A/N: In my opinion, not a whole lot happened of importance on Manaan. So, we're just going to skip it and move on. This is more of a transitionary chapter, but it's setting the stage for things to happen, so hopefully it's not too boring. ;)

Full Disclosure

The Thunderclap
Four months later

Jorgan stalked through the Thunderclap in search of the ship's commander. Fynta had always managed to disappear while he filed post mission reports, showing up later with a barely valid excuse. She'd been gone for nearly three hours this time. Aric stopped in the main room, hands on his hips. "Has anyone seen Fynta?"

Cormac and Vik continued arm wrestling at the table, both looking like they might burst something before the other gave in. The two men ignored Jorgan, completely absorbed in their own conquest. It wasn't that big of a ship, she couldn't have stepped out for a stroll. So, where had his wife gone?

"She mentioned something about the engine room," Dorne called from the medbay. Jorgan stuck his head in to see what the medic's latest project was, but decided it was above his level of intelligence when he spotted the holo of the complex molecular compound. He considered asking what Fynta would be doing down there, but refrained. Elara had her I can't figure this out, and it is annoying me face on. Her lips pressed together, and she sported a slightly raised eyebrow. Jorgan chose to find out for himself and leave the woman to her work.

Yuun's clicking tones echoed off the pipes as Jorgan crossed the narrow catwalk that bridged the inner workings of the Thunderclap. It was odd that he could hear the insect like chatter, yet completely understand it at the same time. "…if the conduit is obstructed, the flow of the ship's life will be hindered, causing malfunctions in the core, and a catastrophic end for us all."

"So, you're saying don't touch that again?" Fynta asked.

"Correct," Yuun replied, and Jorgan chuckled.

Fynta had a unique relationship with everyone on the ship, and lately she'd been spending more time with Yuun. A loner by nature, the man openly admitted that he didn't understand the majority of social cues that the rest of the crew, save maybe Dorne, took for granted. After four years of Fynta and Cormac's examples though, the medic had made impressive progress in that area. Yuun, likewise, had begun to take part. After learning not to listen to any of Vik's ideas, of course.

Jorgan finally found Yuun and Fynta, or their legs at least, sticking out from under one of the pipes that led to the hyperdrive reactor. Jorgan squatted to look under it, finding both staring up at the core with pale blue light dancing across their faces. "What are you doing?"

Yuun startled, knocking his head on one of the connections. The Gand hissed something that Jorgan couldn't translate, and Fynta went wide eyed as she burst into laughter. "Congratulations, Jorgan. I think you just made our resident saint swear. How do you pronounce that again, Yuun?"

The Gand inched forward, extracting himself from under the pipes while rubbing his head. "Apologies. The captain startled Yuun. This Gand is not accustomed to being caught unawares."

Fynta rolled out on one of those mechanic boards with the wheels, and Jorgan had just enough time to avoid being painfully incapacitated by her knees. She grinned at the startled Cathar from between his legs, while still speaking to Yuun. "Don't worry, it happens to the best of us."

Jorgan rolled his eyes before offering his wife a hand up, then did the same for Yuun. "So what were you doing?" He repeated.

"The major felt a tremble in the hyperdrive energies, and asked Yuun to help pinpoint the obstruction," The Gand answered, dusting off his pants and blinking at the smudges of grease as if they held the key to some ancient mystery. Who knew, maybe they did for the Findsman.

Jorgan looked at Fynta. "There's a problem with the hyperdrive?"

"Not that we can find," the major answered, though she didn't look convinced. "I guess it's just my imagination. Still, I'd like to set down on the nearest planet and run diagnostics. Where are we?"

Jorgan furrowed his brows at Fynta, unsure how to go about explaining the strange coincidence that brought him into the engine room in search for her. "Manaan," the Cathar stated. "We received an encrypted message from Theron Shan as soon as we dropped out of hyperspace."

"Fierfek." That had become Fynta's go-to curse when her gut said things didn't add up. Jorgan learned long ago not to ignore those. He'd be sure to pack extra ammo this time.

Manaan

"So," Zolah began, leaning closer to the security feed. "That's the infamous Havoc Squad."

The Chiss agent had arrived on Manaan alongside Lana Beniko a few days prior to the Republic soldiers. Her job was to gather Intel while the Sith set up a clandestine meeting with the ever desirable SIS agent, Theron Shan. The man was attractive, Zolah would be a fool to deny that, but the wealth of technical knowledge in that debonair mind of his had been the detail that convinced her to tag along.

Neither party had agreed to come alone, but while Lana had brought Zolah and Vector along; Theron felt the need to pack an entire Republic Commando team. Havoc Squad certainly lived up to their name, making quick work of the underwater laboratory where Arkous and Darok were rumored to be holed up. Not to mention, freeing that beastly Wookie. Personally, Zolah would have left the creature and his irksome translator droid to drown in their cell. Republic bleeding hearts had won out, and now Jakarro raged loudly over the comms while Lana attempted to remotely dock an escape pod with a sinking building. Zolah pointedly didn't offer assistance.

"The major handled the revelation of Lana's origins well," Vector commented from where he watched over Zolah's shoulder. "And her exaction of justice on the geneticist Gorima for his crimes was swift."

The Chiss glanced back at her lover, eyebrow arched. "She let the Wookie shoot him."

"Was that not justice?" There were times when Vector's astute adherence to logic plagued Zolah. It rankled even more when he was right. Leaning closer, the Chiss studied the human woman wading through thigh deep water.

"Cipher, come in." Lana's cool voice pulled Zolah from her musing. "They have boarded the pod, I'm en route to meet with Agent Shan. Perhaps it is time to withdraw?"

Zolah activated her comm implant to respond. "You'll be fine, Lord Beniko?" Silence followed, and she imagined the blond Sith pressing her lips together in an attempt not to berate her agent for using the honorific.

"Quite, Agent." The Chiss repressed a smile at the blatant annoyance in the other woman's voice. "I'll be in contact soon."

"We really wish you would not taunt Sith so eagerly," Vector sighed as he hoisted a bag over his shoulder. They'd come prepared to stay a few days, but Havoc Squad had rooted out the traitors in a little under eighteen hours, even if they had escaped.

"Only Lana. She makes it easy," Zolah replied as she switched off her datapad. Vector sighed in response.

The cipher kept an eye on the security feed through her ocular implant. The images superimposed themselves on her left eye much like the HUD in a soldier's helmet. She could watch the major and her second in command meet with Theron and Lana while she and Vector headed for their shuttle to rendezvous with the Blade. It looked like a heated debate, but ended with Jakarro escorting Lana to his ship, while Theron Shan hung back to discuss matters with the soldiers. Zolah desperately wanted to hear what the three had to say, but that would require tapping back into the system.

Counting it as an opportunity missed, Zolah stepped aboard the shuttle and disconnected from all incoming signals. Vector took the helm to begin take off procedures, while Zolah readied all of their fake credentials in order to leave as little a trail as possible. In under an hour, the sleek shuttle slipped through the atmosphere and made the jump to hyperspace, no one any the wiser that they had ever been on Manaan.

The Thunderclap

. . . .The Maelstrom Nebula loomed before them. "You must free the Jedi prisoner," Master Oteg pleaded. "He cannot be left to the darkness again."

. . . Jorgan stood on a platform, molten slags of droid parts scattered around from their assault. Grand Moff Kilran leered at them through the holo. "Your persistence is most impressive," the man replied with a calm smile, the scars on his face twisting grotesquely. "Most of my foes have the decency to die quickly."

"I've been called stubborn, petulant, irresponsible, reckless—" Fynta continued to tick off the list of aggravations she'd caused across the galaxy. "Destroying a fleet is one thing. Killing Havoc Squad is much harder." Mentally, Jorgan shook his head, wishing that, just once, Fynta wouldn't antagonize the enemy. Still, part of him prided himself on the truth of her words. . . .

. . . Kilran fell just outside of the Jedi prisoners holding cell. Their target was far younger than Jorgan expected, with swept back brown hair and an average, human face. Somehow, the Cathar expected . . . more. Then, the woman appeared again, shimmering in pale light, and Jorgan kept his distance while the apparition and Jedi conferred. Mission complete. They'd rescued Revan. . . .

Jorgan sucked in a breath and ran his hands down his face. He sat at his desk, the datapad he'd been working on blinked up at him from the floor. The Cathar scooped it up and switched the device off. For the most part, Jorgan assumed these dreams were his mind replaying the strangeness of the event. Then, on Manaan, Theron Shan had mentioned that this whole ordeal started when Revan reappeared to lead his cult.

Generally speaking, Jorgan didn't believe in higher powers. He had about as much connection to the Force as Havoc's old protocol droid, but sometimes coincidence didn't fit the situation. To make matters worse, it appeared that he and Fynta were directly responsible for releasing this particular menace on the galaxy. It was only right that they should clean it up.

Jorgan glanced at the empty bed. Fynta had been called into a private meeting with Theron Shan. They'd been asleep when the summons came, lighting up the room enough to make them both curse. The temptation to crawl back under those blankets almost overshadowed Jorgan's annoyance at being left behind. Theron had requested that Fynta come alone this time, even suggested that she wear something nice. Aric trusted his wife, but Theron was another story. Blasted SIS agents, the Cathar grumbled.

Jorgan pushed to his feet, stretching his legs in an attempt to stay awake. He'd promised Fynta he'd be waiting for her briefing, so it wouldn't do to be unconscious when she returned to the ship. As he wandered through the Thunderclap, the light spilling out of the kitchen attached to the conference room drew the Cathar's attention. Further inspection revealed Tanno Vik hunched over a bottle of cheap booze. The Weequay glanced up and waved the bottle at Jorgan with a tired grin. "The boss keeping you up again?"

While the rest of Havoc might be immune to Vik's vulgar sense of humor, Jorgan would always bristle at any intrusion into his personal life. He assumed that was why the blasted demolitions expert ragged him more than the others. Vik knew that he got under Jorgan's skin.

The Cathar crossed his arms and nodded at the bottle. "That doesn't look like a regulation canteen."

"What the brass doesn't know. . . ." Vik trailed off with a crooked smirk. Jorgan got the impression that he'd stumbled upon a fairly common ritual for the Weequay, and wondered how long Fynta had known about it. The woman never missed anything that happened aboard her ship. She probably had an agreement with Vik, or simply turned a blind eye.

"You look like shit, Fluffy," Vik continued. "Sit, have a drink."

Jorgan eyed the Weequay, and Vik rolled his eyes. "You're not my type. Besides, if I talk you into drinking, I get to keep my stash. It's a win-win."

Against his better judgement, Jorgan grabbed a clean mug from the cabinet and sat. Vik shoved the alcohol across the table, and Jorgan poured half a glass, not entirely sure he trusted the contents. "Go on, it'll put hair on your chest," the Weequay chuckled.

Jorgan leveled the sergeant with a sardonic glare, then sniffed at the liquid in his cup. The smell burned his nose and made his eyes water, but the Cathar tipped it back anyway. It scorched all the way down, sitting like a durasteel weight in his stomach, leaving his throat raw and chest aching.

Balancing the mug between his fingertips to buy time to recover, Jorgan cleared his throat. Vik's telling chuckle put the Cathar on the defensive. "This stuff is awful, does it even have alcohol in it, or did you siphon it directly from the engine room?"

"Hyperdrive coolant," Vik shot back with a toothy grin, and Jorgan rolled his eyes.

Jorgan had never been particularly adept at casual conversation, especially with someone he despised, but sitting in companionable silence wasn't going to happen. Jorgan needed to fill the space. "Why are you up so late?" The Cathar asked, keeping his eyes on the cup in his hands.

"Look, Cap', I gave you a drink to keep you quiet," Vik drawled. "Not start a chat. You wanna' talk, go find the bug, or the cuddly wrecking ball."

Jorgan's lips pulled back in an involuntary snarl, and Vik chuckled. "I don't see how a stick up his ass managed to snag a woman like the boss. I figured she'd at least have loosened you up a little." Vik pushed away from the table, grabbing the bottle as he went. "You're going to have a stroke one day." The Weequay's steps faded through the conference room, then towards the barracks. Jorgan leaned both elbows on the table, plopping his head in his hands, wondering if he'd ever be able to breathe normally again.

Vik wasn't wrong, though. Fynta had nearly given the Cathar a coronary more than once. The most recent being when she opted for the expedient method of destroying that Selkath cyborg on Manaan. Instead of stopping to formulate a plan, the blasted woman had ruptured a gas pipe, then shot a flare into it. The entire ceiling ignited, spiraling columns of flame throughout the room. It had been effective, yes, but both Cormac and Fynta had steam rolling off of them by the end of the battle. Of course, Jorgan had been forced to watch it all from the ship, his duty as XO forcing him to stay behind, yet again.

The Cathar tipped the rest of the drink back and pulled a face at the bitter, homemade taste of whatever this particular poison was. Honestly, he wouldn't put it past the Weequay to have cut it with some sort of hazardous agent, but Cathar physiology meant Jorgan was hard to kill. The potency didn't hit him until he stood up. Aric swayed, secretly impressed that Vik's brew had affected him so quickly. After rinsing his cup, Jorgan decided that he'd cleared his head enough. Forcing a deep breath, the Cathar steadied himself to head back towards his room to wait for Fynta.

Jorgan had started to doze again when the major staggered into the room with a yawn. He watched with concern as his wife put both hands on the desk and heaved a sigh. "Fynta?"

"Theron thinks he has a bead on our next target," she answered. "But, they need to scout ahead to be sure. He said he'll contact us with the rendezvous coordinates when they are ready."

Jorgan remained where he was, waiting for his wife to continue. He knew the woman well enough to see that something weighed on her mind, and that the more he pressed for it, the more she'd shut down. Finally, Fynta slammed the heel of her hand into the desk and began pacing the room. Her face held a hard expression that Jorgan knew meant she was struggling with some emotional turmoil. "Damn him," she muttered.

"I'm all for it, but care to explain why?" Jorgan remarked with an attempt to ease the tense atmosphere.

Fynta pulled a small device from one of the pockets she'd sewn into her bra and dropped it on the bed. "Why can't anything be simple?"

Jorgan took the violent motion of her wave as permission to investigate. It was a listening device, an old one at that, one that wouldn't be as badly affected by jammers because the tech outdated the latest frequencies. The Cathar flipped it on, not sure what to expect.

The recorder picked up mid-conversation, meaning Fynta had listened to it at least once already. "I never thought I'd see the day when you grew up," Theron laughed on the other end of the device. "I've got to say, it's an impressive sight. I should have shoved you at Garza sooner."

There was no mistaking the sound of Fynta slugging the SIS agent. "Damn it, Theron. I wondered if you were involved somehow. You threw me into the field with no instructions and hoped I'd make something of it. Again." Jorgan pressed his lips together, eyes narrowed at the conversation in his hands, and the real sound of betrayal in his wife's voice.

"No," Shan broke in. "Garza had suspicions and reached out to the SIS. You're a soldier, Fynta, not an operative. That lifestyle was killing you. I saw a chance to put a highly skilled commando back on the front lines where she belonged, and I took it. Now, look at you. A major in the army of the Galactic Republic."

Jorgan stopped the recording and glanced at his wife while she stared at the floor with her arms crossed. "Theron fierfeking Shan is the whole reason I ended up on Ord Mantell."

The Cathar set the device aside, motioning for Fynta to join him. She slid onto the bed, though she remained stiff in his arms. Jorgan closed his eyes a sighed, not fully believing what he was about to say. "As much as I hate him, it sounds like he cared for you." The words tasted wrong in Aric's mouth, but he couldn't deny that Shan had done the galaxy a favor.

Fynta relaxed at the confession, leaning against Jorgan more heavily. "He knows it's over now."

This time, Jorgan tensed, wondering if he'd hear his wife putting Theron in his place if he kept listening to the recording. Fynta chuckled and pulled back to look at him. "His deductive process was quite entertaining. He thinks I'm sleeping with Elara."

Jorgan startled, then started laughing. "Better not tell Cormac, or Vik, for that matter. They might get jealous."

"Or ask to join," Fynta snorted, then shoved Jorgan back onto the mattress, pulling the blanket around them. "I'm exhausted, let's sleep while we can."

The Cathar waited until Fynta curled up against his side. When she had fully relaxed, a grin spread across his face, and he couldn't stop himself. "You know, Dorne's quarters are across the hall." The punch she aimed at his ribs hurt, but it was worth it.

Dromund Kaas
The Nexus Room

Vector watched the woman across the table. Zolah wore an elegant black dress made of savva silk. The material slid over her petite curves, and the color contrasted beautifully with her light blue skin. Solid red eyes flicked up to meet Vector's, her lips twitching into a smirk. "You're staring, lover."

"You are breathtaking this evening," the joiner smiled. Zolah's answering grin showed a lot of bright, white teeth.

They were staking out a target of interest to one of the local Moffs, a security guard he believed to be sneaking valuable information to one of his competitors. It was far too simple for a cipher agent, but this man was a friend of Zolah's mentor, General Rakton. Vector understood his new wife's determination to find the war hero's murderer, though he worried that it bordered on obsessive. Tonight, perhaps Zolah could find some small amount of absolution for her cause by taking out a threat to an ally's empire.

"There he is," Zolah whispered as she leaned over her plate, using the silverware to hide her words. Her eyes glanced to the left, and Vector picked up his knife to examine it for stains. In the blade's reflection, the joiner saw a large man with a military haircut, and a woman far too young on his arm.

"Charming," Vector responded, laying the knife down again. "Your plan?"

Zolah straightened in her chair, running her hands down the front of her dress. "Do you think he'd be interested in trading up?"

Vector ran a speculative eye over the cipher agent, then shook his head. "We do believe that you are too classy for his tastes." Her blatant statement didn't concern the joiner. When she'd agreed to become his wife, they'd discussed the lengths that she'd be required to go to for her job. Vector swore to stand by her side and watch her back during whatever came their way. She hadn't promised to be faithful, nor had she required such sentiment from him.

"Damn," Zolah sighed. "I should have worn the green one."

Vector hid his smile by taking a sip of the wine. "Indeed. That would have done the trick." The dress in question was entirely too short for an establishment such as the Nexus Room.

"Let's wait until he finishes his meal, then grab him outside," Zolah suggested, returning her attention to the plate of vegetables in front of her. "Afterward, we'll—"

The comm that Zolah kept on her at all times buzzed, causing the Chiss to start. Her eyes locked on to Vector, suddenly serious. She'd strapped it to her thigh this time, meaning there was no way of reaching it discreetly. Vector nodded towards the ladies room. "Go, we will keep watch on the embezzler." Zolah nodded, then excused herself to answer Kaliyo's priority call.

Vector kept one eye on the target and his date while Zolah saw to personal matters. She had been away from the table no more than five minutes, but the joiner could tell by her expression that something was wrong when she returned. "Kaliyo found the security feed we've been looking for."

Zolah's voice remained steady, but Vector could hear the underlying tension. She wanted to move on the new intel, but her pride required that she finish this favor first. "Let's see if we can move this along."

"As you wish." Vector pushed away from the table and donned his dress jacket. He suppressed the sigh at having another nice dinner derailed. "We will meet you outside."

Zolah smiled sweetly from her chair. "Where would I be without you?"

Vector offered the cipher agent an unconvinced eyebrow raised, took a deep breath, then swiped his plate from the table. "Absolute rubbish," the man bellowed. "I'll have words with the cook about this."

The joiner stomped towards the kitchen, shoving past the wait staff into the back room. Black eyes took in what he had to work with just before one of the chefs grabbed his arm. Vector shrugged him off, noting the way the man stumbled back from his inhuman glare. "Unhand me, do you have any idea who I work for?"

The joiner flailed his arms angrily, hitting a cup of oil that was set aside for the seafood dish. The flammable liquid spilled onto the stove, igniting immediately. Everyone present were suddenly more interested in putting out the fire. No one had time for the unsatisfied customer any longer, and Vector slipped out the emergency exit with the crowd.

By the time the joiner found his wife, she stood over the unconscious security guard, handing credits over to a smiling blond. "For your trouble," Zolah said. The woman thanked her, then practically skipped away with her reward.

Vector stood to the side, waiting quietly for Zolah's attention. When the Chiss turned, she held a dataspike in her hand. "The fool kept the evidence on him at all times, and our friend knew where. We'll hand this over to the Moff, then be on our way."

"And finish dinner," Vector added, angling a smile at his wife. He'd been enjoying the dish that now lay strewn across the restaurant floor.

"Yes, and finish dinner." Zolah took a few steps, then looked back. "Nicely done, by the way."

Hours later, Vector woke to the dim glow of Zolah's datapad. He took a moment to let his eyes rove over the Chiss. Her shoulder length, black hair remained smooth, indicating that she hadn't really been asleep when he drifted off. "You tricked us," he accused lightly, sitting up to join her.

"I didn't want my problem to keep you from sleeping," Zolah answered simply. "I can't believe I didn't see this before, Vector."

Kaliyo had the recording waiting for Zolah as soon as they entered hyperspace. While Vector did not see the appeal in the Rattataki, many men did. Including the technician with access to security recordings on black listed operations. Zolah had wasted no time playing the feed from Corellia, having finally found a means to identify her target.

Vector stared at the screen over his wife's shoulder and sighed. The image stood in crisp clarity, paused just before the moment of General Rakton's death. The man lay on the floor, unarmed and bleeding, while two Republic soldiers loomed over him. Zolah pressed play, watching it again. The one, clearly a woman, fired twice into the general's body, then the other bent to check his vitals. More soldiers joined seconds after, and Rakton's executioner removed her helmet to reveal none other than Havoc Squad commander Fynta Wolfe.

"We were on the same planet," Zolah said quietly. "I could have ended this on Manaan."

Vector continued to watch the scene play out as the Republic soldier lurched forward. Her subordinates were reduced to a flurry of movement as blood began to cover the floor. Finally, the Cathar male scooped the major up and ran off screen. "She was injured," the joiner commented. "Badly, by the looks of it."

"Not badly enough." Zolah slapped her hand on the screen, breathing heavily as she glared at the image between her fingers. "I've got a name," she stated in a deadly calm. "That's all I need."