There were several ways they could go about their mission to get their hands on Carskov.

Kidnapping his wife was one option. It would have meant setting up a safe house on Zeltros, kidnapping her, then getting word to him, then dealing with the inevitable violence of a furious spy out to save his wife. Nothing they couldn't handle, probably, though as he brought in more and more agents to help it would certainly get ugly.

Following her and waiting for Tarl to show up, then kidnapping him was an option as well. That one was harder, but safer. By the time his people realized he was missing from his vacation, they'd have had days to work him over. The problem was that like most spies, NRI agents were trained to resist interrogation and torture. Mando'ad were good at many things, but they were a military focused culture, not an espionage one. They'd be playing his game if they tried to force him to talk, and he'd be able to hold out long enough for his people to come looking. Even if they never found him or the body, they'd piece together what had happened. It was a mess they didn't need.

Fortunately, it took a certain type of person to become a spy, become a good one, and then remain one.

First, you had to be someone patriotic, who believed in the nobility of his government or nation's cause. Who, despite being smarter than the average grunt who took that patriotism and joined the military, still believed in self sacrifice and doing what needed to be done. Or course, those 'smarts' were the key to everything.

Because patriotism wasn't enough. Eventually, the patriot would become disillusioned as a spy. Unlike in the military, where it was beaten and forged into the very bones of a soldier, spies were taught different lessons, because while you needed a patriot to become a spy, a patriot would do stupid things. Like refuse to compromise, to sell out his friends, family, coworkers, and even nation, for the sake of the nation's cause. A soldier would never leave a comrade behind. A spy needed to be able to not only leave a comrade behind, he needed to be able to sell him out and then shoot him in the knee so he couldn't escape. In the end, a spy learned to look out for number one more than anyone else, and only kept being a spy and doing the mission because it increased the odds he wouldn't be the one kneecapped and sold out.

Which inevitably led to two kinds of spies. Those who got to come in from the cold and be the spymaster who sat behind the desk and decided the course of his nation, or the spy in the cold who looked after number one like a desperate tatoo-rat. Both kind looked for any kind of profit they could secret away in the hopes that one day they might either be free of the game, or powerful enough to enjoy the spoils of their labors, though the latter often indulged heavily since death could come at any moment.

Carskov was very much in the latter category. He'd been angling for a desk job for years now according to the information they could buy, but between being an excellent field agent, and not finding a post that suited his and his wife's tastes, he had yet to receive the cushy Core adjacent assignment of his dreams. That left him hungry, out in the cold, and looking for the big break that would allow him to earn his master's favor or the power to subjugate them.

New Republic, Imperial Remnant, Chiss Ascendancy, Vongese, it didn't matter. Spies were spies.

Which made it rare for a field agent to actually get married. Having attachments was a risk, not to mention being parted from your spouse for great lengths of time. Those that did always had a plan. If Skira had to guess about Tarl's plan for Luminia, it was because she was very rich thanks to her business as a jeweler. A back up retirement plan.

So the key to the spy was his wife, and the key to the wife was her business.

Threaten to ruin the wife's business and he'd do anything to protect his little next egg.

"Moving out," Raana said.

"Copy," Skira said. A tug on Ryn's leash caused the Twi'lek to crawl up on top of him, pressing her body close. To those around them, it would look like he was finally joining in with the spirit of the indelicate activities happening around them. It made it easy to keep watch over the target without drawing attention.

Well, perhaps easy wasn't the right word. Ryn had been very well trained in the arts of pleasure, and even her faking them was more than many a woman could do on her best day when driven to the maddest throws of passion. The fact she faked it while being filled with honest love for him didn't help matters.

Luminia, meanwhile, was not faking her passionate interest in the Zeltron she was pressed against. Part of him wondered how Tarl would feel about his wife's obvious dispensing with monogomy in the face of the crimson skinned man. Then again, Zeltros was one of those planets were it wasn't uncommon for people to give their spouses free passes, or so he was told.

He supposed he wasn't in any place to judge, given his own rather unique relationship. Mando'ad as a rule were monogamous, something that was only natural for a race built on a trust and honor based culture. Some of his clan were not happy that he had a lover along with his wife. The fact said lover had been his slave out of necessity, and still largely required that life style even after having been made Mando'ad, was the only thing that got him a pass from his closest relatives.

As he watched the interplay of green and crimson flesh, he played out their plan in his head.

At that moment, Raana would be making her way down from their rooms, likely dressed in a very fetching white bikini that was marginally more modest than the one currently on Ryn. From there she would make her way to the hotel's vault to "check on" the special package they had placed in there. While it was still several days to the convention, Luminia would have brought her stock for the event with her and placed it in the hotel's vault as well. The Mirialan's package was full of precious jewelry. The Mando'ad's package was filled with scanning equipment. They would scan Luminia's products, making three dimensional renders of them.

By tomorrow morning, the scans would be complete and one of them would retrieve the files, taking them to the Black Bird. There, high quality fakes would be replicated out of inferior materials. Not of all the products, of course, but probably a quarter of them depending on time and intricacy. From there, the fakes would be swapped with the real products just in time for them to go on sale at her booth. While she was off enjoying the meet and greets, or time with her husband, Luminia's assistant would be happily selling the galaxy's wealthy cheap knock offs. By the time they realized what was happening, it would be too late to stop.

Then, Skira would approach the distraught couple with a list of the fakes, along with the real jewelry's location. In exchange for that information, Tarl would give him everything about Meld'an's little operation. Who was behind it, where the man was, how to find them, everything. Then, with Skira's information, Tarl would be able to use his spy skills to swap out the fakes for the real jewelry and none would be the wiser.

If he refused, then Skira would quietly leak the information about the fakes to the buyers while making it look like Luminia had intentionally ripped them off with the intention of selling the real pieces at a later date, doubling her profits at their expense.

He was going to have to thank his Buir for the plan. It was a lot better than his original one of beating the information he wanted out of the spy. As his mood lifted, and the Twi'lek in his lap grew more aroused, the Zeltron servers stopped avoiding him and came by to refill his drink.

Of course, it was reliant on Tarl actually showing up. The fact Luminia had shown up a day later than average was a concern as well. For the last ten years, she had always arrived six days before the conference to meet up with her husband, who had always been here to meet her.

Ryn pressed down against him with her hips, while arching like a bow and tossing her lekku back. Her violet eyes caught sight of the target and her lekku rippled in simulated pleasure. Or not so simulated, as it were. The fat Qiraash took note for a moment, before his two partners drew his attention back to them. Skira doubted the man even noticed his pockets becoming lighter and lighter as they spent his creds on drink and spice.

The Twi'lek curled up against his chest, lips pressed against his neck as her lekku wrapped around him.

"Something is wrong with her, Master," she purred into his ear as she rolled her hips.

Skira observed the woman, trying to keep a scowl from forming on his face. No normal man would be scowling while a twi'lek love slave pleasured him. Luminia was smiling and giggling, practically glowing under the Zeltron's fawning attentions.

"She seems to be having a good time," he said.

"She's faking it," Ryn said, pressing close. "She's not happy. She's worried. Something is wrong."

Lesser men would have questioned Ryn's observation, but he didn't. She'd had the ability to read even the slightest manifestation of emotional body language beaten into her. A slave was meant to pleasure their master or mistress, and it was a matter of survival to be able to read not only what caused the greatest pleasure, but also to know when something wasn't working in order to adapt. If Ryn said Luminia was faking it, then Ryn knew what she was talking about.

"Raana, we might have a hick up in our plan," he said under his breath into the commlink.

His wife's voice didn't change as she talked to the concierge who was escorting her into the vault, but she did click her tongue twice as if slightly concerned over something they'd said.

Now, of course, the question was why. There were many reasons a female might fake happiness and pleasure, depending on species and culture. A few were universal. Money. Power. Safety.

Skira doubted it was money. The Zeltron she was with appeared no different than any of the dozens of staff or locals who were plying their planet's trade in pleasure.

Power seemed out as well. He wasn't noticeably older, he didn't carry himself with the power of a politician or businessman, nor did he walk with a warrior's ease, meaning he wasn't military. He also didn't carry himself with the arrogance of the youthful elite, who were accustomed to getting what they desired from others rather than having to earn it.

Safety, then. Not from her companion though, the things that eliminated him as options for the former also removed him from being the latter. No, he was cover, something to keep her safe. A happy, lustful woman on a vacation to a pleasure planet as far as anyone watching was concerned.

Skira grunted softly as Ryn decided to stop faking their pleasure and make it real, forcing him to really focus on the task at hand as she worked their bodies together. Doing so with an expertly trained Twi'lek, however, was very, very hard. In more ways than one.

"Ryn," he growled softly.

"Hush," The twi'lek purred, nuzzling his neck. "People are watching us closely. Second story balcony behind you. And the Qiraash."

Skira let his hands begin to play with her body, drawing happy sounds from the former slave as she did what she'd been trained to do. If they were being observed, then that meant they weren't the only hunters here. Suddenly the options for why Luminia was afraid opened up beyond just his little group. It also complicated matters.

Sure enough, when he glanced towards the fat Qiraash, the large craniumed alien was paying extra close attention to them. Skira wasn't sure if it was simply because of Ryn's beauty, which rivaled and surpassed most of the Zeltrons there, or if he had other motives. Best not to assume anything. Given the amount of sex going on at the pool, he wasn't anything special to stare at, even if she was, and there were certainly more entertaining shows going down.

"Who is on the second floor?" he asked softly.

Ryn arched, letting out a moan as soft and pleasant as crystal chimes in a summer's breeze. Her eyes fluttered as if in the throws of climax, but he knew it merely disguised a sharp gaze. She collapsed back on top of him.

"Two men, one of them has a holocam." She purred softly. "One looks human, the other looks like he is either Pantoran or Chiss. Both are dressed as tourists."

"Republic Intelligence then," Skira mused. "They so do love shoving their diversity in everyone's face."

During the Galactic Empire, an time of human supremacy had taken hold of the galaxy. The reasons for it were simple. Most of the Core Worlds were settled and ruled by humans. Given the lengths and time hyperspace travel took, the closer one was to Coruscant, the galactic capital and the trade routes that all ran close to it, the older, wealthier, and more powerful a world tended to be. While a Class 1 hyperdrive could make the journey in days, and even traverse one end of the galactic trade-routes in a matter of weeks, those were the purview of the military, highest levels of government elite, and smugglers. Your average citizen tended to make do with ships that had Class 2 at best like his Bes'bev, often looking at Classes 3-5, which meant the trip would take three to five times longer than a class one drive. Meaning what was days or weeks for some, was often months for others. It had taken him nearly four months to reach Mandalor from the Pembrellan system, for example. Often, the further out one went, the lower the average class of drive for civilian use.

The other reason for it was related to the first. Much of the Confederacy of Independent Systems, the primary foe of the Clone Wars, had been made up of aliens from the Mid and Outer Rim, dissatisfied with the human dominated core worlds taking the lion's share of profits, wealth, and power. At least that was the official line. Many Mid-Rim and Core worlds had seen devastation by CIS forces, with their droid armies and alien leaders. War was bad enough when the other guy looked like you. When he looked nothing like you, it was easy to replace his sentience with monstrosity.

Thus, the Empire had pushed Human Supremacy, and the aliens had further resented it. To prove they were different, the Rebel Alliance had made a big deal about the inclusion of aliens in their war, as soldiers, agents, politicians, and heroes. While most of the Alliance had been human as well, they promoted their alien members contribution to the public to a great degree. Perhaps the most egregious example would be the Bothans, whose contribution to the destruction of the Second Death Star was treated with almost sacrosanct reverence.

To a Mando'ad, it seemed foolish. There were Mando'ade of all manner of species, his own family a good example of that. To his people, species didn't matter. No one cared who your buir was, only the buir you'd be. All were one in the Beskar'gam. Who you were in the past didn't matter. Who you were today, and if you were Mando'ade, was all that was important. Raana was Ranna. Ryn was Ryn. He was Adenn Skira. They fought beside each other. Nothing else about who they were was important.

Species politics aside though, the fact NRI was watching him didn't sit well. The fact they might also be watching Luminia occurred to him, but the sour feeling in his stomach didn't fade. There was only one reason they would be watching him and Ryn. The only reason he could think they'd be watching Carskov's wife was for the same reason he was.

Carskov.

This might mean a bigger change of plans.

He grunted as Ryn finished him off, the twi'lek shuddering from her own climax as she clung to him. Her body, already a higher temperature than his, was practically on fire from her exertions and her sweat soaked his clothes. Holding her gently, he tried to catch his own breath.

Tossing back most of his drink, he let her finish off the rest. She gave him a grateful smile, before tucking him away and moving to kneel beside his chair again. When he stood up, she gave him a curious gaze. Their plan had been to keep observing Luminia until her husband showed up, but she didn't resist as he tugged her leash and lead her away from the pool.

"Returning to base," he muttered under his breath. "Meet you there."

Raana clicked her tongue.

No plan survived contact with the enemy. The question was, which enemy had they just made contact with?

Author's Note: For those potentially wondering about the lengths of time mentioned for hyperspace travel and why they might seem different than what you're used to, I drew them from the materials in the West End Games Star Wars RPG, which has the honor of not only being the first SW RPG ever made, but one crafted so well that Lucasfilm's publishing division sent the books and supplements to it's authors in order to help them be as accurate as possible to the universe (Zahn is on record swearing by it). Something that has been invaluable as I was writing these Mando'ade stories.

I was lucky enough to get my hands on the Anniversary republishing of the original book, but all the books and supplements are available for free on the internet. It's possibly one of the best RPG systems I've ever played and I highly recommend you check it out if you ever want to run a Star Wars game with your friends. There's also the OpenD6 system, which was WEG taking the same rules set and making it a generic system much like Savage Worlds or GURPS, all of which are free on the internet as well (legitimately, the game was released under Creative Commons, so you're not going to need to play the high seas).