First Impressions

"Confidence is ignorance. If you're feeling cocky, it's because there's something you don't know."

- Eoin Colfer


Onboard the Mockingbird, approaching Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (23 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis)

Ro looked up from the datapad she'd been studying these past few hours, when Artee alerted her that it was time to drop out of hyperspace. Setting the pad aside, Ro's fingers nimbly danced over the consoles, beginning preparations to reenter realspace.

"Righto, let's see what we're up against, eh, Artee?" And she winked at her droid cheekily, as the astromech gave a worried toot.

"Pessimist," she teased, just as the Mockingbird gave the tiniest of lurches and the starscape outside of the viewport once more resembled dark velvet pierced with pinpricks of light, rather than an abstract painting. Ro leaned forward in her seat, eager to catch a first glimpse of the planet.

Then she practically shot out of her skin as the Mockingbird's proximity alarms started howling and Artee gave an electronic shriek, certain that they were about to be dashed to bits, ready to meet the Maker and…

"Artee, calm down," Ro said firmly, hands already on the controls and eyes searching for the cause of the alarms. She had no idea what could have tripped the proximity sensors. Gaftikar had neither an asteroid belt or field. She knew that, because she had checked it during her crash course about the planet's history. But Ro knew her ship and if the Mockingbird said something was out there, then something was out there.

And she didn't have to look far to find it. With widening eyes, Ro saw that the immediate space above the planet was littered with debris. And not just any kind of space junk, either. A Separatist dreadnaught, she realized. Or what's left of it. Staring out of the viewport, Ro saw entire sections of hull float by, along with smaller, unidentifiable parts of what had once been a Separatist Providence-class command ship, if she didn't completely miss her guess. Most of what had been left to drift pinged harmlessly off of her ship's deflector shields, but she eyed the big chunks warily. There were some that were almost as big, if not bigger, than her ship.

"Huh," she said, craning her neck to watch a chunk of metal serenely float end over end a few meters ahead and above her position. "You'd think they could put up a warning beacon or something."

Having significantly reduced the speed of the sublight engines, the Mockingbird was now more or less floating as well and as they came closer, Ro saw that the piece of junk that had caught her attention was very oddly shaped. She gently nudged the steering yoke and the ship made a gentle dip beneath the hunk. It was hard to see much in the blackness of space, but this close, Ro saw that this particular piece of battle debris was actually a mass of battle droids, fused together by the heat of the explosion that must have ripped apart their cruiser. Artee saw it as well and began to rock a little back and forth, giving the impression that the astromech was shaking in fright.

Ro reached out and soothingly patted the droid's dome. "Don't worry, Artee. That battle is long over with. And besides, you're not a battle droid, so buck up. Keep going like that and you'll give yourself another power outage."

The droid gave her a low, quaking little whistle, but his shaking did subside. Ro sighed. Once his rather fearful nature had become apparent to her, Ro had decided to paint a sprawling, crimson and gold krayt dragon on the astromech's cylindrical body. She had hoped that the paintjob would help Artee gain a little more confidence and courage, but so far, it hadn't panned out. Ah, well. It still looked good.

Keeping a close eye on the lazily spinning pieces of durasteel, Ro could only shake her head in wonder. "Looks like HNE was finally right about something. Our boys in white really did kick the stuffing out of the Seppies on this one. May wonders never cease." Beside her, Artee gave an unhappy chortle; he didn't see anything wondrous in this.

Ro blew the bangs out of her eyes in slight exasperation. She loved her little astromech, she truly did, but sometimes he was so literal. "It's just an expression, Artee," she soothed him. "Now how about increasing out aft shields by .4? Bet that'll make you feel better."

Sufficiently mollified, Artee toodled his agreement and set about recalibrating the shields. There was nothing that made the little droid happier than increasing power to the shields.

Finally clearing the worst of the debris field, Ro caught her first glimpse of Gaftikar.

It looked surprisingly pretty. The planet's land surface seemed to consist mostly of vast green areas, with little to break up the scene. Gaftikar only had a population of half a billion, so there were few settlements in-between the forests, heathlands and rolling hills that made up the planets geography. Here and there, Ro could see spots of blue: lakes and rivers. The planet only had one ocean, but she was on the wrong side to see it.

"Nice place," she murmured mostly to herself. "Too bad about the psychotic bomber, though."

When they had reached the end of the debris field left over from the Battle of Gaftikar, the ship's comlink beeped, the light flashing to indicate an incoming transmission. Ro flipped a switch to open the channel and a voice - male, adult, and very professional sounding – came in over the speakers.

"Starship Mockingbird, do you read? This is Gaftikar Flight Control. Acknowledge Mockingbird."

"This is the Mockingbird, Gaftikar Flight Control," Ro answered, well familiar with the routine of approaching a spaceport. Well, at least their equipment works well enough to receive the registration from my automated transponder. That was encouraging.

"What is your business in this system, Mockingbird?" Ro raised an eyebrow at the direct question. No banter, no personal queries? Either this flight controller was new or Gaftikar Flight Control was still jumpy from the battle. Or maybe, it occurred to her, that's not a civilian flight controller.

"Gaftikar Flight Control, requesting surface clearance for maintenance and trade. Sending over id and credentials now."

A momentary pause, then the flight controllers voice came again. "Copy that, Mockingbird. Id and credentials received. Surface clearance approved. Sending coordinates for landing now. Welcome to Gaftikar, Miss Ikuzu." The last part was added a bit tentatively, as if this little piece of courtesy was not part of the regular routine the flight controller was used to. Definitely no civilian, Ro decided. From the information she had received from Master Altis, the Order and the HoloNet, Ro knew that the clone contingent on the planet had been placed in charge of general security. She just hadn't thought that their authority would extend to monitoring all incoming traffic. Makes sense though.

Artee beeped at her to let her know that he had received the landing coordinates and Ro began the descent into the planet's atmosphere, on course for the capital city Eyat and Gaftikar's only spaceport.

The Mockingbird might be a mongrel ship, but she was a sweet ride and entering atmo was no problem. Nor was the actual landing. Once the landing struts had made contact with the duracrete, Ro switched off the ship's engines and, gathering her id chip and papers, made her way to the cargo bay. When the cargo hatch began to open, a bright stab of sunlight momentarily blinded her. Raising one hand to shield her eyes, Ro waited until the loading ramp was fully extended, then made her way onto Gaftikar soil and her next assignment.

Shouldn't be too hard, she thought confidently. Bombers tend to bear a grudge a blind Gamorrean would notice and I have an entire company to help. The thought was quite exciting actually. She rarely got to work with other people on these cases.

Someone from port administration was waiting for her, datapad in hand. And for one of the few times in her life, Ro found herself having to look down at someone to make eye contact.

The Marit stood about a meter tall, had light beige scales that, in the bright sunshine, looked slightly iridescent. Ro wasn't sure whether the reptilian humanoid facing her was male or female, but she found the small black eyes with their red-slit pupils enchanting.

"Name please," the Marit said, in perfect Basic.

"Roweena Ikuzu," she said, proud at how naturally the alias now flowed from her tongue. When Eda had first begun training her in the finer arts of covert operations, the elderly Human female had only done so under the coercion of her husband, Shiv. But now, two years later, Eda had become fond enough of Ro to allow her to use her surname for her fallback identity.

"Id and registration, please."

Ro handed over her id chip and the relevant papers, which declared that Roweena Ikuzu was the niece of one Eda Ikuzu, currently living on Ansion, and a licensed member of the Artists Guild, as well as the lawful owner of one starship, calling id: Mockingbird. Aside from her relation to Eda, none of these facts was false. Eda and Shiv kept a room for Ro in their house on Ansion and she had legally registered with the Artists Guild. And she only had two-hundred and thirty-six more payments to go, before the Mockingbird was completely hers. Eda had taught Ro that it was important to have an alias to fall back on, one that was close enough to the truth that the facts would be easy to recall in a time of duress. And as 'Roweena Ikuzu' she could travel through Eyat and conduct her investigation without attracting the attention her identity as a Jedi would. At least, until such a time came when being a Jedi would prove more useful.

The Marit peered closely at each document, then handed them back to Ro. "What is your purpose for visiting Eyat and will you be keeping to the city limits?"

Ro thought about that for a while. As a visitor, she would need to request a permit of stay, a temporary id that showed that she was on Gaftikar legally. Those permits tended to be made out according to specific geographic locations, but on a planet as sparsely populated as this, an artist would not have much reason to leave the capitol. Particularly not a jeweler.

"I'm hoping to sell my jewelry at the local market, so I guess I'll be staying in Eyat for now." When the time came to reveal herself as a Jedi, she could always make other travel arrangements. "Do I need a permit to sell, or is it a free market?" She asked, continuing in her persona as a traveling artist and trader.

The Marit was busily tapping away at his datapad – Ro had, by now, decided that it was a male – and nodded his head in an oddly birdlike movement. "No permit required if you're just planning to sell on the market grounds. You'll have to pay a fee though if you want to rent a stall."

Ro shook her head. A stall would tie her to one place. As a free seller, she could set up a small table anywhere she liked and keep moving.

The Marit entered a few more commands, then handed the pad to Ro. She quickly scanned the information, then placed her thumbprint at the bottom. The datapad whirred slightly, then flashed green and ejected a small chip from the side. Ro took it and handed the pad back to the Marit.

"Enjoy your stay," he said curtly and scuttled off to the next ship, tail swinging behind him, while his head bobbed back and forward like that of a nuna.

Done with the administrative part of docking, Ro took a moment to take in the spaceport. There wasn't much to see. There was a control tower attached to what she guessed was a larger office building. The spaceport boasted three hangars and a permacrete landing platform pockmarked by craters in various stages of being filled in. Ro wondered if those craters were a sign of general wear and tear or left over from the battle two months ago. The spaceport, according to the mission report she had been given, had been a priority target for both the GAR and the Separatists and had been subject to a lot of shelling.

Besides her ship, there were four more and none of them were civilian. Squinting a little in the bright sunshine, Ro could make out the stenciled id markers of corporate freighters. Each of the freighters bore the id Shenio Mining, followed by a serial number. It seemed that Shenio Mining wasn't big on creative freedom or personalization when it came to their ships. Looking about her, Ro thought that, for a spaceport this small and empty, there was a lot of activity. Everywhere she looked, Ro saw people on their way to some task or another. The overwhelming majority of them where the lizard-like Marits, the rest Humans. And scattered in between like snowflakes on Mustafar, were white-armored clone soldiers. Given the fact that she was the only visitor in what looked like a long time, Ro wondered what all these people did all day, to justify this much activity? If she wanted to get a feel of the city, then she might as well start now, with this little mystery.

Ro, her papers still in hand, crossed her arms over her narrow chest and leaned her head back. Closing her eyes as if she were enjoying the sun, she let her Force-senses spread out in soft waves. Whenever her awareness encountered another sentient being, ripples were created and came back to her, letting her taste and feel and smell the emotional atmosphere of her immediate surroundings. Having had her first instructions in how to use her empathic abilities by a Zeltron had given Ro the tendency to translate the sensations she received via the Force into physical traits.

The Marits were like ice-cubes melting on her tongue; their feelings so precise and concentrated, they were practically mathematical. The Humans, including the troopers, were more diverse. Ro got the sharp, acrid smell of worry, fear, anxiety, wrapped inside a layer of control and focus that felt like durasteel to her slightly twitching fingers. There was the tantalizing promise of more, but her reach wouldn't extend that far. Having gathered what she could, Ro turned back and reentered the ship, ready to gather her things and scout the city itself.

As she packed some of the finished jewelry into a gunnysack, Artee whistled a question at her over the ship's comm. Ro shook her head in answer.

"No Artee. I don't want you to contact the GAR base just now. You know I like to get a feel of the city and the people first. Once the base knows that the Jedi they requested is here, I have to work in an 'official'," and she made quotation marks in the air with one hand, while stowing away a pair of earrings with the other, "capacity. You know how people get when they find out I'm a Jedi. They get antsy, or try to lie, or get angry or whatnot and that is just going to clutter my senses. A fresh breath of clean air first and then the pollutants of the crime."

That being said, she stowed her two lightsabers in a side pocket and closed the gunnysack. Last, she grabbed her quetarra, swinging its strap over one slim shoulder. Ro would have liked to bring her cello - although she liked the quetarra, she'd only been learning how to play it for three months and she wasn't particularly good with it yet - but the cello was too big for her to schlepp around easily. Besides, with a bomber on the loose, no way was she going to endanger her most precious instrument. The quetarra would help her just as well. Music, Ro had discovered, was a good way to bring people close enough to her that she could get a feel of their essence through the Force, without corrupting that essence through direct manipulation on her part. And that was what she needed; a good whiff of the populaces emotional feel, so that she could more easily identify any abnormalities. It was also why, for now, she would remain incognito. If she wanted to get a feel for her surroundings, she had to blend in and Jedi as a rule did not blend. But traveling artists were everywhere.

"You know," she said coaxingly to the air of the workroom and the comm. "You could come with me. A change of scenery would do you good, Artee."

The droid beeped and whistled, telling her firmly thanks but no thanks. Given the recent history of the locals with droids, there was a 31.537% chance that he would be shot on sight and he very much preferred his servo-processors where they were.

Ro shrugged. "Suit yourself, but you're missing out on the fun." Stepping out of the cabin, she wiggled her fingers in farewell in the direction of the cockpit and her astromech. "Keep an eye on the place until I get back and try not to get yourself slagged."

Artee gave a fretful whistle, wondering what clue she had picked up to make her believe that he was in danger of that dire fate. Ro laughed and walked back into the bright Gaftikari sunshine.


The Tanked Mynock cantina, Eyat city spaceport, Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (23 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis)

The half hour alarm chimed, just as Wren was in the process of snapping closed the fasteners on his armored boots. Well, no one ever complained about my timing, he thought and grinned in satisfaction.

Fully armored now except for his bucket, Wren got up off the bed and made his way over the only chair in the small room. The upper floors of the Tanked Mynock were not meant for long-term comfort, but were an ideal spot for a few hours of uninterrupted R&R.

"Going already?" came a low voice and Wren turned back to the bed, to see the waitress he had picked up downstairs reclining on her side; idly watching him, while the sheets only covered her from the waist down. Wren let his eyes trail over her form, before giving her a lazy smile.

"Duty calls."

She gave a dramatic sigh, flicking a lock of red hair out of her face. "Oh, you soldiers. Always a ready excuse on hand."

"If you didn't like it, maybe you should have gone up with that banker."

"And miss out on all that vigor?"

And she gave a groan to emphasize her point, letting herself fall onto her back, the motion doing interesting things with her exposed anatomy. Wren's nostrils flared at the scent coming off of the sheets and inwardly cursed Gaff and his panicky shiny mind. As soon as the Marit leader Cebz had informed the commander about an intended public appearance and speech late last evening, Gaff had begun shuffling duty rosters and ordering his best men on security detail. And that just so happened to include Wren, as grudging as the commander was to admit it.

And while something might happen and I could get the chance to bash some heads in, I wish Gaff would make up his karking mind. One minute I'm on the regular duty roster, the next I'm permanently on night patrol and now I'm playing frakking 'spot-the-troubleshooter-in-the-crowd' with a city full of pissed off Humans.

He grabbed his helmet, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion and left the room without another backwards glance. Not that it mattered. He'd gotten what he'd come for and so had the woman. Everything afterwards was superfluous and he never bothered with tawdry goodbyes or promises of meeting later. Neither did the women he chose to engage himself with.

Once, during a brief stay at Kemla Yard, when he had still been with his original company, the 43rd, he had been witness to an altercation between apetty officer and a civilian contractor. The woman had been shouting her head off about some slight against her that the petty officer was rigorously denying had ever taken place. The couple had caused such a scene that nearly the entire hangar bay had come to a standstill. While the two had certainly provided Wren with some momentary entertainment, he'd learned his lesson well from it. Whenever he picked up a woman, he sure as hell made sure she knew that this was nothing more than a quick roll. A one-night stand for some quick, uncomplicated pleasure and a chance for him to work off some of his pent-up frustrations and energy. None of the women so far had ever complained.

Coming down to the main floor, Wren did a quick, instinctive survey of his surroundings. It was early yet, not quite noon, but that seemed to make little difference to the patrons of the Tanked Mynock. Most of the tables had at least one occupant and the stools around the bar were filled with the ubiquitous barflies. Ever since the end of the battle, Wren had noticed that the only businesses who appeared to be making a steady income were the local bars, taverns and cantinas. Instead of working, most of the Humans of Gaftikar seemed content to drift towards any local watering holes, drowning their disappointments over the outcome of the battle with cheap liquor and whiling the days away with airing complaints and grievances, then wandering the streets at night, looking to take out some of those grievances on the troopers they held accountable. It was one of the reasons why Wren hadn't put up too much of a fuss when Gaff had delegated him to permanent night patrols. This way, Wren could stalk some of the seedier drinking establishments, listening in on the conversations of men enough into their cups to be talkative, but not so far gone into inebriation that all they did was spout slurred insults. And once his business here was done, a business that more often than not also included an uninterrupted session of the horizontal tango, he could still be out and about, getting at least a mildly interesting brawl out of the drunkards, when they came to stalking the city streets.

Walking towards the exit, Wren made sure he kept to the walls of the cantina, one eye always on the wrap-around vision of his HUD. The bucket made him even more conspicuous, but then, he already stood out like a glittering gundark in his armor. Though his kit had seen combat and was nowhere near as nice and shiny as that of the rookies, it was still the cleanest thing in the entire cantina and even the dim, smoke-filled air, couldn't change the fact that he was a tall man dressed entirely in white plastoid. So helmet or no, it really didn't make much of a difference. And besides, the bucket made it a lot easier to watch his back. Like now...

Wren stopped in his tracks and, without looking behind him, brought up his right fist and threw the bishwag trying to "sneak" up on him an offhand backhand. The guy went down like a sack of topatos, the empty bottle in his hand crashing to the floor and shattering. The cheap synth music coming from the banged up music machine halted as everyone turned to gape at him. Wren swept them with a single gaze, knowing that the blank expression of his bucket would do far more to discourage any other would-be assailants than spoken threats. Most of the patrons flinched and hurriedly turned back to their drinks. Some glared daggers at him, but no one approached or even spoke. No, the Human civvies of Gaftikar were not fond of clones, but then, Wren wasn't particularly fond of them either. Cowards, the lot of them; having to drink their courage and even then only able to attack someone from behind. Feeling his good mood from his time with the redhead already slipping away, Wren sneered at the crowd from behind his bucket and left the cantina.

Just as his boot stepped over the Tanked Mynock's threshold, a small icon in the corner of his HUD began to flash; an incoming message. Wren rolled his eyes, already guessing what this was about and blinked at the icon, opening the comm channel.

"CT-20-4371, do you copy?"

"This is Sergeant Wren, I copy," he answered, not stopping on his way towards the city centre. The cantina where he'd sought his bit of relaxation was located on the edge of the Eyat spaceport and only a quick unirail ride away from the government building where he was supposed to report for duty.

"Commander Gaff requests a status update, sir,"

For a moment, Wren toyed with the idea of saying something appropriately insinuating as to his current status, but decided that it was a waste of a good slur. The shiny wouldn't understand it anyway, the poor barve. So he settled for his usual caustic.

"Tell the Commander to stop getting his effing pauldron in a twist. He'll get the karking sitrep when there's something to actually report on. Over." And he closed the channel before the other clone could do more than make astounded gasping noises.

Oh, I hope Gaff was there to listen to all that, he thought, his good mood once more reasserting itself. He could just imagine the uppity commander, standing behind the communications station, trying and failing to keep his composure.

If there was one thing Wren loved besides a good fight and some good sex, it was pushing a commanding officer to the point of apoplexy. And so far, he'd gotten two out of three.

Something glinted in the bright sunshine at the edge of his peripheral vision and Wren turned to see what it was. Someone was moving on the path parallel to his, taking the footpath that led past the unrail station, which was his goal. He craned his neck slightly, wondering what it was his HUD's wrap-around vision had picked up. There. Between the low buildings, mostly abandoned, that separated the two paths, Wren caught a quick glimpse of long, flowing hair; what looked like pale blond and...blue?

The figure disappeared behind another building and out of Wren's sight. He considered going after it, but decided he wasn't that curios. Besides, if he didn't get to the Assembly House soon, Gaff was sure to throw another one of his hissy fits. While that was amusing on occasion, Wren'd already had enough of them for the week. He dismissed the figure out his mind. It couldn't have been important anyways.

Moving through the crowd that was making its way towards the terminal for the unirail and not caring in the least if he rammed someone, Wren made his way towards the city centre. His mind turned back to the coming speech, as he considered the security parameters that had been set in place, the strategy for ground control. Maybe, he'd get his fight after all. With the way things were going at the moment, the Humans and Marits of Eyat were almost as eager for a confrontation as he was.

Well, the day was young still and a clone could hope. And there was always night patrol.


Author's Note: I've posted two chapters today for the benefit of my most wonderful readers, as well as to soothe my own conscience. I'll be in London for the next few days and will therefore miss my usual Monday posting. I will also be incommunicado until I get back on the 22nd.

Cheers!