Chapter 2 – Civil Unrest

The small market swarmed with people as they bartered for goods. Vendors dressed in humble garb solicited their wares from makeshift booths of empty crates and folding tables. Marcus looked at most of the items with disinterest, having visited the market enough to know a deal when he saw one. Trevor walked silently next to him, calmly observing the environment with mild amusement.

"Hey, Americans! I have something special for you this week!"

They regarded the vendor who called to them. Marcus frowned, recognizing a man known for his less than reliable products. Trevor, never one to pass up a deal, stopped, much to Marcus' dissatisfaction.

"Okay Rico, let's see what you got," Trevor replied with a smile.

"No, lets not," Marcus corrected. "You still owe us money for those bad tents you pawned off on us last time."

"This will make up for that, I promise! Look," Rico insisted, beckoning them closer.

Trevor looked at Marcus patiently, his grin grating through Marcus's nerves like a jagged blade.

"Fine," he finally hissed.

They approached the small booth. Rico reached under the counter and lifted a small crate, placing it on the table. Positioning it so they could see inside, he lifted the lid and smiled, his eyes darting around the market in search for unwanted onlookers. They gasped at the sight of Imperial class heavy blasters.

"Where did you get those," Trevor asked in a hushed tone.

"I'm afraid I can't revel my sources. How could I stay in business if I did?"

Marcus frowned as he observed the contents. "How many are there?"

"Fifteen; all in pristine condition."

"So you've tested them yourself?" Trevor asked.

"Well, I haven't personally tested them, but I can assure you-"

"Forget it," Marcus said.

"Wait," Rico insisted. "I will cut you a deal!"

"How much," Marcus asked.

"Normally I would take nothing less than a thousand. But for you…" He paused, a smile gracing his hardened features, "seven hundred."

"It's a deal," Trevor began, "Under one condition. We get to test them first. And you throw in five cartridges of ammo for each one. That doesn't include any test rounds we use."

Rico began to protest but stopped when they turned to leave. "Okay," he sighed. "It's a deal."

Trevor smiled. "Good. So where do we test them?"

Rico looked around before speaking, closing the lid on the box. "I know a place not far from here. No one will see. Meet me here after dark and I'll take you."

Marcus frowned. "Why can't we go now?"

"Too many people will notice if I leave early. They'll suspect something. It will be safer for all of us if we wait."

"We'll be back," Trevor promised.

They continued through the marked. Marcus frowned at Trevor.

"I don't like this. Something doesn't feel right."

"I didn't sense anything. I think you're reading too much into this. He wants to sale them as much as we want to buy them."

"You'd better be right," Marcus warned.

Trevor looked at him and grinned. "Aren't I always?"

Ted Pratt monitored the workers in his area. The bitter Alaskan wind cut through the pit, sending a series of goose bumps up his spine. The operation was far behind thanks to the latest incident. The Empire may claim to be a superior society with advanced technology, but as far as Ted was concerned, their machines sucked.

He'd complained the first time a man was mangled in the vicious teeth of the conveyor, insisting that maintenance check the safety monitoring systems. He'd learned after the fifth incident that it was useless to complain. The Empire didn't care that people were dying.

He watched as a droid buzzed past, carrying a fresh load of debris. Frowning, he shrugged off the goose bumps that caressed his flesh. If there was ever a sign that the Earth would never be the same, those droids were it. Silent in their duties, he couldn't help but feel that they were the Empire's silent spies, taking in every word and monitoring every action.

Storm troopers, in their white uniforms and menacing masks, patrolled the sight looking for stragglers. They didn't care if a man was too sick or if he was hurt. They didn't care if the worker was too old or too young. They wanted production; their precious alloys for their precious fleets.

Striping the Earth of all its resources, they raped and pillaged without the promise of replacing or rebuilding. Already they'd stripped all the metals and alloys from personal vehicles, buildings, weapons and structures. Even the Statue of Liberty had been dismantled and melted down.

The whole Earth was being thrown into a third world state as they were forced to live in huts with no electricity or modern comforts that the twenty-first century had promised. Food was scarce, usually coming from gardens that had to be guarded for fear of thievery. That was the only good thing about these work camps. They were guaranteed a warm, dry place to stay with three square meals a day. As far as advantages went, that was it when it came to this place.

He'd seen his share of suffering in the past three years. Not only had he witnessed countless deaths in the camp, he'd also seen families torn apart as fathers and sons were taken from mothers and wives. It'd been over a year since he'd seen his own family. Every day he prayed that his wife and children were safe. Every second that went by was another reminder that he'd probably never see them again.

"Damn," he hissed as he spotted a worker collapse. "Someone get that man up. Now!"

In his heart he felt bad for the man but he couldn't show any weakness. If he weren't hard on the men then they'd all suffer. The Empire would only have him killed and replaced him with someone else, possibly less competent.

"What's the problem Pratt?"

He lifted his comm, cursing under his breath. "Nothing Commander. A man just slipped. Everything's fine here."

"Everything doesn't look fine. You'd better advice that man if he doesn't want to work then we'll find someone else who does. Permanently."

Ted closed his eyes, pulling in a deep breath. "Yes sir, Commander. I'll tell him."

He quickly strolled to the man who was being assisted by a boy no older than fifteen.

"Get up old man, big brother's watching."

"He needs to see a doctor," the boy said.

Ted cursed again. "Okay, get back to work. I'll take it from here."

The boy nodded and left. Kneeling down he inspected the man. He was old, probably in his late sixties, and obviously sick. His eyes were closed as he struggled for air with short, raspy breaths. Ted placed his hands on the man's neck, checking the pulse. His fingers could barely feel the weak blood flow.

Shaking his head he lifted the comm. "We're going to need to evac this man to the med center."

"No. Leave him. He's obviously old. The Empire will not waist valuable resources on such a hopeless cause."

"I'm not going to just leave him here," Ted insisted. "He needs help. If you won't put him in a med center than at least let one of my off duty guys tend to him in the dorm."

"Fine, if you can find someone willing to waist their free time on such a hopeless cause, than by all means…"

"Thank you Commander. You are a most generous man," Ted replied, hoping that didn't sound as sarcastic as it felt.

He turned to see a pair of foremen nearby. "Hey, Jim, Lucas! Come here a second."

Jim, a young man of about twenty, and Lucas, a middle-aged man, came over.

"What's up Ted?" Jim asked.

"Help me get this guy back to the dorm. Lucas, cover for me until I get back."

"Sure thing boss," Lucas nodded.

Jim looked at the man and frowned. "Shouldn't we get him to the med center?"

"Not according to Commander Perkins."

Shaking his head, Jim knelt down and helped him lift the elderly gentleman.

"The men aren't going to take much more of this," Jim warned.

"What choice do they have? We don't have any weapons to speak of. What are we going to do? Throw rocks at them?"

Jim smiled. "Rocks, no. Something a little more lethal, yes."

"Like what?" Ted asked as they carried the man over the uneven terrain.

"Wait until we get inside," Jim promised.

They struggled up the ramp as they carried the man out of the pit. Men momentarily paused in their labors to watch. Some offered to help but Ted refused. There was no need in testing Commander Perkins' patience any further by pulling men away from their work.

As they entered the dorms they were finally relieved by off duty workers in the lounge.

"Take care of this man. Make him comfortable," Ted instructed. "Do what you can for him."

The men nodded and carried him to one of the vacant rooms.

Ted followed Jim to a small storage area in the kitchen. Behind the boxes of canned goods and dried foods he pulled out a box. Opening it, he revealed a pair of blasters.

"Jim, where did these come from?" Ted asked in mild shock.

"The underground. They also sent a few men to assist should things get out of hand. They're in my crew. They're expecting more men and weapons to come in every day. Right now the extra blasters are going to the foremen. These two are ours. When we get more, they'll go to the men."

Ted shook his head. "This is asking for trouble. If we get caught with these…"

"They'll kill us? As if that wasn't going to happen sooner or later? Look at the man we just brought here. Do you think they'd react any differently if that were one of us? These," he paused, raising a blaster, "at least guarantee that when something happens, and you know it will, we'll take a few of those s.o.b.'s with us."

Silently nodding, Ted couldn't help but agree. The men would rather die in revolt than break their bodies until they were deemed useless.

"Alright," Ted approved. "But we need to put these somewhere a little less obvious."

"No sweat," Jim nodded. "I'll take care of it."

Strople stepped off ramp and into a new world. He looked around in a daze, not quite sure what to make of what he saw. All nervousness from his first trip through a black hole was momentarily forgotten.

"Quite a sight, isn't it?" Gat asked as he joined his friend.

"This is a spaceport?" Strople asked in an unbelieving tone.

"Pretty creative I think. You have to remember that these guys were never in the Empire or the Republic. Their designs are their own."

Strople gazed up at the structure, a mixture of organic and artistic designs. He could see traces of the bryumine alloy in the basic framework. Strange plants of every color weaved through it, creating a complex, yet beautiful architecture.

"Notice the lights?" Gat asked, pointing to the soft blue bulbs above them. "Those are flowers that bloom all year round. I don't know how they do it, but a team of gardeners keeps everything healthy. They also influence the growing patterns to keep this place structurally sound."

Strople could only shake his head in amazement.

"Come on, I want to show you something else," Gat prodded.

The newly appointed Imperial officer followed his friend, not sure what to expect. They walked through the crowded hanger. More of the Empire's special black hole ships, what he'd been told were MK-61 Phantoms, were parked throughout the hanger, as well as Tie and X-wing class fighters. In the back, isolated, was a ship of simple design unlike anything he'd ever seen.

"Let me guess," Strople began. "Bryum's own fighters."

"The Bryumines built them, but not for fighting," Gat corrected. "There are no weapons, but they are structurally sound. With that alloy of theirs, these things are nearly indestructible. They can take several direct hits from a Star Destroyer and still keep going."

"Do they use the same principles in their technology that we use in ours?"

Gat smiled and shook his head. "Our scientists are scratching their heads over these babies. They can fly circles around ours without even trying. We don't know how their engines work or even know what fuel sources they use. We've tried interrogating a few of the ship's designers but they refuse to talk."

"I can see why. Combine these ships with our weapons..."

"That's another thing," Gat added. "They have these blasters that they use for mining that alloy of theirs. It has enough power to punch through any shield you can think of. If they'd attached them to these ships and decided to fight us off, there's no way we could have invaded. They just refused to fight."

"They refused? Even under the threat of invasion?" Strople scoffed.

"Doesn't make much sense, does it?"

"So I take it we're going to smuggle some of these blasters too?" Strople asked with a sly smile.

Gat shook his head. "Maybe one day; when the Empire figures out the technology behind them. These things have them more stumped than the ships. They don't know where it gets its power source. They tried dismantling one and were vaporized in the process."

"Do they use hyperspace technology?"

"That's the one thing they don't have," Gat admitted. "They can get pretty far in one of these things though. They've even visited that other planet I told you about, Earth, on a few occasions. Seems the few Earthlings they met became so freaked out that they decided it best not to visit again."

"The Earth natives a little primitive?"

Gat laughed. "I'd say. They're evolution took place several millennia after ours but they do have some promise, making some impressive strides in the last hundred years or so. They have spacecraft that can orbit the planet; even made it to their own moon once, from what I've heard. They're mainly good at sending out little toys that orbit the other planets in their system, taking pictures and sending out primitive droid like exploration vehicles for collecting samples of the surface."

"Sounds cute," Strople sarcastically replied. "So when do I get to meet one of these Bryum natives?"

"One thing at a time, my friend. First we need to check in at the mining facility, give Grand Moff Heaton a call, let him know we've arrived, get our orders, meet our subordinates, give them their orders… you know, military stuff."

Strople sighed unhappily, having been reminded what he'd committed himself to.

"Cheer up Commander, this is a vacation compared to some of the other jobs in the military."

"Thank the Force for small favors," Strople wryly replied.

Marcus and Trevor stepped into the deserted market. The bright moon above gave off a surreal glow on the structures around them. They approached the booth where Rico did business and waited. The wind blew softly, carrying the damp air and the promise of rain. Marcus frowned, pulling his jacket tight around his neck.

"I don't like this," he said. "I knew he wouldn't show."

"He'll show," Trevor reassured. "You just need to have a little more trust in people."

Marcus gave him a wary look. "I don't have a problem trusting people who are trustworthy."

Trevor knew Marcus was referring to more than just Rico. Sighing, he closed his eyes and allowed the Force's gentle currents to sooth his guilt. For too many good reasons, Marcus didn't trust him and probably never would.

"He's here," Trevor said as he sensed the man approaching, "and he's alone."

"Hello my friends," Rico's hushed voice greeted them. "Come with me, quickly, before we are seen."

The two men followed Rico away from the empty market and into the dense forest nearby. Trevor made a mental note of where they were heading, though the clouds above obscured many of the stars, making it difficult to determine what direction they were traveling. They eventually came to a small clearing. Soft lamps lit the area, revealing a makeshift shooting range. Two targets sat at the end of the clearing, barely visible in the dim light. The small crate of weapons stood at their feet.

Rico placed a briefcase on the crate and opened it, revealing the extra rounds he'd agreed to.

"There are seventy-five cartridges with two hundred rounds each in addition to the fifty rounds already in the guns themselves."

Marcus pulled out a small device and stepped forward.

"What is that?" Rico asked.

"A scanner," Marcus replied. "To make sure there are no tracking devices on the weapons."

Rico looked pale in the subtle light. "They can do that?"

Trevor smiled. "Oh yeah. You really should be more careful when you agree to sale Imperial technology. They have their spies everywhere."

Marcus finished with the rounds, satisfied, and opened the crate. After a few seconds he nodded. "They're clean."

He took out a weapon and handed it to Trevor. He removed another for himself.

"These things aren't going to make too much noise are they? Attract some unwanted attention?" Marcus asked.

Rico shook his head. "I can assure you we are quite alone."

The two men proceeded to test the weapons, releasing several shots from each in order to test their accuracy.

"What do you think?" Trevor asked as he finished testing the last of the fifteen weapons.

"They seem okay," Marcus shrugged. "Pay him and let's get out of here."

Trevor nodded and pulled out the money, handing it to Rico. "Here. Make sure no one knows about this."

Rico nodded his head. "Don't worry my friends. I would be in as much trouble as you if I were caught."

They watched as the man disappeared into the forest.

"So," Marcus asked. "Do you know how to get out of here?"

Trevor smiled, wanting to ask if Marcus actually trusted him enough to lead them home. Knowing that wasn't such a good idea, he merely nodded. "Yeah man, follow me."

Grand Moff Heaton's life sized image flickered before his two newest subordinates. He wearily examined them with an air of disinterest, a disapproving scowl on his face.

"Tell me Commander Strople; I am quite unfamiliar with your past assignments and qualifications. I assume Admiral Westlan had a good reason for selecting you above the many other obvious candidates."

'Force, this man gives me the creeps,' Strople thought, desperate to end the meeting.

"Well, your Grand Moffness, Sir," he started, flushing as Heaton took obvious offense. "I have an extensive background in dealing with large shipments of various valuable artifacts; objects that the owners preferred to be kept, shall we say, invisible to any unwanted eyes."

Heaton's frown deepened. "Are you saying you're a smuggler?"

"No Sir, I mean, I wouldn't call it that exactly," Stople unsuccessfully tried to explain.

"Then what exactly would you call it?" Heaton demanded, his cold demeanor hinting of the malice he was capable of.

"What he means, Sir, is that he worked under Grand Moff Tarkin, supervising shipments for his special projects."

Heaton raised an eyebrow. "Indeed? Curious that Tarkin has never mentioned you."

"Well Sir," Strople explained, catching on to Gat's bluff, "as you know, the projects he's been working on are... of such an enormous size, that it's impossible for him to keep up with all of the subordinates he has assigned to various shipments."

The Grand Moff carefully examined them both for what felt an eternity before responding. "Yes, well, the Emperor has not privileged me with the information involving Tarkin's many costly projects. I assume that you've been forbidden from discussing them, so I'll not ask for any further details.

"I will be keeping a close eye on you and your progress. As you know, this alloy is of the utmost importance to the Empire. Should you both prove useful, not only will I allow you to work on other, similar projects of importance, but as the Empire continues to expand in this Galaxy, the time will come when I will need to appoint a Grand Admiral to supervise the fleets under Lord Quietus' supervision. I don't need to remind you, Admiral Westlan, that as one of the highest ranking officers in this region, you would be qualified for such a promotion… should I feel inclined to give such a recommendation. And you, Commander Strople, could be the next candidate inline to take Admiral Westlan's place."

"Thank you Sir," Gat said with a bow.

"Yes, thank you," Strople added.

"These recommendations, however, will not come lightly. As you know, I am not inclined to promote just anyone. I expect strict adherence to my orders. I know this is a small region in comparison with others in the Empire, but as you know, that will not always be the case. It will be tempting to see this as a holiday of sorts, where the rules are a little more flexible as you are no longer under the close, watchful gaze of the Emperor. But let me remind you that he is ever aware of what we are doing here and will not tolerate deviation from his rules in the least. It is up to me to make sure his will is enforced and, in turn, the responsibility will fall on you to ensure that my will is enforced as well."

Heaton paused, confident that his message was well received. "Very well gentlemen. I will be watching your progress, remember that. You are dismissed."

"Yes sir, thank you," Gat bowed again as the Grand Moff's image flickered out.

"Wow," Strople said with a shake of his head.

"Yeah, he's something else, isn't he?" Gat smiled.

"So what was that all about?"

"Well, he's very particular about who he has working for him. He usually brings in his close friends and associates in order to ensure he has total control. He gives them a nice, cushy job and they keep his ear full with all the latest news."

"Then what was with all that promotion talk? We're not his close friends."

"That's just the way he operates. He's trying to bribe us."

Strople frowned. "And what exactly does he expect from us?"

"That depends on what you have to offer him," Gat explained. "Me, I'm sure he wants a cut in the shipments we'll be supervising. Just like us, he wants to make a profit."

"Is that also what he wants from me?"

"You? I doubt it. He thinks you worked for Tarkin. He's going to probe you for information on the special projects you supposedly worked on."

"What?" Strople gasped in a panicked voice.

"Don't worry about it. Tarkin has many projects he worked on and I just happened to have been assigned to one of them. If he asks, just tell him you worked on the MK-61's."

"The black hole ships?"

Gat nodded. "Tarkin supervised their construction. Heaton knows that, but not too many others do. You tell him you worked on those and he'll know you're not lying."

"But I am lying."

"He'll never know that," Gat laughed, amused by his friend's paranoia. "Trust me, you'll be fine."

Trevor quietly approached the lone hut, his senses tuned in for any disturbance in the Force. His face, usually a picture of happy contentment, was tense and serious. His keen eyes scanned the darkness for anything out of place. Rain had decided to begin its decent, masking any unusual sounds.

The hut was small but well built. From a distance it looked like any other hut, its door and walls the appearance of cheap plywood, the floor composed of dirt and weeds. Upon closer inspection one could see that the door was thick and heavy and that the walls were much sturdier than they appeared. If one were to step inside they would see a dirt floor; what they wouldn't see is the concrete underneath, nor the secret door that opened to an underground room much larger than the small hut.

Trevor rapped on the door once, paused, rapped twice more and paused again. A knock could be heard from the inside. Trevor knocked twice more and waited. The door cracked open, not enough to see inside but enough for the person on the other side to see out.

"It's late and the storm has come. What brings you here this hour?"

Trevor recognized the line and recited the correct response. "I am only a humble traveler looking for some company. I am willing to trade for food."

The door opened a bit more, bidding him to enter. As he stepped inside the door closed, bathing him in darkness. A moment later, dim light appeared as the underground door opened. He walked down the stairs and waited. A young woman, no more than eighteen, soon followed.

"Where's Marcus?" She asked.

"He's keeping watch. He felt it was safer this way."

She nodded. "So what brings you here Trevor?"

"Well Nina, I was hoping to speak with your father. He's out I take it?"

"He had some business in town. He'll be back in the morning. He told me you guys might be dropping by."

Trevor smiled in surprise. "He did? I didn't even know until a little while ago. Did he say why he thought we'd be paying you a visit?"

Nina shook her head. "No, just a gut feeling I guess. He gets those from time to time."

"Yeah, I've heard those gut feelings are usually pretty accurate."

He looked around the room. In the corner he could see a stockpile of weapons and ammo, most of them Imperial class. In another corner he could see sophisticated computer equipment and communication devices.

"I see you guys have been busy," he observed.

A smile graced Nina's pretty face. "Yes, we have. We had much more weapons than this but we've been distributing them to the underground."

"Good," Trevor nodded. "That's actually why we're here. Marcus and I've come across fifteen heavies that we thought you guys might be willing to take off our hands."

"They're clean I take it?" She asked.

He smiled his famous toothy grin. "Of course! I'd never put you guys in danger. We even tested them out. They're beautes."

"Where are they?"

"In the usual drop off point. That's still a good place, right?"

She nodded. "For now. We're looking into changing it though. Do you have ammo too?"

"Oh yeah," he winked. "Five cartridges each."

"Excellent," she grinned. "We'll check them out."

"That's all I needed to hear. Well I don't want to keep Marcus standing out there in the rain too long so give your father my regards."

"I will," she said, giving him a brief hug. "Give the guys mine."

"Oh, I'm sure Mark will love to hear that," he laughed.

"Really?" She asked in a somewhat shocked and embarrassed tone.

"The kid's crazy about you, but you didn't hear that from me."

Her face flushed. "Well, I'll see you. May the Force be with you."

"And may the Force be with you too Nina."

She walked him up the stares and let him out the hut. He found Marcus huddled under the large leaf of a banana tree.

"Miss me?" He asked.

Marcus smirked. "Tons. So will they take them?"

"Of course," He smiled. "Hey, do you think Mark likes Nina?"

Marcus gave Trevor a baffled frown. "Huh?"

"You know, she's a really cute gal and he's close to her age. I kind of told her he likes her, just to see her reaction. Man does she have the hots for him."

Marcus shook his head. "Leave it to you to take a serious meeting and turn it into an eighth grade dance."

"I just figured, with the world going the way it is, there should be at least some things for the kid to look forward to. Thanks to the Empire, he's missed out on high school, learning to drive, asking girls out, and going to prom. You know, all that awkward crap that we cringe at now but thought was oh so damn important back then."

"So in other words, Mark is actually lucky to miss all of that."

"No," Trevor shook his head. "You have to admit, those were the best years of our lives. It's a shame he has to miss out on all that. I thought I'd give him a little taste."

Marcus nodded. "If he goes for it. He's so engrossed in the whole Jedi persona he may not be interested in love right now."

Trevor smiled. "That's the best time for it to enter in his life. Love always comes when it's most inconvenient, shakes things up; makes you remember that you're alive."

"And you don't think that will distract him from the war?"

"It'll give him another reason to fight my friend. We all need that."

Admiral Heaton walked briskly towards the communications room. A small but confident smile, an expression some would describe as smug, broke on his tightly drawn lips. As he entered, the men inside immediately stood to attention… all but the impetuous Darth Quietus, he wryly observed. The two men exchanged glances tainted with distrust and mild respect.

"I take it we've heard from our spies in the rebel camps?" Heaton asked no one in particular.

"Yes Sir," Admiral Lytron replied in the nauseating tone of one eager for recognition and praise. "The rebels have begun smuggling weapons and warriors into the Alaskan mining facilities."

"Excellent. All is going as planned," Heaton smiled, leaving no question that it was his plan and no one else's.

"I still don't agree with this tactic," Quietus insisted. "Provoking the workers into rebelling will only make Earth that much harder to handle. As it is, we've lost any and all support the Emperor had gained when we first occupied the planet. The fact that we're pushing them into rebellion will not go unnoticed forever."

"I thought you of all people would appreciate the genius behind our tactics," Heaton scoffed irritably, clearly tiring of the debate. "These rebels pose no real threat to our Empire. We are merely flushing out the ring leaders and putting an end to their useless efforts once and for all; ring leaders, I need not remind you, which include your son."

Quietus frowned. "There are other ways to find them. Clearly your spy could locate them without the need for unnecessary loss of life and resources."

"I wouldn't call this unnecessary," Heaton corrected. "Remember, the leaders include more than just your son and the so called Jedi of Earth. In one swift action we will expose and arrest all of the leaders."

"I don't need to remind you that my son's welfare is of the utmost importance. He must be captured alive and brought to me personally."

"Yes, yes; you need not remind me of orders that came from the Emperor himself."

"Just as long as we're clear about that," Quietus stated, his eyes hard and cold. "Palpatine would be most displeased should something happen to him."

The two continued to lock stares; clearly trying to show the men around them that the one was not intimidated by the other.

"Should anything happen to your son, I will personally deal with the persons responsible," Heaton promised.

"No," Quietus corrected, his tone cold and threatening. "Should something happen to my son, I will personally hold you responsible."

"Very well," Heaton said before flashing a curt smile and dismissing Quietus with a glance at Lytron. "Is that all, Admiral?"

"Yes Sir. I will inform you the moment we hear anything else."

"Good," he nodded before leaving without as much as another glance at the men.