ABOARD THE MALACHOR, FORTY YEARS ABE:
The Crystilium wobbled slightly on its repulsorlifts, sparks shooting out to scour the pristine deckplates beneath as its landing gear unfolded. The damage to the underside of the shuttle was mostly relegated to the communications array but some minor buckling of the armor plating made the landing gear grind and screech as it locked into place against the deformed metal.
The wince-inducing sound might have been an unpleasantly noisy announcement of their arrival on the Malachor, but given that they had literally been chased into the hanger by a pair of X-Wings, they'd already abandoned any ideals of stealth. The Empire knew they were here; the plan practically depended on it.
It was less dependent on the detachment of stormtroopers who stood facing the shuttle's ramp, blasters not yet aimed at the hatch but certainly at the ready. Impostor or not, Revan ran a tight ship and protocol demanded that any unscheduled arrival be greeted with caution no matter what clearance codes they offered. There was thus no sense trying to sneak onboard. All that would do would be to make them look guilty. No, if anything was going to carry this mission through to a successful conclusion it was sheer, brute charm. Fortunately, nobody knows charm like a Calrissian.
Stella did not look like her ordinary charming self today, though, not in a severe gray Imperial Officer's uniform with her beautiful curls pulled back in an unforgiving bun. She strode down the shuttle's ramp with Imperial precision, flanked by two stormtroopers. If anyone noticed that one of them marched a little less confidently than the other, they had no chance to voice their concerns before Stella took charge of the situation.
"Permission to come aboard, major," she said, saluting. The fact that she did not wait for said permission to be granted before disembarking from her shuttle was barely relevant; permission had technically been granted the moment the Malachor's communications officer accepted her clearance codes. At any rate, the major wasn't given a chance to argue before Stella was at his side and then stepping past him, giving the hapless man no choice but to fall into step alongside her unless he wanted to be left behind.
"Can you believe the gall of those Rebel scum?" she continued, drawing her pretty face up into an ugly sneer. "Lurking in the outskirts of our system, ambushing our ships on their transition to realspace...it's like they've somehow failed to realize that Coruscant's been conquered. I don't suppose your TIE squadrons managed to vape them before they jumped away?" she asked hopefully.
"Er-no," the major said, struggling to seize control of the conversation and failing. "Both ships eluded us. Ah, what purpose brings you-?"
"Pity." Stella plowed past his burgeoning question without hesitation. She walked just as quickly, striding towards the hanger exit as though she knew where she was going. The major glanced back at the stormtroopers he'd left behind and hesitated, then waved them off. Now Stella's two escorts from the shuttle were the only troopers marching with them. "Well, they'll all fall soon enough beneath our emperor's heel," she continued blithely. "Is General Vensell aboard yet?"
"I-General Vensell?" The major shook his head, clearly baffled. "What are you talking about, lieutenant?"
"General Avoria Vensell," Stella repeated impatiently. "I have a bio-coded transmission to be hand-delivered to her only." She tapped the datapad she was carrying impatiently. "Orders of Imperial Intelligence. If she's not here, have her summoned right away."
"What-I don't have clearance for-"
Stella stopped abruptly and turned to face the flustered Imperial. "Major-what's your name?"
"I...Gatterweld," the major admitted with obvious reluctance; the moment Stella had uttered the words "Imperial Intelligence," his face had blanched and his bluster had evaporated.
"Major Gatterweld, I didn't ask for your clearance. I don't need your clearance. I just need you to not get in the way of my mission." Stella took a step closer to him, nearly stepping on the shiny toes of his sleek black boots. "Are we understood? Or do you need me to comm one of my superiors to verify my orders?"
Unseen by the major, Bail and Finn tensed in their armor. If Gatterweld demanded verification, the plan was vaped; they had no way to fake that, and certainly no chance of obtaining any such credentials for real.
Fortunately, Gatterweld was too frightened of bringing the wrath of Imperial Intelligence down on his own head to risk it. "No!" he shrilled, spine straightening like a new recruit learning for the first time to fear the noncommissioned officers. "That is unnecessary, lieutenant! I...I will make the appropriate transmission to the general."
"Good." Suddenly Stella was all smiles. "Since I'll be waiting a while, I assume you have a ready room or office you can offer me? Somewhere...private. Where I won't be disturbed by those who lack the proper clearance?"
"Ah-yes, of course, I would be happy to escort you," Gatterweld lied; he clearly wouldn't be happy until he was as far away from Stella and her threats of Imperial Intelligence as it was possible to get without actually stepping out an airlock.
"Splendid." Stella's grin grew, somehow, even wider. "Oh-you're dismissed, troopers," she said, waving over her shoulder as though it was a complete afterthought and not the entire purpose behind this deception. "Report to the barracks here for reassignment."
"Ah-reassignment?" Gatterweld asked nervously. He started forward again, moving a little hesitantly, although his pace picked-up once he saw that Stella was following. The sooner he got her to her destination, the sooner he could get away from her.
"Of course." Stella shrugged. "I assume I don't need a security escort to protect me on the emperor's flagship?" She smirked.
Gatterweld forced a weak laugh. "Ah-no, no of course not."
"Then they're redundant." Stella shrugged coolly. "I'll requisition a new pair when I depart."
"Ah," Gatterweld said again, mustering a sickly smile. "Yes, of course. Very sensible."
Stella smiled and let him precede her out the hanger door. When they crossed the threshold, Finn and Bail spun away in a neat ninety-degree turn (slightly less neat in Bail's case, although he didn't wobble badly enough to catch anyone's attention) and marched off in the opposite direction. Stella continued to chat to the unfortunate Gatterweld, whose replies became steadily more and more monosyllabic as he led her away.
Finn took point, Bail doing his best to walk just far enough behind the former stormtrooper that he could follow him without anyone noticing that he was trailing rather than flanking him. A mouse droid skittered across the hallway in front of them, barely swinging aside in time to keep from running into Finne's booted feet, making him twitch inside the stiff white shell.
He was glad for his armor's temperature regulation system; Finn was anxious enough that he was starting to sweat under his helmet. He had only been assigned to the Malachor once and now that he was walking her long halls again, he'd realized that he wasn't quite as confident in his ability to navigate them as he'd felt back on the Errant Venture. Fortunately, all Star Destroyers followed the same basic layout. Super Star Destroyers were no exception; they were just like their smaller sister ships, only moreso. He wasn't going to get lost; he just didn't want Bail noticing the sweat and thinking it meant Finn was getting cold feet.
If he had understood how much of a person's emotional state Bail could feel through the Force, he would have been panicking even more.
Bail, politely, said nothing; he sensed no betrayal coming from Finn, only fear. That made sense; even he found the size of this vessel, and the enormity of the danger they were risking, frightening-and he wasn't the one who'd turned traitor and defected from the Empire. Finn had good reason to be afraid, coming back here. Bail hoped the ex-stormtrooper understood how grateful all the Organa-Solos were that he was doing this for them-for Breha.
They turned down another hallway and Bail had to fight the urge to drop into a combat stance and grab for his lightsaber when he saw what was coming towards them: an entire detachment of stormtroopers, marching two-by-two with blasters cradled in their arms. Bail stiffened, trying to match their posture, trying to seem like carrying a blaster felt natural, and fought to keep his breathing even and his steps timed with Finn's.
The stormtroopers reached them without so much as nodding an acknowledgement, marching in such precise unison that Bail could understand how people sometimes thought them droids rather than people. One of the troopers at the very end of the line glanced towards them as they passed and Bail tensed. Finn nodded back and the trooper kept marching.
Bail didn't relax until he heard the tromp of their booted feet turn the corner behind them.
"This is fun," he muttered. "They should market it as a tourist experience."
A startled, muffled laugh burst from Finn's helmet and he glanced sharply at Bail. His expression was hidden by the merciless glower of his white helmet, but Bail thought he felt a little of the tension gripping the ex-stormtrooper ease. That was good; like the rest of his family, Bail had no idea how to deal with people who didn't appreciate banter in stressful situations.
Halfway down the next hallway, Finn abruptly stopped and palmed a door panel. Bail skidded a little as he backtracked, then followed Finn into the small room revealed by the rising door. It snapped closed behind them with the alarming speed customary to Imperial spaceships and Bail wasted no time yanking his helmet off and gulping down air, as though he'd been unable to breathe properly through its filters.
Finn cast him what Bail could only assume was a wry smile from beneath his own helmet, which he left in place as he stepped up to the terminal that dominated the small room.
It was more of a closet, really, save that most closets didn't come with nearly this many embedded datascreens and monitoring displays. The room was clearly intended to be used for system access and little else. Bail wondered if it was an auxiliary station or if the Empire just preferred to keep their access-points out of sight so as to not disrupt the streamlined minimalism of their corridors.
Finn's fingers flew over the keys, diving through the unfamiliar Imperial system faster than Bail could track. Then he stopped, sighed, and pulled his helmet off as well.
"Here, hold that," he told Bail, and returned his attention to the terminal. With Bail standing behind him in the cramped little room, juggling two helmets and a blaster, there was no way Finn could have seen the smirk on the young Jedi's face, but perhaps he didn't need to see it to guess that it was there. "Stormtroopers don't do a lot of work at terminals," Finn explained. "What little system access we-they-need to do can be done through a helmet uplink. With a screen…" He gestured at the terminal and shrugged. "The HUD gets in the way a little."
"Mmhmm," said Bail, his voice much more noncommittal than the smug expression on his face. "I see."
Finn, perhaps judging that this was an argument that he could not win-or perhaps simply being aware of their current priorities-said nothing in return, bending his attention to his task instead. After a few seconds he paused and said, "Huh-interesting."
"What?" Bail asked, trying to peer over the other man's shoulder without crowding up against him. He was taller than Finn, but by a scant five centimeters. That didn't give him enough height to properly read the terminal over Finn's plastoid-armored shoulder. "Did you find where they're holding Breha?"
"Yeah," Finn said, beginning to type again. "But she's not the only prisoner they picked-up in the invasion. The name 'Poe Dameron' ring any bells for you?"
"Poe? Commander Poe Dameron?" Bail gaped. "How did they catch-never mind, we have to rescue him too! Are they being held together?"
"No." Finn shook his head. "They're both in the top level cell block, but Breha's in one of the primary units-cell 3827-and Dameron is in one of the secondary detention hallways, in Cell 3261." He hesitated, then turned to face Bail. It was uncomfortable, looking him in the eye in such tight quarters-would have been uncomfortable even if Bail hadn't been a Jedi, but the fact that he was made it a hundred times worse-but they were discussing whether or not to deviate from the plan and risk bungling his sister's rescue. It seemed like the sort of conversation that should be had face-to-face.
Bail hesitated, no longer wearing that calm look of Jedi superiority that Finn had begun to think was the only expression he had. Now he looked uncertain, young. "Are Poe and Breha the only pilots they captured?" he asked, his voice tight.
Finn nodded. "Yeah, they're the only prisoners who've been added to the records since the ship arrived in system."
"Thanks," said Bail, and swallowed hard enough that Finn could see his throat bob above the tight collar of his black undersuit. He glanced aside, unable to meet Finn's eyes, and Finn found himself wondering what the Jedi was thinking. Was he debating whether or not to leave Dameron to his fate, and focus on saving his sister while they had a chance? Maybe he was just weighing what the odds were that anyone would believe Finn if he tried to tell them that Bail had left Dameron behind on purpose-or whether an ex-stormtrooper like Finn would care if he did.
Whatever his thoughts, he sorted through them quickly; Bail took a deep breath and said, "I don't think we can afford the time it would take to stage two subsequent escapes. Stella knows what she's doing, but I still don't want to leave her alone any longer than we must. We'll have to split-up." He met Finn's eyes at last, his pale brows furrowed with worry. "Do you mind? I know it's more than you agreed to, initially…"
"Oh, well-we can't just leave him, can we?" Finn said, shrugging awkwardly. "Yeah. Let me just download passcodes for each of us and we'll be...we'll be good to go."
"Thanks, Finn." Bail squeezed his armored arm and smiled, the warm sincerity in his brown eyes making Finn's skin crawl. "We really owe you for this."
Finn was glad for the need to return to the terminal; it gave him an excuse to turn away. "Hey, I said I'd help, didn't I? It's fine." He shook his head. "It'll all be fine."