Cloud City

"Subtle is good. This only works if we have the element of surprise."

Ok, so that last request had been a reach, and I knew it. I was annoyed with myself as I considered the implications of his response. It hadn't been the most professional of requests on my part, after all. Sometimes haste got in the way of good tactics. I needed to remember that, and be more cautious next time. Tilting my head to one side for a moment, I slowly nodded as I studied him minutely, measuring proportions and memorizing facial features and committing everything to memory. Then, I shrugged my shoulders and smirked. "Yeah, I can make do. You are pretty close to one of a kind around here, after all." By the stars, he was ripped. It was almost distracting. With difficulty, I tore my eyes away from his biceps and forced myself to remain focused on the mission. "I'm sorry I asked."

I watched idly as he examined the files, waiting for him to hit the profiles on Jace and Dante. They were pretty simplistic bios, not much more than first names, low resolution holos with slightly obscured faces, and a high level outline of their skillsets and roles in the plan (with irrelevant or unusual skills omitted). But I was already having some misgivings, and so I settled in to wait. The waitress I had signaled earlier returned, set a new mug down in front of Tim, then departed without a word.

"No, if I wanted you drunk, I'd have ordered you an entire pitcher of axle greaser." I smirked. All I wanted was for him to subconsciously associate the gift with my visit. But he had a point, even if it wasn't the exact one that he had voiced. If we were supposed to do a job that evening, it wouldn't do for him to be incapacitated. Even if he said it wasn't affecting him, I'd better stop at the one drink, and not ply him with any more. With what I was paying him, he would be able to afford all the drinks he could imagine --- at least for the next few days?

A few moments passed in silence, and I watched as he reached the profiles on Dante and on Jace and studied them just as he had the other reports. My mind was racing, filled with scenarios and contingency plans for the evening caper. His question startled me from my thoughts, and I realized awkwardly that I'd been staring at him blankly for several minutes. "Er, no, just have a lot on my mind. Watch your back, and I'll see you at the Black Bantha tonight. As you said yourself, people in our line of work can never be too careful."

I gave him a nod, and stood up. "Unless there's anything else, I'll be on my way." I had been reluctant to leave the datacard behind, but I didn't have time to stay and walk him through the entire plan. I had other preparations to make. And so I had settled on a bit of misdirection. I'd told him that he had 3 hours before the embedded program to erase the data activated, but he actually had less than an hour remaining. If he was planning anything on the side, he wouldn't know the difference until it was too late.

{ A hotel room, three 'blocks' from the Black Bantha }

*The short, middle-aged woman had arrived very late the previous night, and as she opened her eyes and raised her head from her pillow, she was somewhat embarrassed to realize that she had overslept. But it didn't matter. She had an entire day to kill before she headed down to the Black Bantha for some sort of business meeting, and the chances were good that her hosts would keep her up late, one way or the other. Either everyone would get along, a deal would be made, and the entertainment budget would be maxed out, or they would have to do things the hard way (e.g. aggressive negotiations). She knew what some of the possible outcomes were. The Syndicate had not shared many details, but the ones they had shared were pretty straight forward, and the money had been too good to turn down. The only sign of trouble so far had been her flight delay leaving Anoat, and that was quite beyond anyone's control.*

*She let out a sigh and rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. She could hear her stomach growling, but the warm, soft bed was far too enticing for her to get up just yet. Maybe just a few more moments, she thought to herself. And then, just as her eyes began to sink closed again, the room's comlink rang. It was an especially harsh, squawking ring, and it fairly launched the woman from her bed. Grumbling as she grabbed a white robe from a chair beside the bed and pulled it on, the half-awake hotel guest fumbled for the receiver.*

"Hullo?" *She asked sleepily.*

::: Hello, may I speak to Miss Kim Zawadi please? ::: *The unmistakable, prissy voice of a protocol droid asked politely.*

"That would be me." *The woman responded cautiously.*

::: Ah, excellent. I hope you are having a lovely afternoon, Miss Zawadi. I have a message for you, from an anonymous friend. He wishes to warn you that your meeting tonight is a trap. He strongly advises that you stay away from the Black Bantha, change your accommodations, and leave Cloud City as soon as possible. :::

*There was a long, stunned pause as Kim considered the implications of this warning. She took a deep breath, and tried not to panic. If the job was truly blown, no one would have bothered with an intimidating phone call. They would have just waited until tonight. But it was unnerving that some complete stranger had found where she was staying.* "Did this anonymous friend say why I should trust him ... or you?" *She asked pointedly.*

::: He did not. He said only that you should consider the potential motives of all parties involved. :::

*Her black eyes narrowed as the line went dead. Turning away from the room's comlink, she straightened her robe, secured it around her waist with a brilliant blue sash, and then pulled back her long black hair, fastening it at her nape and letting it flow down her back. Feeling more properly dressed, she located her own personal comlink, took a deep breath, and called in the mysterious phone call to her local contact, searching for any reaction that might reveal duplicity. He was intrigued by the message, but did not seem particularly worried, and assured her that he was monitoring the other guests. None of them had been contacted by any third parties, either to give a warning, or to take part in a conspiracy. Satisfied, but resolved to be more vigilant, Kim turned her attention to preparing for the evening.*

When all is said and done, the Firrerreo process of grief, divorce, and hardship is a short, but violent thing. A great many curses, a lot of howling and screeching, a ceremony - in this case a funeral, and, ultimately, a meal. So, cleaning up after the ceremony, Dante went to his room in the guest quarters, changed back to his military uniform, and then went down to the autochef lounge. The autochefs, of course, weren't programmed for Firrerreo physiology - and by the time Dante had manually programmed in his dietary requirements, really high protein accordingly, he was in a foul mood.

Hitting the button on the autochef, Dante leaned back to watch the results of his labor. The plate, glistening, was ready to receive its food; the process, with a hum, came alive, spitting out a...
Well, a foul, dark brown paste, more reminiscent of feces than of food.

"..."

Gingerly, Dante took the plate, brought it up to his face...and licked it. The ensuing expression only describable as the avatar of God scorned, a face of such repulsion, that everything flees before it. Including the plate. Flying across the room, the plate stuck to the wall with a resounding PLOP of protein infused gelatin - a slow smear and clatter to the ground a final refrain to its short and miserable life. Dante, frozen, trembling in rage, his arm outstretched from the throw, silently watched as it slid to the ground. Slowly, the little cleaning droid...Scrappy? Sloppy? Dante couldn't remember. Nevertheless, it trundled up, sucked up the mess, sprayed cleaner on it, and then turned to the autochef room, where it finally noticed Dante for the first time.

Eyes wide, rage still burning, Dante eyed the droid from his stance, a thin grating whisper of a breath escaping his lips.

"No. Just...no."

Slowly, the droid rolled away - and once out of view from Dante, sped up quickly. Its destination; elsewhere. Anywhere else. Clenching his jaw, Dante strode out of the autochef room, searching for the nearest wastebasket.

"What do they EAT? They don't eat slop. Humans don't eat slop. Do Epicanthix eat slop? I'm not eating slop!"

The waste basket was finally found, and Dante picked through it, finding...wrappers. So many wrappers; protein bars, nutri bars, ration bars. Fruit, veggies, artificial meats. Standing, Dante tossed them all into the basket, and strode down the hall to the lift. Taking it down to the bottom deck, Dante walked out of the lift and hit his ear comm - cycling through menus verbally as he walked. He was at the base of the landing ramp when his foot hit something, and glancing down, Dante's voice caught in his voice - the rodian vendor on the line forgotten. A small wooden box, unremarkable...except it was unmistakable for one who had seen it before. Picking it up, Dante slid the lid open, glancing at its contents, before closing it once more. Xanathane had visited recently. Stealthy bastard.

Regardless of the box, it didn't change things much. Shaking his head, Dante called a different vendor - haggled over price, and eventually hung up, awaiting the vendors arrival. It didn't take long. A long legged species that Dante didn't recognize ran up with several boxes, and handing over some credits, Dante took the boxes and sat down on the landing pad. He preferred the landing pad to the ship...if he was in service to the crew, no doubt they'd be spending more than enough time on the ship. He should enjoy the outdoors while it lasted. Besides...currently, no one was trying to kill him, he didn't have any of his usual weapons, and no one was in eminent danger of blowing up or dying spontaneously. Well, except for the Baltan. Wherever she was. That thought made his brow furrow...he'd need to have a better eye on the Baltan in the future. But...for now...

For now, we dine. For who knew the atrocities that space bourn food would bring. Opening the boxes, Dante took out several bowls with lids. In actuality several servings of the dish he had ordered. Opening one, Dante eyed the contents with a critical eye. Essentially a large bowl filled with chunks of VERY rare bantha meat, long chaka noodles, whole garto eggs (The yolk still liquified!) and several large whole peppers. It was Bamasian, and that meant SPICY. If any of the humans tried some, they'd probably have to pick the peppers out.

Settling down cross legged, Dante picked the meat out with his fingers, chewing it slowly. It was good. Real good. Nodding to himself, Dante resolved himself to wait on the landing pad till he was needed again. Whatever that may be.

Dante watched silently, chewing ponderously, as Jace walked up to the ramp. He was apprehensive as to what he would say to his old friend...especially now that Dante had turned into, well, whatever he was. Questions hung in the air, and walking up to the ramp Jace chose the most innocuous of them to break the (rather thin) ice.
Dante allowed the corner of his mouth to quirk at that, and rummaging around in the sack offered one of the boxes to him. "Your food is disgusting. No mother, regardless of species, would allow their progeny to eat such miscreant. Not even humans." Dante waved to a spot next to him on the ramp. "Sit. Eat. Pick out the peppers or they'll skald your gullet. Every soldier deserves a full meal before going to war...and people of our particular profession seldom get chances to enjoy quietude." Dante was silent then, picking up an egg and cracking its shell over his mouth, letting the yellow and orange yolk slide into his mouth in a long stream. He repeated the process, once, twice, three times, savoring each one, until the eggs were gone. For a long moment he was silent, regarding the brilliance of the eternal sunset of Bespin. Dante spoke then, as he regarded those clouds, he spoke in a voice that was tired and strained. "It must seem strange to see me, me of all people, to be the most calm about what has transpired. That calmness comes from a feeling that I can't describe...its the feeling you get when you walk into a room that you've walked a hundred thousand times...but something is off about it. As if everything has been moved several centimeters in one direction. Perfectly the same, but completely different - a paradox. I have lived with that feeling for every day since my planet was destroyed. Today, for the first time in my existence, that feeling has stopped."

Dante turned to regard Jace, an expression of absolute graveness etched on his face.

"If you repeat what I'm about to tell you, before this matter is resolved, I will kill you." Dante let that sink in, letting Jace know in no uncertain terms that he was very, very serious on that matter. "...With that feeling, came dread. I have been afraid, Jace Stealer, for every single day of my life. No amount of war, no amount of rage, no amount of anything, has been able to erase that Jace Stealer. It has been with me, a petrifying fear, for my entire life. Fear of losing my wife, fear of losing my way of life, my culture, my language, fear of being the last of my kind alive. Fear, Jace Stealer, has defined me." Dante's use of Jace's full name at every turn was a clear indicator that Dante was either horribly uncomfortable, or felt horribly exposed - the Firrerreo need to reassert dominance by use of names was reasserting itself. Shaking his head, Dante set his bowl down before leaning forward. "That fear, that dread, is gone Jace Stealer. In its place, clarity; my wife is dead. She has been dead for a long time. My people are alive, many, many of them. I...I have survived. I have survived the crucible that was put in front of me, at the cost of incredible evil; the syndicate, mass murder, war crimes, and essentially every other atrocity you can think of, most of which the very things we fought on Serenno." Dante's voice trailed off, and his eyes narrowed, his voice taking on a hard edge. "Or, have I? Because you can see, and I can see, and everyone can see the face before you now. This face that is like Dante, but not. This hair that I have never seen before in my life. These topaz eyes. And still I'm changing." Dante waved away any concerned glances at that, before explaining further. "Little things. I'm getting shorter. My body mass and musculature is slowly changing - Firrerreo may eat a lot of protein, but three bowls plus sides in one sitting is ravenous - a sign of preparation for my body to continue to change." Dante's face clouded, and his voice gained a dangerous edge. "But not changing, reverting. Reverting to not who I was, but who I am. As if, like Xanathane said, my true self has been warped, perverted, and hidden. And who would question the word of a Jedi Master?"

The cloud loomed, Dante's face becoming furious, hinting perhaps, that not everything had changed. "Oh, but I would question the word of a Jedi. Because some of the things he says don't make sense. Because some of the things he said, were lies. Think about it. This Gideon Warr, usurping me? Come now Jace; we're Counts, and more than a little aware of the need for politics and political maneuvering to achieve goals. There's no conceivable way that I could have built the Syndicate without political finesse. Why would I alienate my own men, especially my highest ranking officials? Besides the point, with the amount of training I've had in intelligence and counter-intelligence, I was so completely and totally enthralled that I was left with no allies, that there was no schism in the Syndicate when Warr took over? No one is that good. Then there's the clincher...this Strahl the Thisspissian. The Darkling. I thought him the head, the leader of the syndicate. But he is subordinate to Gideon Warr. If there was a power vacuum when I was deposed, surely the SITH would have made an effort to seize control. The fact that he didn't, the fact I was usurped, the fact he follows this Gideon...its proof enough."

Dante smiled to show his fangs, leaned back, and gestured widely.

"Ever since the purge, I can remember what happened in my life. The evil Dante's life. I remember it in the sense that I have knowledge of it. With the purge, the murky distinction between memory and knowledge has cleared...the difference between what happened, and what I was supposed to think happened. The difference between what was lived and verifiable, and knowledge and facts. What I said to Liya was true, in the sense that its a fact that I made the Syndicate, its a fact I committed those deeds, its a fact that Gideon Warr is building his weapon with the Eye. Its a fact in the sense two plus two equals four. But I don't remember any of them happening. I remember being an agent, for years, on Serenno. I remember leaving the Counthood, striking out on my own...and because my face looked as you remember it, we can assume I was under the Sith influence during those times. So what changed? The memory is that I went to Xanathane the first time to train...and after that things are fact, not memory. If I was in madness and obsession deep enough to turn myself into a monster, why, why did I wait for YEARS to do anything? Why did I stay on Serenno?

Dante lowered his arms, steadying himself, his mind a rush, his emotions darting back and forth.

"I propose, its because I'm a good little agent. A good little soldier; the perfect sleeper, an agent of Internal Security that doesn't even know he's working for someone else. When the signal came, in whatever manner, it had been enough time for the puppeteer to put the pieces in position. I went to see Xanathane. I propose that he refused to lift the Sith sorcery on me. The puppeteer went to his alternate plan - like every commander has - and put more pressure on Xanathane. He built the Syndicate, he built everything from the ground up. He altered me further, made me believe I was in charge, made me believe that everything he told me was the truth. But it wasn't. He finishes resetting the board, he puts his king, me, into a bar. In WHAT universe would I give up? In what universe would Dante Deveaux of Firrerre lose all hope and wait in a bar for some chink to form in the Syndicate armor? As if its sheer coincidence that THAT bar, on THAT day, on THAT planet, had you, an old war friend, to help me? As if its coincidence that we got away safely. As if its coincidence I go to Xanathane a SECOND time, this time with a crew of commandos at my side? As if its coincidence that my powers had been weakened by the aerosol weapon - ensuring any force resistance I had to the Sith magic was nullified, and ensuring that I couldn't win against Xanathane?"

Dante paused then, knowing he sounding like a conspiracy theorist, but, he implored Jace, to look at it as an agent. As a soldier. Leaning back, Dante rested back on the ramp, closing his eyes. He was quiet for a few breaths, centering himself, before he continued. "No, not coincidence. Orchestration. I suggest I was masterfully manipulated and maneuvered into a position in which I had absolutely NO choice but to confront Xanathane, and if he refused, to force his hand. On the other side of the coin, Xanathane was being manipulated as well. The Syndicate deaths, the mass murders, the extermination; every murder, theft, rape, battle, and war...was on Xanathane's head. A direct result of his refusal to release me the first time. To push the matter, with the force absent in me, his victory was assured, it would be murder to kill me. Additionally, the ship of commandos, one being Jace Stealer - a son of Arcturus - would surely attempt to kill Xanathane. If he killed me and the crew, then there would be no recourse for the puppeteer but to increase the deaths and launch a full out war; millions more would die. So, Xanathane told me lies, affirming the lies of what I had done as truth, disrupted me psychologically, and then finally gave in and relented - undoing the Sith Magic." Dante shook his head, laughing lightly, grimly.  "I confronted him, in my madness, for him to undo the curse that Arcturus had put on me. I suspect the Sith Magic, on some level, was interconnected with it. When the magic was dispelled, the curse fled with it...unlocking whatever it was that Arcturus feared so long ago. No wonder he was so agitated. He was asked to essentially weigh and then choose the lesser of two evils. He allowed me to live because I knew Gideon Warr's location, and, I assume, is hedging on the bet that he can stop Warr before he grows any more dangerous than he already is. Or die trying." Dante sat up, opening another bowl picking pieces of meat out accordingly. "The only thing I don't know is what Arcturus locked away, the battle we fought, and the events leading up to the fight and afterwards. I do suspect, however, that we're yet again playing into Gideon's hands...delivering this," Dante tapped his head. "Into his hands."

The look on Dante's face turned serious, and he nodded at weapon belt, where Jace usually hung his saber. "We will have one chance, and one chance only to stop whatever is on that station. I am committing my every resource, a whole fleet, to ensure the stations - and likely a guard fleets - destruction. On the station, I will seek out this Gideon Warr, alone. I must do this alone. I must find out who I am. What I am. What I was. And end this. I would urge you to use every resource...your...secrecy of the force is understandable. But I've seen the way you are around this crew. You act like you're among family. I'd suggest that the longer you wait to divulge it, the more of a shock and the more of a rift it will create."

Moving away without another word, I approached a waiter at the counter and placed an order to go: some food to take with me now, and another intelligence request to be delivered with the rest of my requests from Crusher's network later: every roof access hatch on the top side of Cloud City. Moments later, carrying two steamy foam boxes inside a foil warming bag, I exited the restaurant, and made my way back to the Red Cred, walking quickly but taking an indirect path, and stopping several times to ensure that I had not been tailed. Everything seemed to be going well so far. I wondered if Crusher and C2-M8 had been able to locate Kim, and if so, whether my old mentor would pay any heed to the warning. I felt pretty sure of the answer to both questions. Yes, they would find her, and no, she'd never be scarred off by a warning like that. But at least she'd have an easier time understanding my sudden appearance at the Black Bantha.

Returning to the Red Cred at last, I quickened my pace. By now I was almost desperate to be rid of the fancy clothes, and could not wait to change into something more comfortable --- even if I hadn't been expecting Crusher's people to deliver Dante's hyperwave transmitter (and my other kit) at any moment. Giving Jace and Dante a polite berth for what seemed to be an intense conversation, I blew past them and into the cargo hold, only making eye contact briefly to utter a single sentence. "Be back down in a bit, let me know if a deliveryman shows." On my way past the galley, I left the takeout from Crusher's restaurant on the dining room counter, and the room soon filled with the aromas of bread, butter, garlic, cheese, tomatoes, and hot grease.

Reaching my own quarters once more, the purse went first --- flung across the room to bounce off the wall. The fake eyeglasses inside made what should have been a worrisome crunching sound as the purse landed with a thump on my bunk, but I was beyond caring. Instead, taking a deep breath, I removed the contact lenses from my still-burning eyes, and stood blinking for several moments until I could see again. Then, the gold watch, flat dress shoes, leather belt, black dress, and stockings (predictably, they'd ripped) were all discarded with similar contempt. The only part of the disguise that survived was the way I had tied my hair back, and that was because we had work to do. The rest was quickly replaced with a pair of drab grey cargo pants, a black tshirt, thick protective socks, my boots, my wrist holster and console, and an earbud comlink. I paused over my gun belt, surprised to see one holster empty, but then remembered that one of my DL-44s was still down in the lower cargo hold where I'd left it when we rushed off to follow Dante and Xanathane. Shrugging, I fastened the belt, grabbed an oil-stained denim jacket, and returned to my food.

The first box, as I settled down alone (at least initially) in the dining room, opened to reveal four soft breadsticks, liberally bathed in butter, garlic, and a mixture of herbs. Grateful for the relative quiet and silence aboard the ship, when compared to all the hustle and bustle of the city I had just wandered for hours, I quickly downed two of the breadsticks. Turning my attention to the second package, which came with its own detachable soup spoon, I opened the top to reveal a rich light red tomato, cheese, and herb sauce, with chucks of nerf sausage and hollow, cheese-filled noodles floating in it. Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply from the savory steam cloud, and my stomach rumbled. Smiling contentedly, I ate every last blob of cheese and hunk of sausage, then using the rest of the breadsticks to absorb the last drops of sauce. In all of this, I was not meaning to be antisocial toward the other crew members, and would happily interact with them if they entered that part of the ship. I just wanted somewhere cleaner and quieter than the exterior of a landing pad to eat, and I did not want to interrupt Dante and Jace --- it was important that Jace evaluate the 'new' Dante.

But now it was time to interrupt. Crusher's people would be running very late indeed if they didn't show up soon. Throwing my refuse in the trash compactor, I made my way down the lift and out through the lower cargo hold once more, pulling on the denim jacket and buttoning all but the top two buttons as I walked. When I reached the top of the ramp, I saw that my instincts had been on target. Just coming into view were two dock workers and a tech. One of the workmen was carrying an extra-large datapad and a black briefcase, while the other strained to carry a very large grey box. Following them, the tech was dressed in dozens of tools, with a few pieces of leather in between to hold them together. The first workman caught sight of me, and waved. "Hallo, Capt'n." He called, holding up the briefcase. "I've gotcher delivery right 'ere, wit da boss's complimenz." 

Smiling, I stepped forward, accepted the briefcase, and cracked it open. Inside was a cloudy blue tube of chemicals labeled with the number 74, an unusually tiny syringe, two datacards, a unlabeled white cardboard folder, and a standard issue identcard reader with two very non-standard wires protruding from it. I snapped the case quickly shut again. "Thank you." I glanced over my shoulder, and pointed a thumb at Dante. "Red has your money for the over-budget item. He will pay you while we get started with the installation."

Hopefully Dante still needed the Hiridiu-enhanced hyperwave transmitter, otherwise this could get awkward. Who knows where the League had stolen this one --- I certainly wasn't about to ask --- but I knew it wasn't going to be cheap.

Outside of Firrerreo culture, names were essential for interpersonal communication, and so Red was a throwaway name, a way of differentiating my two companions from each other in a personal sense, without revealing anything else. It allowed me to simultaneously conceal Dante's true identity, and avoid putting him on the spot. A normal person, having now been given a name for the person standing before him, would be unlikely to ask for a further introduction. And, I hoped, it signaled to all of the crew members present that while these people might be friends, allies even, information was still money, and should be guarded carefully.

The man with the giant datapad chuckled at Red's threats. "...seven-three." He murmured to himself as he keyed in the details. He was accustomed to dealing with cautious customers, and this was nothing new. "'Course not, sir. S'long az'it haz creds innit, that's all I care'bout." He didn't care where the money was coming from or whose money it was, so long as the League got paid, so that he himself would get paid. "Weel get right'ta work." The tech had also stepped forward, and took out a compact folding datapad of his own, to record Red's customized instructions. When the finished and leaned back once more, the tech nodded simply in assent at the head dock worker words, and they both turned to look expectantly at me.

I smirked at Dante's condensed and almost-demanding orders, pleased both with the directness and with the effect his tone of voice seemed to have had on the three workmen. Motioning for them to follow me aboard, I gave them a quick tour of the Red Cred's current hypercom systems and led them up two decks to the bridge. There were receivers in the cockpit itself (where the primary transponder was located) and in the day lounge immediately aft. Unpacking the crate, the men got to work, while I watched, and occasionally helped --- mostly to prevent them from installing anything "extra." Several panels along the bulkhead between the two compartments were removed, revealing a maze of wires, and a deck plate in the cockpit itself also had to be temporarily removed. They make room for the advanced module, bolted it in place, and then rewired the existing input and output points so that everything ran through the new component. There was also a lot of programming to do, which I didn't really understand, but I knew Dante would know in an instant if the tech got any of it wrong.

After a rather dusty fifty-odd minutes, during which the three made every effort to impress me with their efficiency and precision, and a quick inspection of the re-assembled communications console, we descended the lift once more to give Dante a status update. I'd done very little of the actual work, but crawling around the ship to monitor their progress had left me with a grease streak on my forehead and just as much dirt and grime on my knees and elbows as the three workmen had on theirs. The workmen and the tech lined up sharply at attention. They wanted that extra ten thousand, alright.

"All done." I informed Dante. "At least, so far as I can tell. You'd probably better have a look, just to be certain."

As soon as we'd vacated the area, Scrapheap had descended on the mess that had been left behind, attacking it with four kinds of solvent as he chattered angrily to himself.

Jace simply nodded to Liya when she arrived, noting the hurry she was in and the foil bag in her hand. He doubted it was just hunger that had her moving at such a quick pace. But if it was trouble she would have said something, which meant he didn't need to worry about it. After all, with having had a bite to eat at the nearby cafe and some of Dante's order he felt quite full. He listened to the turbolift take Liya back up into the ship while he pondered briefly about how much it would suck to get into a firefight while he was this full. He turned to mention the frivolous thought to Dante, only to find that his companion would have been completely useless in the scenario as he had fallen asleep. "A lot of good you would have been." He murmured, sitting up slightly and placing the bits of trash and empty containers from the meals into one larger container. The area would be an easy cleanup when the time came. But instead of pursuing that he opted for the far more appealing option of sitting back and watching the Bespin clouds roll by. There weren't many opportunities to sit back and watch this spectacle, as one was usually flying through them to get to space or the nearest spaceport.

It wasn't long until the dock workers that Liya had mentioned showed up, carrying their own gear and what he assumed was Dante's order. And right on time Liya emerged from the ship behind him, stepping forward to converse with the men. Jace smirked when he noticed Liya had changed into something closer to her usual attire. That disguise didn't last long. Getting onto his feet, he took care of the crate of food that Dante had ordered while his companions discussed their terms. Placing the extra food back inside, he walked back out and disposed of the trash in a nearby receptacle located on the docks. By the time he had returned, Liya and the delivery men were inside and Dante was back to snoozing on the ramp.

Jace took this opportunity to check up on things back at home. He pulled out his datapad, flipping it on and letting it boot up while he strode over to the side of the ship. Leaning against the side comfortably, he waited until the security programs were fully functioning before he accessed his holonet line to the Emerald Blades. This particular one only received coded updates and information that was readily available to the public, as he deemed his particular location and situation not secure enough for full access to the archives. He perused through for the next forty or fifty minutes, reading up on public relations and new contracts that had been established as of late.

He was close enough to the ramp to hear the boots of the dock workers and Liya emerging from the ship. While walking back to the ramp he turned off his datapad and slipped it back into jacket. Jace rounded the corner and up the ramp as Dante finished his preliminary check. Following him into the lift, he took it up to the cockpit with Dante and stood in the doorway while his comrade tuned it accordingly. With Dante satisfied, Jace stopped back in his quarters to charge his datapad, leaving it there before returning to lift.

As he exited the lift he snagged a clean rag from the ship's storage, proceeding afterwards down the ramp. He could see the expectant looks on the three men's faces. Giving them a smile and a thumbs up, he walked over and stopped next to Liya. "Great work gentlemen. The Boss is pleased and all bonuses will be accounted for. Consider the contract complete." With that said, Jace patiently waited for the dock workers and the tech to conclude their business and depart. Once they were out of sight, Jace looked over at Liya and caught her eye. He raised his eyebrows momentarily and flicked his gaze to the grease on her forehead while offering the clean rag. "So, how did it go?" He asked inquisitively, hoping she would catch on that he was asking about her 'errands' and not her time within the ship.

Dante's gaze seemed to be fixed on a point far away, but it snapped back to reality as Liya spoke. He smirked slightly at the leading question, and eventually just shook his head, taking several seconds to respond. "I'm...happy...that your friends are ok." Well, that was practically an emotional outburst. Progress! Dante flicked his nictitating membranes twice across his eyes at that thought, before continuing on.

"...As for how we handle this, we have two options. The first is that we go in with everything we've got. I have at my disposal three Nebula-class star destroyers, five Belarus-class medium cruisers, nine Warrior-class gunships, one hundred and twenty CF-9 Crossfire star fighters, sixty I9 Ionizer star fighters, thirty K-wings, five thousand shock troopers, and..." Dante cleared his throat, looking somewhat sheepish; and that in itself was no small feat nowadays. "...and, one "Moon Cracker" baradium/antimatter fission bomb, left over from the last war." Dante leaned back in his seat, looking, well, rather disheartened despite the impressive list of assets. "I have more credits than you can imagine. I own my own planetary system and all of its moons, which pales in comparison to the political sway I have on my homeworld, whose resources are virtually unlimited. In all, my ability to utterly wipe something from existence, and indeed, the very act of making something simply cease Dante snapped his fingers to exist, is practically a matter of formality and paperwork."

Dante turned in his chair, flashing a wan smile at Liya. "But...it means absolutely nothing. Because this Gideon Warr is in my head. In my mind. Figured me out. Knows my stratagems. He'd expect me to wage war, right? He's prepared. So, that leaves us with option two. We take my personal ship, the fastest and smallest I own, and we take a small team onto the station. Because that, would be crazy. Because every fiber of my being says we shouldn't do that, so we should do that, because he won't be expecting it. Unless he already calculated that. In which case, we go around and around...leaving us with one choice." Dante pulled a credit chip out of his pocket and did something, well, entirely unlike Dante. He flashed his most rakish and charming smile, held up the coin, and flipped it high into the air towards Liya.

"Do you feel lucky, Baltan?"