____
--1-

SKIES UNDER CORUSCANT

--Imperial Communications Bunker CORUS-56

Imperial Stormtrooper CD-A18 made his way to the end of the catwalk, turned to take in the ground below him, then spun on his heel to return to the opposite end. Guard duty was -- in a word -- tiring, but it beat serious work. His only job here was to patrol his one catwalk, make sure no unauthorized personnel entered the door below him or climbed the ladder around the corner, and if there was, to call Lieutenant Chiin in the control room.
The trooper reached up a gloved hand to reposition the rifle slung at his shoulder, loaded, but with the safety on. This was his first assignment since graduation at the academy on Carida, and he hadn't had any real combat training. He sighed beneath the pot-shaped bone-white helmet. There wasn't really a chance for it here, either. His "post" -- he always like to think of it as more important than it really was -- was a communications bunker that transmitted telemetry from a satellite in orbit of Coruscant, sending it to the Imperial Center in the heart of the city- planet's industrial sector.
Trooper -18 reached the north end of the catwalk, and almost ran into Officer Matlyg, who appeared through the door from the catwalk to the interior of the bunker. The stormtrooper snapped into a sharp, textbook salute; the officer returned it. "Is there a problem, sir?" he asked, his voice slightly distorted by the helmet.
"No, no problem, soldier," Matlyg replied curtly, producing a stick from his pocket. "Just out for a smoke."
The soldier watched silently as the officer lit the cigarette and raised it to his lips. He took a long drag, then slowly exhaled the smoke into the night air. -18 had come to accept the habits of the officers above him; personally he didn't think one way or another about smoking. Then again, he had never really been offered one before.
Matlyg looked over at the trooper. "Relax, soldier. There's no threat tonight. For now, the Emperor is in command."
-18 visibly relaxed. "Yes, sir."
The officer took another drag. "You can take off that blasted helmet, if you want. It can get oppressive at times."
"Yes, sir," -18 replied, reaching around his rifle to pull off the constrictive headgear. "Thank you, sir." He was amazed how much his voice didn't echo.
Another drag. Matlyg held the burning stick out to him; he accepted. "I remember when I had to wear the suit," the officer reflected as -18 raised the cig to his lips. "Some of the worst years of my life."
The stormtrooper gagged. Matlyg accepted it back. "It can be hell, of course," the officer continued. "But the only way to get were I am is to start where you are."
"Yes, sir," -18 choked out. How anyone could stand those things was beyond him.
The Imperial officer finished off the stick and flicked the butt off the railing. "Very well. Continue with your patrol, soldier."
Stormtrooper CD-A18 replaced his helmet, saluting to his officer before making his way back down the catwalk. What neither of the Imperials saw during the five-minute exchange was the dark-clothed shape making his way silently from the alley adjacent to the building to the door beneath the south end of the catwalk. Beside the door was an easily-removed air grate, and an entrance to the facility.
An air grate, he scoffed at the absurdity of it. How... cinema.
The agent replaced the grate behind him as he crouched into the ventilation shaft, making sure to make a minimum of noise as the metals rubbed against each other. He swiveled one-hundred-eighty degrees, stretching his senses as far as they would naturally go, beginning a crawl into the compound. This shaft should take me to the computer room, he thought. He had found it curious that the architects of the building would place a room of electronics in such a vulnerable position. It would be easy to destroy or damage their equipment with a grenade, if that were his mission. His assignment was to make it to the receiving antenna on the roof and disable it, without being seen of course.
He continued down the air shaft until the tunnel widened out, connecting to the rest of the building through a large fan. It was on, spinning only fast enough to blow a slight breeze through the shaft. The agent sidestepped to the wall, listening for movement in the computer room. He heard a handful of technicians, tapping computer consoles distractedly. From the schematics he reviewed before the mission he knew that the fan was above a maintenance closet, adjacent to the computer room.
It only took a moment of searching to locate the trap that would lead down into the storage room. He gripped the handle in a leather-gloved hand, slowly raising the hatch and swinging it open. There was no one in the room below; the door was closed and the lights were out. He dropped silently into a crouch, not bothering to replace the trap door. He approached the door, placing a hand on its surface and closing his eyes. There were only three occupants: two were at computer consoles, turned away from the maintenance room, and the other was -- wait... getting up and heading out of the room. The agent waited until the third man had fully exited, then gripped the latch on the door and turned it. It's good these cheap facilities have manual doors, he thought to himself as the door swung open. Automatics make too much noise. The room was lit only by computer panels and desk lamps, allowing for plenty of darkness at the room's edges. As soon as there was a space large enough to fit through he exited the closet. Keeping to the wall and staying in the shadows, he crouch-walked past the technicians toward the door and slipped silently into the hallway.
The lights in the hallway were turned down so only the faintest glow came from them. The clipping footsteps of the technician were still audible as the man disappeared behind a corner to the right. The agent watched him go, running over the building schematic in his mind. The telemetry receiver was in the primary control room, which should be around the corner -- the opposite direction from where the techie went, he noted -- and up the stairs, first door on the left. He took off quietly, keeping to the left wall, even though the lighting kept the relative shadows at a minimum. The technician couldn't have planned on going far. No telling when he'll come back.
The agent crossed to the right side of the hallway, pressing his back to the wall and looking around the corner. He could still see the techie as he pushed open a restroom door and went in. He smiled. He should be busy for a while. Time to move. He pushed off the wall, going slightly faster now as he tiptoed up the stairs and approached the control room. Recon showed at least three men inside at all times, and the server I need to access is on the far wall. He passed the control room door and went to the next one down; it may be easier to enter through a different route. The man slowly opened the door as he reached it, slipping into the room and closing the door behind him.
The room inside was obviously someone's office, most likely the commander of the base. It was incredibly utilitarian: a desk on the right wall, beside that a cabinet of some kind, with a chair behind and two more on the opposite side. A large window was on the wall across from the door, facing out into the Coruscant night. A small metal bookshelf was on the wall opposite the desk, the wall that separated the office from the control room. The agent quickly slid the shelf aside, picking it up slightly to prevent much noise. He knelt at the base of the wall, placing his hand on it and sliding it across the surface, feeling. It took only a moment to find what he was searching for. He kept his right hand on the wall while he reached to his belt with his left, unclipping a small, cylindrical object: a Jedi lightsaber. He pressed a button on its face, with a snapping hiss igniting the weapon and producing a blade of energy that emerged from the hilt to extend a meter long, bathing the room in a faint blue light. He skillfully placed the tip of the weapon against the wall, pressing it against the wall ever so slightly, enough to burn through the thin material only an inch thick. The agent moved the saber laterally, carving a thin line on the wall a half-meter from the floor. In only three more cuts a rectangular section of the wall had been removed. The man pressed the button again, retracting the blade and returning the room to darkness. He dropped to his knees, placing his hands against the square cut and coaxing it down, onto the floor.
The agent froze for a moment, waiting and listening for voices. He could hear a handful of people in the control room, but none indicated anyone had heard him. He turned back to the matter at hand. Now that the wall had been removed, the rear maintenance panel of the computer bank in the control room was visible. The man's skilled hands quickly released the catches on the panel, swinging it open to expose the innards of the computer: a rat's nest of wires, circuit boards, and silicon chips. His hand slid into the maze, moving around for a moment before locating the hardware he was searching for. He pulled it to the forefront, reaching to his belt with his free hand to produce a board of similar design, but with some critical modifications. He unplugged the original board from its spot in the wiring, placing it on the floor of the computer and replacing it with the modified version. He looked over his work, decided it satisfactory, then closed up the computer and got to his feet. He propped the severed section of wall back upright, then replaced the bookshelf over it. With any luck that would keep them from discovering the intrusion too quickly.
The agent reached a gloved hand to his ear, tapping the small device tucked inside to activate a communications link back to headquarters. "Done," was all he said before tapping it again to close the link. It was a word large enough to be noticed by his handler, who was listening impatiently, waiting for the codeword to be uttered, but small enough not to be noticed as anything but static to anyone benignly listening in. The agent smiled as he quietly passed back into the hallway. Tracer's probably staring at her chronometer, wondering why I'm... he glanced at a chrono on his own wrist, four seconds late. This radio silence thing has got her feeling helpless. He turned left in the hall, continuing to a stairway that would lead to the roof. Usually Tracer would be able to give him instant satellite recon from HQ, telling him where to go and what to look for as he worked on his objectives. Infiltrating a communications facility, however, meant that strict comlink silence had to be observed. All she could do was sit in the darkened computer room back at base, staring at her watch and listening intently, wondering if every crackle she heard on the headset was him giving the codeword.
The briefing Tracer had given him before he left included evidence that suggested there would be two stormtroopers patrolling the halls inside. Now he saw one of them, "marching" lazily down the center of the corridor, white body armor shining like a beacon in the dim light. He was a testament to the security upheld in the facility: swaggering gait, rifle held lax in his right hand, helmet removed and hanging from his belt. If the helmet had been on, its enhanced vision modes may have given the guard a probability of seeing the agent as he crept through the halls; without, he didn't have a chance. The infiltrator pressed against the wall, waiting patiently for the man to pass, then pushed off and resumed his objective.
It took him a little less than seven minutes to locate the stairway, close the door gently behind him, and slip to the roof. He opened the door at the top of the stairs just wide enough to look out onto the roof, immediately seeing the massive receiving antenna, pointed toward the heavens. He exited the stairwell, crouching and still alert, but faster now that his goal was in reach. His primary objective was to disable the tower; he had three choices. One: disable it by the manual switch; result: they just switch it back on again. Two: pry off the panel and rip out some wires. Or three: blast the panel with a pistol.
No brainer. The agent reached a left hand into his jacket and pulled out the AmroTech DK-54 semi-automatic pistol with silencer from the inside holster, took aim at the base of the antenna and fired. The shot bore right through the metal plating to fry wires and circuits all the way down the interior of the device. He put the gun back into his jacket, looking around as he always did to make sure he was still alone. He smiled as the smell of burning electronics rose through the smoking hole. Mission accomplished. Even now the technicians in the control room below would be staring at their boards in disbelief, wondering why their antenna just died. In a few minutes they would tell their superiors who, in a few minutes after that, would send a group of repairmen to check on it. They would find the damage, conclude that it would take however-long to repair, and get to work. When the repairs were finished, they would find that it still wouldn't work, due to the damage in the computer bank below. At the very least they would have to allocate repair resources, or request more personnel.
The agent reached up to tap his ear, issue the "Done" keyword once more, and tap his ear again. Now all that was left in the operation was extraction, which came easy enough. There were several access ladders leading from the roof to the external catwalks eight feet below. The agent tore a chunk of burning, half-molten metal from the smoking control panel, then crossed to the south-west corner of the roof, directly above a catwalk that wrapped around the corner, beside a familiar air grate. The stormtrooper from before was still there, making his mundane rounds. The agent crouched, readied his arm back to toss the chunk of metal onto the north end of the catwalk; meant as a distraction, so he could descend the ladder on the opposite end, down to the ground. One... two... thr- Just as he was about to throw, the door to the adjacent control room opened and a black-uniformed officer stepped onto the catwalk. From the agent's vantage point he could hear the exchange:
"Trooper," Officer Matlyg said, "there's been a problem with the antenna. I need you to escort the repair team to see what's going on. We may have been sabotaged."
Trooper -18's face went as white as his helmet. "Sir, I didn't see any-"
"No one's blaming anyone, Trooper... yet. Just escort the team."
"Yes, sir," the stormtrooper replied, giving his rifle a quick look- over, then following the officer inside the bunker. What neither of the Imperials saw during the quick exchange, however, was the silent shadow descending the ladder to the ground, and disappearing into the night.

---==((.!:*:!.))==---

--Rebellion HQ

It was a full thirty-five minutes of traversing the dark Coruscant streets before agent Aidon Krinstaf arrived back at Rebellion Headquarters. It was really nothing more than an abandoned warehouse in the slums, but the ragtag band of street revolutionaries had transformed it into something most militia operations would envy. They had entire portions of the buildings divided up for reconnaissance equipment, computer databanks, an armory of sorts, even a makeshift garage to hold "appropriated" vehicles. The windows to the outside had been painted over to prevent the glow from the high-power lamps and computer screens from attracting attention from the outside.
The members of the Rebellion revolutionaries were vast and varied, from the highest diplomat to the lowest street thug, but they all had something in common: a deep hatred for the new Galactic Empire. Most were non-humans expelled from Emperor Palpatine's new pro-human regime, some were humans who had witnessed the tyranny of its dictatorial rule. But nearly all, like Aidon, were being constantly hunted by the Empire, for what they called "treason." He considered himself in the same starship with the beings around him, even though his story was somewhat different.
Aidon had once been a member of the Jedi Order, the sanctioned protectors of the Republic, the governing force in the galaxy for thousands of generations. He had trained at the Jedi Temple in the heart of Coruscant, under Jedi Master Le'onte Sjin. For twenty years he had studied the Jedi ways, the way of the Force, how to master it, to bend it to his will, to use it for good. His training was nearly complete when the Separatists began attacking targets near Coruscant, and Palpatine took complete power of the Republic, re-naming it the Empire, reshaping it to his own image. The Jedi were the first targets on his galactic hit list. They became the hunted, both by the Empire and by independent bounty hunters claiming the prize the Empire would give them. He hadn't really given it any thought until the night the Inquisitors came, murdering Master Sjin in a vicious lightsaber battle. The Inquisitors were special hunters trained by the Emperor himself to hunt and kill the Jedi, for ample payment, of course. Some regarded them as deadlier than the Sith, for they had no honor or code to live up to. Their only goal in life was to kill, and they would have killed him as well if he hadn't escaped. Aidon retreated into the slums, vowing never to use the Force, and to keep the use of a Jedi's weapon, a lightsaber, to an absolute minimum. The agent stepped into the warehouse, nodding to the guard as he passed. Security was important here, for if the Empire ever found them, all they worked so hard for would be lost. He had been fighting with the Rebellion for two years now. He understood their ways, their procedures, and all were meant to provide the highest level of protection available.
"Aidon!" He turned a handful of degrees to the right to face the young woman running up to him, her distinctive jumpsuit shimmering slightly in the bright lights of the warehouse. Aidon could sense the apprehension coming from Tracer as she approached, stopping just a few feet from him. She smiled pleasantly to him in greeting. "Mission accomplished?"
Aidon smiled out of the corner of his mouth. "They won't be receiving anything anytime soon."
"Good, good." Tracer nodded sagely as they started crossing the compound, the implant on her forehead giving a slight glint of light. "And the chip? It went in all right?"
"Like a charm."
She nodded again. "Good." Tracer's technical expertise was unmatched by anyone in the Rebellion; probably by anyone in this sector of the planet. She took great pride in her work, but didn't have enough of an ego to let that pride show outwardly. She did her best to be humble, to conduct herself in a manner that hinted at her more noble origins. Aidon saw that many forced to live out here would adopt a gruff, surly attitude that warned others to stay away. Not Tracer; she was content with staying unnoticed, helping to advance the cause from behind the scenes.
Aidon and Tracer entered the alcove on the far side of the warehouse, separated as it was by a sheet that hung on a wire stretched across the entrance. This was what the members of the Rebellion called the War Room, though it was little more than what had probably been an office, no larger than five meters on a side. The lights on the ceiling had ceased to function long ago, and now several desk lamps at the perimeter of the room did the job. In the center of the darkened room was a table that took up almost the entire area of the room, covered by numerous charts, graphs, and reports. Most of the data in those had been collected by Aidon himself; even more had been written by Tracer.
As the two entered the man seated at the table fought to stand; Aidon motioned for him to sit back down. He gratefully complied. Shado Tla'keef was the "leader" of the Rebellion, though he preferred the term "organizational developer." He used to be a government contractor, before the government changed. He was a Twi'lek, and like all non-humans was quickly expelled from his job by the Imperial Order, under threat of death. He joined the Rebellion first as a field agent, but had lost his right leg in a brutal squad firefight that ended his career. He was fitted with a prosthetic by anti-Imperial "dissidents," but it still severely hindered his mobility. Now he brought his ability of analyzing charts and maps to the Cause, preparing the ops that he wasn't able to execute himself anymore. He was gruff and reserved, knowing what he saw and when to speak his peace. Shado never liked to display weakness, but with friends as old as Aidon and Tracer, he was willing to make an exception. Aidon had joined the Cause shortly after Shado's accident, and he saw in the young human all the things he used to be.
The older man set his cane back on the floor where it was, looking up to face the black-clothed agent. "How did the op go?"
"Picture perfect," he replied, circling the table to the side opposite the man. "Not a stitch."
"Good. Now we can order in the strike. They'll have no idea we're coming."
Aidon nodded. The purpose of his mission was to prevent the Imperials from scanning a sector of Coruscant where a Rebellion strike was to take place. In addition to the damage done by Aidon at the antenna, Tracer's chip would continue the confusion by scrambling or deleting parts of any signal run through its transistors. Imperial procedure was to check the computers for any possible software problem before opening them up, and even when they found the violated computer, Tracer's chip looked so much like the original it was doubtful even their engineers could detect the modifications.
"What's the objectives?" Aidon asked, looking down at the map before Shado. It appeared to be maglev supply depot.
"Supply acquisition," he answered, which meant they were going to steal their stuff. "Two teams... I think here... and here. Three men, four for the acquisition team."
"Armament?"
"Two pistols and a hacker." Two men carrying blaster pistols and one with the equipment necessary for electronically breaking and entering.
Aidon looked up. "No rifle backup?"
Shado frowned. "Thought about it. Maybe for the secondary team, they'll be holding a perimeter. Might be wise to have one there." He reached for a stylus and scribbled something down on a creased piece of paper. "Any thoughts on who?"
"Donvon's the best rifleman we've got," Aidon replied, "but he's still recovering from last week. Won't be ready for field duty for a couple days."
"That's what I thought. I'm also thinking of Kree. He's come close to second best. Plus he's got electronics training, just in case."
Aidon raised an eyebrow. "I don't know. He's pretty green yet."
Shado looked up from the charts. "Tracer, any thoughts on electronics personnel? Preferably ones that can handle a gun if need be."
"How about Solazar?" she suggested. "I've seen her on the shooting range, not too shabby."
"Field trained?"
"This would be her first."
Shado made a face. "Though judging by your recommendation, you think she would be ready?"
"Ready enough, if we spent the night training," she replied.
Shado nodded. "Go ahead." Tracer left back through the alcove. He turned to Aidon. "Well, listen, I've got everything under control here, the op's pretty much finished. You can go ahead and head home if you want."
There was a pause. "Sure, I'll do that." He stood.
"Hey, Aidon. Great job tonight."
"Thanks." He exited back through the alcove, going straight for the door to the warehouse.

---==((.!:*:!.))==---

--Sector Ae3, Maglev Supply Depot

"And you're sure this intel is secure?"
"Positive, Commander. We got it ID'd this morning."
"And when will the attack take place?"
"Sorry, sir, we couldn't tell. Anywhere from a week to... tomorrow."
"Hmm. Well, thank you, Lieutenant. Bransil out."
Imperial Commander Nik Bransil switched off the comlink on his datapad and slid it back into the pocket of his uniform. So, the intelligence was correct after all. He admitted he had his doubts concerning the operation. How dare the insurrectionists plan an attack on the Emperor's own ground! His squad had been stationed in a garrison close enough to the supply depot to be able to see it through macro-binoculars, and he was just visiting the place while it was closing to inspect their dedication to procedure. The personnel of the station had been briefed as to their position, that there was a hostile rebel faction planning a raid of the depot to be executed within the week. His squad was there to prevent any such action from taking place. If any suspicious people did come around, his troopers had orders to engage and capture.
Commander Bransil smiled. No one was getting in here. Not on his watch.

---==((.!:*:!.))==---

--Rebellion HQ

The disk hovered slowly in place, the gravitation field around it fluctuating slightly to make it waver in the air, bobbing left, then right, then left again. These actions were designed to make it harder to hit, which did nothing to alter the course of the crimson lance of light headed for it. The disk's remote sensors detected the energy beam on a collision course, and it accessed its programming for the appropriate course of action. It took only a moment for it to "decide" to slide slightly to the right and back, taking it out of the path of the deadly blast. The blaster shot sailed past, the air around it crackling with intensity.
The second shot, the one the device did not detect, however, didn't miss. It connected with the target, frying through the outer shell and into the core to hit the power center, igniting it and ripping the disk apart from the inside. There was a small pop, accompanied by a shower of sparks as the disk fell from the air to clatter on the ground. Lanii Solazar lowered the blaster pistol to her side, looking over the damage she had caused and smiling.
"Scratch another," Tracer commented as she approached.
Lanii relinquished the gun to her teacher. "They're gettin' a little harder."
"You're still doing great," she answered. "Think you'll be ready for field work now?"
The girl shrugged. "Probably."
"Good, why don't you get some rest. Mission briefing's at oh-two- hundred."

Shado Tla'keef decided on having both the strike and Aidon's mission on the same night, hoping to catch the Empire off guard and, hopefully, off balance. There were two teams, one assigned to infiltrate the main cargo area and extract the supplies, the other to provide backup and fire cover. The mission briefing was at 0200, and by 0221 both of the teams had loaded their gear and departed for the depot. Under normal circumstances transportation might have been considered, but headquarters was only a half- mile west from the maglev station, so it wasn't worth the risk of being seen. Team One headed north-west, to circle around the depot before entering through the main maglev entry bay. Team Two would go through the main doors, securing the supervisor's office that overlooked the bay. Estimated time to the target was fifty-four minutes. Both of the teams had orders for silence as they traversed the Coruscant alleys, staying away from the main streets where the bright neon signs from the commercial districts may have given away their positions. All were dressed in dark, non-reflective clothing to aid their blending into the shadows.
The squad leader for Team One was a man named Bernur Vlactis, a human from the high-gravity world Cherbus III. He was short and stocky, with keen eyes and powerful arms. He glanced around the alleys warily as they passed, watching for any movement. Bernur had joined the Rebellion nearly ten months ago, and had already moved up the ranks to be a normally- considered position for strike team leader. His blaster pistol was in its holster on his hip, his blaster carbine in a sling around his shoulder. He had been able to convince Shado to let him bring along his rifle in addition to the pistol defined by the mission parameters. All three of the beings behind him were armed with a pistol, but he was able to use his rifle with greater skill.
The team crossed another alley, and Bernur brought up the datapad from inside his field jacket, illuminating it just long enough just to see their positions. He reached up and tapped his earpiece. "Twenty-three minutes to target," he said and closed the link. His hand reflexively wrapped around the strap to his carbine. It was locked and loaded, and he had a feeling he wouldn't finish this mission without getting to use it. Of course, he hoped that for every mission.
"Copy," came a reply from Bernur's earpiece, from the Team Two leader. They would be only three-quarters of a mile south of their position, moving at approximately the same speed toward the depot. He had met the team leader, Arein Tallon, once. He was a decent enough fellow, but Bernur found him to be a tad too soft. Made up for it with a steady aim, though.
He could see the maglev depot now, the darkened building the same as the others around it, but noticeable by the single-railed track that ran into it. Bernur held up a hand, ordering his team to stop. He reached up to his ear. "Position." Now they were to wait until Team Two had circled the building and secured the loading bay. There should be no one there this late at night -- no, he corrected himself, early in the morning -- so there should be little resistance.

---==((.!:*:!.))==---

Arein Tallon slid the blaster rifle from his shoulder as his team approached the depot, switching off the safety and reflexively checking the ammo gauge. His three teammates took the silent cue to draw the blaster pistols from their holsters. He crouched down into a defensive stance as he hustled toward the south facade of the building, the side that faced the street. He used that term loosely: this part of the district was so worn down that there was little interest in maintenance. Most of the buildings had already been neglected into disrepair. He wouldn't have to worry about being seen when they crossed the open area of asphalt between the alleys and the depot. There was, however, the problem of a street light that illuminated the area there. Arein looked around the corner, took aim with his rifle, and fired. The suppressed light beam made almost no sound as it exited the chamber, making barely a flash as it pierced the lamp and deactivated it in a shower of sparks.
He reached up to his ear, "Position," then gave the signal for them to advance single file across the darkened pavement. In a moment they were before the main double doors to the building, which was armed with an electronic security lock. Arein stepped aside to let their hacker through, a young woman named Lanii Solazar. She quickly holstered her pistol, producing a lockpick case from her jacket. She flipped it open, extracted a tool, and set to work. Arein was amazed at her skill as she pried the cover off the lock and began prodding the mess of wires inside. She was about half his age, but seemed to know more about lockpicking than he ever hoped to. In forty-three seconds Lanii's work paid off, and with a muted spark the lock was deactivated. She closed the lockpick case and slid it back into her jacket, then re-armed her pistol and joined the team as they opened the doors and breached the building.
The main doors for the loading dock were straight ahead; instead, Arein led them around the corner to the left, to a staircase at the end of the corridor. At the top was the door to the supervisor's office, their next objective. Here Solazar's skills weren't necessary: Arein tried the knob, then brought the butt of his rifle down on the door forcibly enough to snap the doorknob from its socket. The door was now easily opened and they entered. The office inside wasn't extraordinary, but there was a large picture window on the right wall that looked out over the loading dock. This would allow them to see Team One execute their objective. He reached up to his ear.

---==((.!:*:!.))==---

Bernur had barely heard the word "Position" from his headset before he ordered his team forward, toward the south end of the maglev depot. The maglev track entered through the loading dock entrance on the south wall, which was blocked by a force field that prohibited unwelcome visitors. Beside it was an access panel that allowed technicians to lower the field if an emergency arose; it would also allow Kree, their team's hacker, to break in and deactivate it themselves. The man set to work as soon as they neared the building, taking out his hacker's kit and plugging into the panel. He furiously tapped the buttons on his datapad, the blue glow from the screen casting a eerie glow on his face. In just a few moments he looked back up at Bernur. "That should do it."
The team leader looked at the entrance to the building. He reached out slowly toward the opening, knowing that if Kree was incorrect and the force field was still up, the electric shock would kill him, or at least incapacitate him. His hand inched closer and closer to the threshold, then with a thrust he pushed it in. Nothing happened to his hand so he assumed the field had been successfully lowered. The team entered the building.
Bernur looked up to his right, seeing the window to the supervisor's office high above the ground, and four dark shapes barely noticeable inside. The maglev track at the center of the room was sunken about two meters, and there was a cargo crane to the left. At the far wall of the depression was a ladder; they used it to climb out of the pit and onto the platform around it. On the south end of the dock were the main double doors that led to a perimeter hallway, and directly to the left of those were the double doors to the stock room. Bernur led the group to the stock room, forcing their way inside and examining the stacks of crates around the room.

---==((.!:*:!.))==---

--Imperial Security Barracks

"Sir, we have activity in the maglev depot!"
Commander Nik Bransil looked up from his desk to the private who had poked his head into his office to deliver the news. "Excellent. Get the men ready."
"Yes, sir," the young man replied and disappeared. Bransil got to his feet, reaching to pick up the blaster rifle resting on his desk, armed and ready. He had ordered a base-wide yellow alert since the news of the planned attack two hours ago, but he had no idea the rebels would try something so quickly. He had ordered an orbital infrared sensor sweep of the area around the depot, but the satellite receiver in the area was reported as "out of order," some kind of equipment malfunction. He sneered. If Imperial maintenance was any indication of the productivity of the new order, the Emperor's reign wouldn't last. Bransil entered the main area of the base, where six able fighting men stood at attention. Luckily, the Empire was defined by its people, and these people were shining examples of Imperial greatness. Each of them was dressed in black half- plate urban combat armor -- a stripped-down version of standard stormtrooper armor that enabled better movement. All were armed with a BlasTech E-11 blaster rifle (Imperial standard issue) and backup BlasTech DL-18 blaster pistol in a side holster. Bransil himself was similarly armed. He stood before his unmoving troops, looking them over one last time before the confrontation. "The enemy has been detected," he said simply. "Prepare to engage. If possible, set your weapons to stun. The Empire will have their traitors."
Each man checked his weapon and moved out into the night. Bransil led the charge, making no attempt at subtlety as he led his men down the middle of the street toward the maglev depot.

---==((.!:*:!.))==---

Bernur lifted another of the heavy crates into his arms, leaning back slightly to keep his balance before heading back out the door to the loading area. He could hardly see where he was going around the box; it rose at least a half-dozen centimeters above his head. He stopped in the middle of the room, carefully lowering the box back down to the ground. He rolled his shoulders back to work out the sores. They had found a hover- sled in the storage room, and Lanii was trying to get it operational. If it worked, they wouldn't have to leave all the good stuff. Bernur looked back to the door of the adjacent room. He could see the three others, working amidst the stacks of crates and boxes. They're so young, he thought to himself. How could they get mixed up in something like this?
His gaze swept around, over the main double doors of the room just as they swung open, seemingly by themselves. He realized that wasn't the case, however, as he saw the three black-armored figures on the other side.

The two guards in front breached the door, as the one directly behind held his rifle at the ready. Bransil watched on from the rear, rifle ready but more anxious to see how his men handled a combat situation. There was a lone man visible inside the building, facing the door with a defiant gaze. As he saw the doors opening he reached down futilely for a pistol at his side, but the Imperial soldiers already had their weapons trained on him. Each of the three men squeezed off a single shot. The first bolt hit the short man in the chest, which threw him backwards and flipped him over the packing crate behind him. The second shot punctured the man's skull before he hit the ground. The third would have hit if the man was still standing where he had been; it merely struck the corner of the crate.
Bransil ordered his men into the room in a sweeping pattern, Fraizer to the left, Tokil to the right, and Drek staying at the doorway. The doors to the storage room to the right were open, and figures could be seen inside. "Cover!" Bransil ordered into his headset, still in the relative safety of the corridor. Fraizer hustled to the crate the dead man was splayed out upon, and Drek and Tokil retreated back into the doorway. Imperial combat training was now being followed by the book, as the young soldiers strafed in and out of cover to release shots into the storeroom. Bransil did nothing but watch, amazed at his men's actions, at how flawless their execution was.
"Advance!" he ordered them, and again their movement were perfect. Fraizer left the safety of the container to hustle to the right side of the storeroom doorway, as Drek left the hall to take up his partner's vacated spot. Now the rebels were flanked and surrounded, rifles firing at them from three different directions. He heard frantic orders being shouted from inside the storeroom, and the figures desperately scrambling for better cover. One was hit by a blaster bolt and went down. Bransil looked up to the window to the supervisor's office. Flashes from blasters were visible in the darkness, and they only lasted a moment. Then he saw the other half of his team, successful in their securing of the room.
"Set for stun. Move in," he told them. There couldn't be too many of them remaining now. He would stun and capture whoever was left, and query the Imperial Council over their next course of action. Perhaps he would get a promotion out of this, he thought. A perfect end to a flawless mission.