Chapter Nine
After an example was made of Carba, Druffies was moved on to advanced training. Most of it was a blur and very mundane, involving equipment training and increasing his knowledge of the underbelly of the Empire and beyond, where he would be hunting his quary.
On his final day of training, he was again brought to the now familiar Office of the Head Inquisitor.
"Welcome, Captain Druffies, or should that be Junior Inquisitor Druffies," began the calm, measured tones of the Head Inquisitor of the Inquisition Academy.
Druffies took a moment to consider it. I guess my old rank is gone, I am an Inquisitor.
He noted that, unlike his first meeting, he could see every detail of the Inquisitor. He had an impossibly old and wrinkled face, lined in webs of burst blood vessels. Most notable of all was his eyes. The pupils were very wide, even in the bright lights of the office. Surrounding the pupils was a ring of violet hinting at a not exactly human heritage and, where a normal eye would be white, his eyes were a very unhealthy yellow.
With withered pale fingers, the Inquisitor pushed across a small data card towards Druffies.
"This is your authority. If you have any issues with Imperials in the field just give them this card. It will link the viewer to a special file on the Imperial Network and instruct them to give you any and all assistance you require, followed by a note to forget you ever met. It is signed off by Sate Prestage, the Emperor's closest assistant, though he knows nothing of our organisation beyond that we exist and live to serve his master. Your orders are to report to Convex - I believe you know it. There you will begin your hunt for the traitor Benaq. We believe that weapons stolen from Corellia are being funnelled through the garrison there, for shipment to the Rebels. We could easily liquidate the base but we want you to infiltrate the operation and get the location of Benaq's main operation, first. Your full orders will be uploaded to your datapad when you make planet fall.
"It goes without saying, Druffies, that you are to be discrete about this. We aren't the ISB, flashing our credentials all over the place and leaving a trail of dead aliens to highlight our operation."
Druffies nodded, then leapt to his feet, knowing the audience was over. Quickly palming his new ID data card, he offered a bow to the Inquisitor.
"Thank you, Sir. I won't let you down. The Rebels will pay."
"See that they do. May the Holy Emperor guide you."
Druffies was puzzled again at the use of the word Holy to describe the Emperor. The first time, so much had been going on he didn't question it, but it was noted somewhere in the back of his mind.
Perhaps it would be worth spending some time pondering on the shuttle ride to Convex.
Druffies had been issued an Anxarta-class light freighter named Swift Profit. Though small and compact, the entire ship had been gutted and rebuilt. The hyperdrive was on par with any military ship and the ship's powerplant had been replaced with one from a Sentinel-class landing craft. This reduced the cargo capacity but powered twin Concussion launchers.
The double laser cannons had also been replaced with heavier models.
Hidden behind the walls of Druffies' cabin were enough arms and explosives to outfit a small army.
On the voyage to Convex, Druffies used the shipboard computer to create an elaborate cover to back up his cover story. He would pose as a former Glitterstim smuggler who was down on his luck and was moving into the safer industry of arms smuggling - Druffies decided his alter ego wouldn't be too bright. Once he reached Convex he would land in Convex City and begin trawling the local cantinas for the kind of scum that would happily leech the empire to arm the Rebellion for a few credits to squander on booze, drugs, and loose companions.
Content with his plans, Druffies tried to catch some sleep. The freighter had a very sophisticated computer system meaning that the ship basically flew itself. In his cramped cabin, Druffies settled into a comfortable position and tried to meditate on his mission. He wanted to prove himself worthy of the trust the Inquisition had placed in him, the secondary advantage being that he would get one step closer to Benaq.
Finally falling asleep, he dreamed the now familiar dream of his fight with Siju. In the dream he had no connection to the Force and was being cut to ribbons. As his blood splattered to the ground, the spray formed the symbols on his Sith sword. And as Siju stepped forward to finish the job, his face morphed into the face of Benaq. All of a sudden, Druffies was on his feet with his sword in hand. With a roar of pure rage he swung the sword with all his might.
Beyond the headless body, Druffies saw the Head Inquisitor, cackling like a Gungun on Space Dust and applauding. Then, beside the clapping Inquisitor, on his knees, was Carba. Tears of infinite sorrow streaked his face as blood flowed from his nose and the sides of his mouth.
Druffies woke with a scream. Somehow in the midst of his dream he had called the Sith sword to his hand and he now lay cradling it in his arms.
How strange, he thought.
An alarm sounded in the cockpit of the freighter, signalling that he was five minutes from emerging from Hyperspace into the Convex system.
Setting himself into the sole chair in the cockpit, Druffies began the slow breathing that would put him in a meditative state. Then, once fully immersed in the force, he created a consciousness to fit over his own as his instructors had taught him.
He viewed his new identity in the Force: Captain Jeus Brandil, native of Corellia, who joined a swoop gang as a young boy. Excelled as a pickpocket who, by the age of twenty, had developed a taste for illicit substances. Space Dust and Subderms were his drugs of choice. He began dealing for one of the Hutt Cartels in Coronet City as a way to subsidise his expensive habit. Last year he managed to score big, arranging a deal under the nose of Corellian Security, making his employers a significant profit.
Recognising Brandil's nose for a gift, they bought him a new liver - this one drug resistant - and set him up with enough capital to buy a ship and enter the arms trading market. Slightly too cocky in his new role, Brandil ended up chased by CorSec and having to abandon his home on Coronet. Now living off scraps, he was making just enough to keep his Hutt masters from disintegrating him.
Druffies smiled as he donned the identity like a mask. The personality sat on top of his own and would pass all but the most intense interrogation. His own ego would sit in a semi-ready state, prepared to take over should anything go beyond the expected.
Rising from the chair, he returned to his cabin. Opening a secret panel, he retrieved a blaster pistol, some spare power clips, a flashed comlink and a few credit vouchers. Placing these items on the cabin bed, he then retrieved his Sith sword from beside the bed.
Very few criminals used melee weapons these days, and even fewer would possess one of such quality. With regret, Druffies opened another secret panel - this one above his headboard - and placed the sword with a great reverence in the slot carved out for it.
Closing that panel, he placed his required items in the pockets of his lightly armoured utility suit and looked at himself in the mirror. In the last few days he has stopped shaving, conscious that if he looked too clean he wouldn't fit in. In training, his hair had grown out from its military short-cut.
He wore a faded and frayed grey utility jumpsuit which, in carefully selected places, the material had been reinforced with light plasteel. The suit was covered with pockets that contained his datapad, comlink, and a set of false ID's he had created before leaving Coruscant. At his waist he carried a well-used blaster that was slung low on the thigh for easy draw. The belt was an inexpensive synthetic bantha hide.
Lastly, he wore pair of knee-length boots of the same synthetic bantha hide as his belt. Though worn and battered looking, the comfi-gel inserts of the boots made for the most comfortable footwear Druffies had ever worn. He knew that if he curled his toes just the right way a blade would emerge from the front of the treads giving an unexpected bite to anyone he may have to kick.
Satisfied that he looked every bit the scumbag he felt he was, Druffies once more returned to the cabin, assumed a lazy posture, and waited to be contacted by the System Traffic Patrol.
