. Either way it meant that for the time being he would listen to what she had to say.

"I'm sorry," Gris said as he used the limo's built-in lighter to get the cigar smoldering, "I didn't catch your name."

"You may call me Teehl."

"Well, Teehl, perhaps we should get right down to business. I've got several other appointments today that I simply can't postpone." He blew a large cloud of smoke across the space between them and into her face.

"Of course." She appeared to take no notice of either the smoke or his attitude. She reached into a small storage compartment in the armrest of her seat and withdrew a datapad. "Basically Captain Ben-dahli, I represent an organization that has taken an interest in you. Specifically in the way you choose to live your life. We feel that the time has come for you to think about your future."

She consulted the datapad briefly, tapping a few keys, and then flipped it deftly into his lap. "Future number one," she said.

He picked it up and looked at the screen. His eyes widened in mild surprise. He was looking at a set of specs for the Quantum Kesstral. Only it wasn't exactly the way he remembered it. The last time he had seen his ship it was an immobile lump of junk stranded on an asteroid amongst the remains of a dead planet. This version of the Kesstral had been extensively overhauled. Every major system had been repaired and upgraded. Most of the minor features had been tweaked as well. There were completed repair orders and parts requisitions accompanying everything. He scanned through the data for several minutes. The ship had been placed in top condition -- probably better than he could have ever managed on his own. The only thing missing from the file was any indication of who had done the work or where the ship was currently located. Someone had obviously spent a great deal of time and money on the Kesstral. He quickly reviewed the short list of organizations with the resources to accomplish the task, and he didn't like any of the choices.

After several minutes of silence, he looked up at Teehl. "Very nice, but I really wish you would've consulted me first. I had really hoped to have the seats re-upholstered with Kartoovian whale fur." He casually flipped the datapad back to her.

She let out a brief melodious laugh that left him feeling strangely uncomfortable. "I'll see what I can do. It may not be too late for some last minute creature comforts to be added. After all, we want you to be completely satisfied with the results."

"Well at least we're both interested in the same thing: my satisfaction. But that's not likely to happen unless you tell me exactly where my ship is."

"That information will supplied to you if you accept our offer. My organization is willing to restore ownership of the Quantum Kesstral to you with it's monetary debt completely paid off in exchange for your help."

"You're going to pay off Tolar?" Gris said skeptically.

"Not exactly," Teehl said. "As it turns out, Mr. Tolar owed my employer quite a bit of money himself. Effectively, this made him as much a part of the organization as I am. Unfortunately he had been a bit lax recently regarding the payment of his debts, so he was relieved of further responsibility for them." She paused for a moment, then added, "Permanently."

Gris felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. "So Tolar's dead?" There was no response. He didn't really expect one. The short list of organizations had just gotten shorter. "Exactly what kind of help am I supposed to provide."

"Simply your loyalty to the organization. We feel that you could be a valuable asset - especially with your connections to the Rebel Alliance. I'm sure you can understand that we like to keep our eye on both sides of a war until we're sure that we're going to be backing the winner. You'd be expected to provide information to us on any Alliance activities of note, and of course be available for any special projects that we might need taken care of."

"I'm guessing this isn't a yes or no proposition."

"Actually, you can refuse our offer and I will have you dropped off at the spaceport unharmed. You can return to your previous life. The only thing missing will be your ship. Before you make your choice however, you may wish to look at this." She reached into another compartment next to her seat and removed a different datapad. Again she scanned it briefly and pressed a few keys before tossing it across to him. "Future number two," she said.

He began reading through the files on the second pad and immediately knew he was in trouble. The first entry was a list of various hyperspace jump coordinates. There was nothing attached to the file to indicate what actual locations the coordinates corresponded to, but he knew where they had to have come from and what they probably were. The second file contained a set of 2D high-resolution photos of several individuals apparently recorded at various times going about their everyday lives. His own picture was displayed first, followed by each member of his crew and their families, and then shots of his father and mother. Recent shots. His grip on the datapad tightened involuntarily for a moment before he regained his composure.

"I'm glad to see you captured my good side."

"Yes, I thought so as well. I see you have your father's chin." There was a long moment of silence before she continued in a low voice. "I'm sure your friends in the Alliance would be very upset if those jump coordinates somehow fell into the hands of the ISB."

"And the pictures?" he asked coldly.

"They were my idea actually. I wasn't as convinced of your overall loyalty to the Rebellion as some of my associates were. So I thought it might be nice to remind you how fragile some lives are. Those photos could just as easily have been views through a sniper scope."

He shut off the datapad and tossed it onto the empty seat next to him. "So, you hold all the cards. I have no choice."

"I believe everyone has a choice, just not always a choice that they like. I also believe that our offer is quite generous. It would be a shame if you let a chance like this slip away."

He took a long drag on the cigar. Teehl sat motionless. She really does hold all the cards, he thought to himself as he racked his brain for a way out of this latest mess. He gazed out the window of the limo at the buildings they were cruising past. Another thought suddenly wormed its way into his mind: she holds all the cards…now. There's always another hand to be dealt.

"You know," he said after a few moments, "I think you could be right. I'm not getting any younger. Maybe it's time that Gris Ben-dahli started planning for the future."

"I never doubted for a moment that you would see it that way."

"Sweetheart, let's just say that this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."