The Vehement slipped into hyperspace not long after the Inquisitors arrived.
Hurdling past the core worlds, the behemoth of a ship only came to a stop once it reached the mid-rim. Still not at its final destination, the stop was a small one, only long enough for a single man to arrive on an innocuous ship from a seemingly barren corner of the stars.
With the ISB quietly aboard, the Vehement slipped into hyperspace once more.
The imperial agent's arrival caused no ripples amongst the crew, no odd complaints from the hanger personnel, no noticeable commotion amongst the guards, the officers, nor even the support staff. But the ship's mood somehow became even more dour than it had been after Cal and Trilla's arrival, an odd hush settling over the place.
If the arrival of the Inquisitors had stoked terror within the ranks, the ISB brought with them a hushed dread. Where the Inquisitors brought a promise of violence, a guarantee of a battle with a deadly Jedi, the ISB could be an omen of any number of things.
All of which Cal was about to find out as he impatiently sat in a meeting room, waiting for the agent to arrive. A spartan place with a massive table, the room must have held two dozen of the ship's senior officers as well as Trilla and Cal.
Admiral Beryl sat at the table's head, the Vehement's captain to his right. After that, Cal recognized some of the faces, but couldn't be bothered to remember what they did, their heavy rank placards being enough for him to know that they didn't do much of anything at all.
What they did do was glare and mumble amongst themselves, none of them being rave or foolish enough to make an inflammatory comment too loudly or to directly for anyone else to be offended. Cal was about to tell the colonel to his right to just speak up and tell General Fost that he was being an idiot to his face, rather than gossip about it to a major.
But, the briefing room door slid open a moment before he did, and a hush settled over the room.
The mere arrival of the man in white sent a shiver down Cal's spine. There wasn't a ripple in the force around the newcomer, the man below the uniform being just that. He wasn't carrying a powerful weapon or being followed by a trained guard.
The ISB captain looked utterly unremarkable in every way: Flat brown hair cut to regulation; shoulders held squarely.
He was a simple man with a flat expression, and Cal knew for a fact that the slightest touch of anything related to the agent would leave him with visions of mangled prisoners and broken lives.
"I'm agent Gregor Manse, from the counter-insurgent operations division of the Imperial Security Bureau." he said as he crossed the room to click on the holoprojector in the table, casting a ghostly blue image of some planet over the table, "I'm here today to discuss the rebel activity on Qiilura. I'll begin this brief by covering the rebel seizure of a factory and the new development this rebel activity on Qiilura represents, then I will devote time to rebel persons of interest."
Cal shuffled in his seat, wondering why he was even bothering to sit through this. As if it would do something to reveal an answer, he cast a look across the table toward Trilla.
She didn't react while the agent went on, "Qiilura is an agrarian planet in the mid-rim, previously aligned with the republic. As of one month ago, we detected an active rebel cell in the mikra province. As of one week ago, this same rebel cell attacked and captured an agricultural processing plant."
The hologram in the center of the table zoomed into the image of the planet, a pulsing red dot over the factory's location, "This represents a new development by the rebels, who previously kept their activities isolated to the outer-rim and wildspace…"
Tuning out what the man had to say, Cal instead began to wonder what exactly the rebellion meant to him, taking over factories again, huh? Guess the more things change, the more they stay the same.
One of the officers asked a question, the agent paused to answer, Cal didn't catch any of the content.
Why are they fighting? Cal wondered, desperately trying to remember what he had believed when he fought side by side with the rebels on Kashyyyk, Hope? Chasing idea that things used to be better? Trying to go back?
Cal thought back to the rebel cell, some of them as young as he was, others decades further along in their lives.
They all wanted to restore the Republic, but what did the Republic ever do for me? Cal cast a glance back at Trilla, what did it do for either of us?
The agent and his brief went on, "Unless there are further questions, I will now move on to persons of interest."
The admiral waved Manse on after a beat of silence.
Cal let his thoughts linger. Well, the Republic is dead. We can't go back. I won't go back.
"Very well," Jolting Cal out of his thoughts, Agent Manse keyed the holoprojector to move from the map to an image of a familiar face, "We assess that known rebel Saw Gurrera is leading these efforts, based on fragmentary recordings and technical signatures."
Breath catching for a moment, Cal looked into Sol's flat image, You.
Mind back in the jungles of Kashyyyk, Cal almost stopped to wonder why they mysterious planet clung to him like a shadow. But a writhing mass of emotions stopped the thoughts. Cere had been right about the rebel, about him not being a man to trust. The fact that she'd seen what Cal could not cut in it's own way, sharp yet distinct from an violent tug at the heart that came from looking into the eyes of a man that left his companions behind.
Hopeless wookiee his in the shadow lands, clinging to a hope as pitiful as the one Cal had so desperately made his identity. Sol left them, just as he'd eventually leave the rebels on Qiilura, Cal was sure of it.
Sol left his people behind just as Cere left hers.
And that made him no better.
The brief had moved on without Cal. Agent Manse's droning voice seemingly part of the background, "…Local garrisons have encountered resistance from the native population, a marsupial species called the Gurlanin-"
"Nothing that an orbital bombardment won't quell," the first weapons officer confidently interrupted.
Earning nothing more than a halfhearted look from the admiral, the presentation didn't stall for long before Agent Manse continued on, "In addition to the natives, other local populations have given tacit support to the rebels. We assess as much as eighty percent of the population may hold anti-imperial sentiments."
The weapon's officer gave the admiral another pointed look.
Agent Manse noticed it, looking directly at the weapons officer he added, "Qiilura exports fifty percent of the empire's luxury foodstuffs. Significant disruptions to Qiilura's economy will impose direct and immediate consequences to the coreworlds, including Corescant."
Realizing what was happening, the weapons officer tried to maintain a dignified air that pretended he hadn't said anything brash at all.
Agent Manse didn't drop the topic, "Coruscant's reliance on Qiiluran exports is probably a motivating factor for Saw, he is likely choosing this planet to signal to the emperor that he is serious in his attempts to attack the Imperial way of life."
Knowing what was happening, and already tired of it, Admiral Baryl spoke up, "Got it. Who are the other persons of interest?"
Maintaining some semblance of professionalism, Agent Manse went to the next image in his presentation.
A woman, maybe in her late thirties, stringy light-colored hair. Cal didn't recognize her face.
"Kori Jenussa, former Jedi knight," Manse began.
Cal suddenly understood what they were doing there.
But he didn't understand what this had to do with Cere.
Looking at Trilla, he found no hints in the way she sat. Gone without the helmet for the meeting, it sat as an object on the table in front of her, her own face just as emotionless.
Keeping quiet for now, Cal looked away from the other Inquisitor, trying his best to focus on the agent and what was left of his mission brief.
"Complicating events, we believe that the rebel cell has taken portions of a local garrison hostage."
A series of small personnel files flickered up from the projector.
"On the morning of the 5th, when the processing plant was seized, a detachment from the 28th garrison was conducting routine inspections. We do not know if the troopers presence was a motivating factor for the rebel attack, or if the attack was simply poorly timed."
"Any idea if they're still alive?" one of the generals interrupted.
Manse looked to him, pausing for a moment "We assess that they are, however we can not judge what conditions their being kept in."
"Unfortunate," The weapons officer muttered, "what is the capacity of this particular processing plant?"
"Low," Manse replied, not looking away from the general, "compared to others in the region."
"Right." The weapons officer flicked his gaze to Admiral Beryl, searching fro a reaction before continuing, "Paxton, how long is it until we reach Qiilura?"
"Nearly a week." A woman that Cal vaguely recognized as working in navigation answered.
"Yes, nearly a week. Manse, how long does Sol usually keep imperial prisoners alive?"
The agents jaw locked slightly, "We have no indication that Sol purposefully collects prisoners."
"You're right. We don't. Admiral, the prisoners are unfortunate, but we're wasting time by considering them."
On his feet before he had time to think about what he was doing, Cal suddenly spoke up, "No."
Attention in the roof shifting to the usually silent Inquisitor, no one was quite sure if they had the authority to contradict him. A few officers let their eyes uneasily shift between the Fourth Brother, the weapons officer, and Admiral Beryl.
Not caring what the officers might think, Cal continued, "You guys just focus on the rest of the rebellion. I'll take a squad and rescue the patrol."
"A rescue?" The weapons officer incredulously echoed, "We have neither the time nor the resources to waste on-"
The weapons officer's words caught in his throat.
"I don't leave people behind." Cal hissed, "And while I'm here, neither will you."
The weapons officer bit down a grimace, then began to struggle to breath. With a halfhearted cough and a worried tug at the collar of his tunic he tried to play the sensation off. Then he felt an invisible noose close over him. Blood flow to his brain dropping to a trickle and air stuck in his mouth he found himself held up by the invisible grip around his neck as he frantically began to squirm. Feet sliding over the floor and pushing his chair back, his hands lamely scraping at his throat, searching for some way to free himself. Finding none, he cast a panicked look at Cal, his vision blurring and going black at its edges.
The panic seemed pathetic, "Understood?"
Quickly going limp as the blood struggled to reach his brain, the man barely had the ability to squeak out a "…Y-ess, sir"
Cal dropped him, a half-crumbled wreck as he hit the table.
For a long moment, no one said a word.
Having made his point, Cal slowly lowered himself back into his seat.
Expecting to be weighed down by the rest of the room's heavy looks, Cal found himself surprisingly light as everyone else was too fearful to meet his gaze.
The stunned silence crept along, an insidious thing that was only barely broken but Agent Manse, "Very well. That concludes my brief. Are there any questions?"
None of the officers spoke, Admiral Beryl gave a noncommittal wave.
Manse nodded back, "Hearing none, thank you for your time."