Ghosts (Part 9)

Not once in his entire life had he been somewhere so repulsive. So repugnant. In so many ways he was surprised that the walls were not oozing slime. Since they were not, he could only begin to guess where the stains on the floor had come from.

With all their colors, shapes, and sizes though, he was doing his best to keep away from whatever his imagination cooked up on the matter. Lest he be dared into dreaming up some terrible scenario that he would be forced to live through eternally through his nightmares. So terrible and numerous were the stains that he had been forced to give up on the hope of avoiding them through careful steps. Instead, he would be forced to requisition a new pair of boots once this was all said and done.

Which he would be able to afford. Stars, after this he should be able to afford anything he wanted. Save for a few things that would remain out of his reach. This wouldn't earn him an audience with the Emperor or his pet, but it should earn him a few lunches with his more direct superiors. Should he be so lucky, within a few months perhaps he could be dining with Moffs, all in the hopes of bettering his own career by having bettered their's.

Such was the potential rewards one could hope to reap when taking up tasks that meant dealing with devils. Accordingly, he had taken up the burden of making a deal with a Hutt, to better the Empire's trading and supply along the Outer Rim. Which had kept him away from more comfortable assignments for months now.

Months, all of which had been spent trying to appeal to an oversized slug whose laugh was obnoxious, and whose anger was summoned over the most petty things. So much time had he dedicated to amusing and appealing to the monster that he wasn't sure he would ever be able to escape its reach. Yet in more recent days a light had appeared at the end of the tunnel. Within the next few days, after much convincing, they were to sign over a number of rights to the region, all so that the Hutt could feel a bit safer and a bit richer.

All told, the Empire would benefit the most. Their network of communications and supply lines in this particular section of the Rim was set to grow exponentially, while all the Hutt was set to receive was a promise of protection. A term which had been easy to negotiate, once rumor of an individual with a lust for blood skulking started working its way through the grapevine.

The sooner such things were signed and finished, the better. He had grown tired of residing in the Hutt's home, which was equally as filthy as his hall. Worse still, it was filled to the brim with some of the most deplorable characters he had ever had the displeasure to inhabit space with. Any assortment of killers, whores, black market dealers, and any other kind of shady character had passed through the large drinking hall to deal with the Hutt. When such individuals weren't wasting time he could have spent dealing, he was still forced to sit close to a crowd of drunks that filtered in and out. At times he had even had to go and meet some of them, including handshakes and backslaps, all so that the Hutt could preen over his 'regulars'.

As though the Hutt needed to prove to Gideon that its businesses were successful. Gideon already knew that, as he told the Hutt any time he brought up the subject. Of course they knew his businesses were successful. If they weren't successful, then the Empire wouldn't be here. They would be bothering with slugs that were worth the trouble. Yet the Hutt, with a never ending supply of ego issues, was ever needing to point out such things.

Which made things odd, whenever the Hutt tried to make hints to Gideon about potential gift ideas. And oh what ideas they had been. Throughout his time here, Gideon had delivered gifts worth no less than seven individuals' yearly paychecks. Twi'lek dancers, imported in straight from Ryloth. One of which was a lethan of all things. A rare breed of red twi'lek, the Hutt had certainly been impressed by the notion. Not that he had ceased to ask for things after receiving that prize. No, after that he had requested his favorite pet, who had recently died, be immortalized by a prized taxidermist. His men complained for weeks about how the stench of the dead creature had worked its way into the walls of their ship as they transported it halfway across the galaxy to be stuffed. No amount of cleaning had ever taken the smell out to this day, and Gideon could only assume the ship would be melted down for resources rather than used again after this mission.

So for the song and dance to finally be ending was perhaps the greatest relief he had ever known. To the point where he was waiting for anything that could to wrong to do so.

Ghosts (Part 8)

Assignments had been given out that morning. Just as she had expected, Nadia had fallen back under the command of the two men she had joined in retrieving the witch. There was no surprise to be found in the matter, considering that it had likely been recommended from the top. She had convinced the witch to come aboard their little operation. Why shouldn't she continue being strapped to her, in some terrible attempt at keeping her on a leash?

Yet despite their time tables being firmly set, she hadn't seen the witch for nearly an hour. Given that they were due to depart in the next few hours, and that there was still much prepping to be done, that didn't really bode well for their schedule. Under her breath, Nadia cursed out whoever had decided to put that Dathomirian on the clock. The woman probably had little concept of such matters outside of the sunrise or the sunset.

Having covered the entire interior, she had been forced outside, to search through a forest full of trees. She had almost given up and returned, before passing by some clearing and noticing a fire. Stepping carefully over stones and climbing up on a small ledge, drawing closer to the flicker of its flame, she found herself stepping into a clearing.

The witch had piled up enough sticks and branches to make herself a small pyre, and was meditating in front of it, arms raised upward. Nadia couldn't help but allow her mouth to drop open somewhat as she watched. Regardless of whatever rumors had floated around, she had hardly considered the woman some sort of 'witch'. In all but perhaps a nickname. Sure, she was 'the witch' when being discussed, but that was hardly to be taken literally.

This seemed to indicate otherwise. Head tilted towards the sky, eyes rolled backward, the woman's arms seemed to sway with the breeze. Her mouth moved in what Nadia first thought was silence, until a quiet chant hit her ears. Whatever tongue it was in was beyond Nadia's knowledge, but she could only assume it was something Dathomirian in origin.

She stood there, watching for a long time, perfectly dumbstruck. After something like twenty minutes Gwynara's arms dropped and her head and body fell limp as she slumped forward. Holding her breath, Nadia slowly approached the woman, every motion tense. Once she had drawn close enough to be an arm's length away, the witch appeared to gain some sense of sturdiness, turning her head to stare at Nadia.

Biting her tongue, Nadia stared down at the woman for another long period of time. Once she had determined that there wasn't much of a simple way she could think of to breach this matter, she opted for the more direct approach in her words, "What exactly are you doing?"

As expected, she received that long, hard stare she had come to know from the woman. It seemed to be her natural way of looking at people, somewhere between disgust and curiosity. Apparently the latter of those two feelings won out in their little competition, though, as the woman spoke. It was in a surprisingly quiet, almost shy tone, but she spoke.

"I am communing with the spirits."

Nadia blinked, turning to look at the pyre, "Oh." It was the first thing the spring to mind at such an idea.

"It is a good way to build courage before we strike in battle." Gwynara stared up at her, expecting her to agree with the notion. Nadia allowed her head to bob. Returning the nod, Gwynara inched somewhat to the left, motioning to the space she had just opened up. With great hesitation, Nadia took it.

"Are we ah," she caught herself, trying to not talk before she thought herself through what she wanted to say, "Are we seeking to communicate with anyone in particular?"

A dark look passed the woman's face, "I always attempt to speak to my mother. She was a brave warrior. Her blessing is one that I treasure carrying into battle." She paused, frowning, "Is there anyone you would wish to commune with?"

Nadia stared at the woman, unsure of whether to consider her as mad as one could possibly be, or simply misguided in beliefs. Either way, she felt that the wrong response to that question would leave her filled with regret. "I knew a man once, who was a strong soldier," she finally said, with nothing short of hesitation.

The pale woman nodded, motioning for Nadia to follow her motions. While Gwynara closed her eyes, Nadia's remained open. Out of politeness, she followed through the various movements of the arms, but did not even try to follow along with the woman's rapid chanting. Nadia's gut clenched as she saw the woman's eyes roll deep back in her head, shifting rapidly as though looking at something she could never even hope to see. Once her chant had ended, she fell limp again, eyes falling forward.

Again Nadia wasn't sure if the woman was actually alright. She brought a hand forward to prod her, and after a few tries the woman did stir. The look she gave Nadia was one of disappointment. As she shook her head, she quietly murmured "I do not believe I could contact the spirit you may have sought. Perhaps they have not joined the rest."

A terrible feeling fell over Nadia, as she watched the woman stand and put out her fire with a simple wave of her hand. Though she followed the witch back to the base to resume their preparations, she couldn't escape that feeling. It followed her in from the forest and clung to her, like rain after a storm.

Ghosts (Part 7)

There was a pattern of occurrences, Nadia had noticed. No one seemed to like their newest rebel. Though 'like' wasn't the best word for it. More, people wanted to avoid her like a bad plague.

When it came time to assign her a bunk in the barracks, they had hit a rather large bump. Any time someone found out she was to be assigned to the bunk over or under them, they quickly filed a formal complain by means of shouting at the officer in charge of assignments. Said officer would then give the woman being assigned the bunk, with her dead stare, and decide that perhaps the complaint held some merit.

Such a process was repeated for several hours into the night. It wasn't until after midnight when they had finally established where the woman would be sleeping. Which was amusing to Nadia, given that she was certain that if they let her the woman would simply sleep outside on the ground. The conclusion they had finally had to settle on was that the woman who bunked under Nadia would relocate, and that the newcomer could take her place. When Nadia gave no complaints, there were a number of whispers about her sanity. At least three people stopped her to make sure she hadn't been "charmed by the witch" as though such things were actually possible. Even after she had assured them that she was certainly under the sway of no woman, she was allowed to move on, only to be stopped further down the hall.

Once she had settled, the night still seemed to drag on. Below her, the Dathomirian never seemed to find her place, tossing and turning, this way and that. By the time she did nod off of to sleep, such a state seemed to bring terrible, labored breaths, as though the entire process had sent the woman from a panicked state into some terrible nightmare.

The next morning had met a similar experience in a different part of the routine. Convincing the woman to take a shower wasn't as hard as Nadia thought it was going to be. Given how long it looked since the woman had bathed, she wondered if things mattered in her culture. But nothing really needed explained, though she had only been given a scoff upon showing the different washes they had access to.

Breakfast was met with a rather large amount of caution, both from those familiar with the activity, and those who weren't. Gwynara looked at their meal as though it were potentially poisoned, and those around her looked at her as though she were potentially poisonous. After that a training session was met with more reasonable results. A few people were willing to meet their little "witch" in combat, and a similar number were overpowered via a mixture of stealth and a staff. Some of the more seasoned combatants were able to secure a victory during a spar, but not without some effort.

The second meal of the day found fewer people treating the newcomer as they would a sickly animal, with a few of the soldiers in the canteen attempting to socialize, only to be rebuked. Or rather, ignored. Nadia sat across the room, scrawling notes with amusement. Any man who approached Gwynara was promptly ignored, just as she expected. As her research had found, Dathomir and its societies firmly placed the women on top. Men were rarely treated as more than slaves, unless they managed to save the life of a woman, at which point they might be considered an equal. So the men being ignored was to be expected. Though any woman who attempted to converse with the Dathomirian wasn't much more successful, getting only a set of grunts.

By the end of the day, Nadia was under the impression that perhaps their newest member wasn't entirely set against the idea of being near people. That, or she was attempting to appear agreeable before she went and slit their throats one by one. At the very least, she wasn't actively hostile to them, which meant they likely had a decent asset on their hands.

Ghosts (Part 6)

Given enough time, Maria Hayworth had been told she could convince anyone of anything. She just had that sort of personality. It was a useful skill to have, when one happened to be in charge of people. Her natural talent for conversion had allowed her sway enough people to have established a small foothold for the Rebellion in this sector of the Outer Rim, and had kept defections low and AWOL soldiers to a minimum.

At other times it had helped her convince people that what they were doing was worth it in the end. Such things needed to be done, especially when people were bound to question their orders. Few people liked to be the type of person who had to do what was best for the Rebellion most of the time. Because few people realized that what was best for the Rebellion wasn't what their moral code told them.

The stories spread about the Rebellion were obviously meant to give them the appearance of a number of white knights among a growing darkness. A champion of the people, for the people. It was a propaganda piece, often enough. Not to say they weren't trying to achieve such goals, and that they weren't fighting for the people. Just that no one was likely to join if they knew coming in that sometimes allies of the Rebellion had to die, if it meant that the rest of them could go on as usual.

What that meant was that she had to be able to appeal to enough types of people so that they would join, and afterwards be able to convince them that some of their more questionable orders were for the greater good. Most could be convinced that killing Imperials was alright, given their hatred for them. Things like having to set up explosions in public places with a risk for collateral damage, was harder to pull off.

All of that said, sitting down in a room with what essentially amounted to an overeager assassin wasn't exactly something she was used to. Trained killers, sure. Hired guns, oh yes. Both of those the Rebellion had probably contacted at one point or another. But someone who had a decent sized track record of Imperial deaths already, without having been hired or inspired by them, was not something she was necessarily used to. Considering the look she was getting from said individual, her guest wasn't used to the idea either.

She sat rigidly in the seat they had found for her, staring off at the door to the room they had left her in. Her hands fidgeted with each other. Her lips were moving as though muttering to herself. Watching from the observation window, Maria couldn't help but be on edge as she finally convinced herself to enter the room. Not that she showed it. If she showed that she was on edge, that would mean her guest was a step up on her in the conversation. No one was ever a step up on her in a conversation.

The moment she stepped into the room, Maria knew that she was never going to be out from under those yellow eyes until she departed. In all her life, she had never met someone with eyes like that that she felt like she could trust. They were cold, detached from everything else. Usually they belonged to the type of person who was never bothered by the dead. Any more, she worried that she had a similar set in her own head.

Taking a seat opposite the woman, Maria leaned back in her chair, smiling casually. Were she to be completely honest, she had no idea how to approach someone such as this. In many ways, she felt worlds apart from the woman. Whens he had read Grell's profile on her people, that gap only seemed wider.

From what she had been told, the woman was a child of somewhere called Dathomir. Tales of the planet always involved stories of magic and spells, witches living in bogs, and any number of ills befalling those who happened to cross them. How much of it she actually believed, she couldn't say. She wasn't partial to stories of the Force, either. So for the most part, she tossed the witches of Dathomir into the same category. People who had managed to fool a number of people into believing they possessed power beyond that of normal individuals. Far as she could tell, the woman before her was just that. A woman. She was not some magical being, nor was she a witch, regardless of whether or not she had grown up in a bog.

"Was the flight over to your liking?" she finally decided to say. There were few other ways she could see starting this conversation. So it might as well be in a manner that was friendly.

The pale woman barely seemed to make note of her words. She stared into her, almost through her, as though she could see something more than flesh and clothes. So long was her silence, that Maria wasn't entirely certain that she had even understood what had been said. Surely the woman spoke Basic? Something like five minutes had passed before she leaned forward, stating with a guarded tone, "You are this coven's Mother?"

Maria blinked, grinning at the comment. Never in her life had she thought she might be described as such. She didn't think she ever would again. "Not exactly how I'd describe it," she said calmly, taking the comment in stride, "But I guess that's close enough. I'm in charge around here, wouldn't exactly call us a 'coven' though."

"And what do you want of me," the pale woman said in hissing voice. She was not going to sit here and wait for Maria to get around to an explanation.

Taking her turn to pause, Maria considered the question. Bringing her hands together, Maria took her time picking her words, "We understand that you are skilled when it comes to attacking the Imperials." The word 'Imperials' seemed to be enough to get a rise out of the woman, but Maria tried paying it no mind, "But we feel it might be best to explain the consequences of your actions."

"The consequence of my actions are dead Imperials," the woman said flatly, "I wish for no more, and no less."

"Except that your dead Imperials have a rather negative impact on everyone else," Maria said flatly. It was enough to finally catch the woman's attention. "Do you know what happens when you kill so many Imperials in one place? Do you think that the people there are suddenly free?"

Those yellow eyes narrowed at her, and the woman's scarred lips fell into a frown. Good. Now Maria had plenty of doubt to work on.

"What happens," she continued, "Is that Imperials move into those areas in larger forces. The people are even further oppressed. So we tend to seek to remove their footholds in other manners."

"Then what would you have me do," it was the second time she said such. Maria didn't really want to know how annoyed she might sound if she had to say it a third time.

"We want you to lend us your skill set. We can put it to use in more useful manners. Instead of hitting large targets, hit small targets that will allow more impact. Help us cut off supply lines, not small outposts."

The long pause between them felt less uneasy. Maria felt as though her guest was doing less thinking on how to potentially kill her and escape the room, and more serious considering of her offer. She laughed to herself internally. Convincing a so called witch to join the Rebellion. Now all she needed to do was convince a Jedi and she would have hit almost all of the high marks in the 'mythical creatures' category. Though based on rumors she had heard, some pilot was apparently close to a Jedi. So she might have missed that opportunity.

"Very well," the woman finally said, falling back in her chair and staring at her.

Maria lit up like a light, "Oh how nice it is to hear that. Welcome aboard, my friend. Now, first we'll have to show you around. Get you introduced to some people. Find you some proper place to sleep." She stood, making for the door, waiting for the woman to follow.

She did eventually follow. Maria could practically feel her slowly rise behind her, like the killer in a bad horror vid.

"Whatever you say, Mother Maria," the woman's low voice muttered.

A chill ran down her spine. Turning to look at the woman would have fed her. She just knew that it would. In the way that she spoke, Maria could just picture some terrible smirk on her face. Something about the way she spoke implied amusement. Amusement at the fact that she knew her name.

They hadn't really made introductions. She hadn't given her name, and she hadn't asked for the woman's. At some point she had probably seen it. Grell had probably included it on the file she had sent, but she couldn't recall it. Of course, it was possible that the woman knew her name in the same manner. Grell could have told her.

But something in the back of her head told her that wasn't the case.

Ghosts (Part 5)

A quick check of her watch gave her the impression that, give or take a few minutes, their potential contact was going to be late. Letting out a sigh, she considered their options given the possibility that the individual had managed to slip off-world on some other craft. If such was the case, then they were going to have to wait once more, until they were presented with the opportunity to force a meeting with them again.

At that point, they would have to repeat everything they had done up to this point, again. For what would have been the fourth time. Suffice to say, the last thing she wanted to do was have to travel to yet another rundown planet that was struggling with an Imperial presence, and work through all of the motions again. Waiting for their target to finish their mission, which would be a small travesty in its own right. Planting enough obvious evidence that they were going to be a vessel that would be visiting a planet that would be to their target's preference, without completely laying out their intentions. Then setting up a trap to actually catch them, so that they wouldn't be attacked and potentially killed for even trying to speak with them.

Such was the problem when working with natives. Such people could be exceedingly crafty. In fact their simpler ways often meant that they could survive on much less than a civilized individual, or so she had found. Give an Imperial soldier nothing more than a pile of sticks and they may manage to secure weaponry and a bit of shelter. A native could likely make them go further, just because that was what they were used to working with.

A chuckle escaped her lips, prompting her companions to give her a worried look. She dismissed their expressions with an idle hand, before the hand shot to her lips as she chuckled again. There was just something about the thought that amused her. It wasn't so much the thought itself, but how she knew that somehow she was being terribly stereotypical. Perhaps insultingly so.

All the same, she was not going to underestimate their mark's savagery. The three of them had seen the results of her work, and they were not going to take any chances, lest they find a similar fate. So a fair share of research had been done, and their trap had been laid. She was actually quite proud of it, both in its simplicity and slight ingenuity. Another half hour passed before she got to truly appreciate her work though. It was at that point that their guest finally decided to join them.

Their first clue was that the audio sensors they had laid out near the entrance to the hangar had started transmitting a signal. They had been set to pick up smaller noises, which up until this moment had been a few oversized rats. Rats that were caught by the camera they had set nearby to make sure they could identify the source of any noise. At present, said cameras were showing nothing, which meant that they had an invisible individual in their midst.

Despite the sudden intruder, they remained were they were prior to their guest's arrival. Seated outside their ship, basking in the glow of the overhead lights, shooting the breeze. Nothing they did, as she had carefully instructed, could imply that they were aware of the interloper's presence. To say she felt tense with the whole idea was an understatement. It took all her effort to not appear as rigid as possible, especially once she actually picked up on the fact that someone was indeed slinking around. It was being out in the ocean, with a large predator slowly circling. Once they had managed to circle their way through the crew's little camp, they worked their way towards the ship.

Where they were immediately met with a stun mine. The device wasn't activated until she was certain that their mark was working her way up the ramp, at which point she received a massive shock. Falling limp, for the second time in two days as far as they were aware the woman then rolled down the ramp, where they quickly placed a set of cuffs around both her hands and ankles. Having gone over the security footage from the nearby outpost, they were certainly not going to take any chances of her getting loose.

She was almost impressed with how easy the entire process had actually turned out to be. Perhaps what surprised her the most was that the woman seemed to assume that it was impossible for them to have known she was there.

Now it became a matter of waiting for the pale woman to wake up. She had one of her cohorts set her up in one of their chairs, while she moved one to sit across from their guest. Crossing her leg, she waited patiently. It took a number of minutes for movement to start again in the guest's limbs. But soon enough she did in fact regain consciousness. In a way that was relieving. She certainly wouldn't want to have to return and tell of how they had accidentally killed their target by shocking her a bit too much.

The way the pale woman squirmed was not surprising. At first it was a matter of surprise. She was caught off-guard that she was suddenly bound. After that, it was a matter of testing her boundaries within her confinement. Then a quick surveying of the area. Finished off with a deathly stare at her captor.

She could only imagine what the pale woman thought of her. She certainly knew what she thought of herself. Going simply based off of her appearance and mannerisms, she was an Imperial through and through. The tilt of her head, the straightness of her back, the accent in her voice, all of it was Imperial. Her attire betrayed that somewhat. Even though her long blonde hair was tied into a braid in a rather official fashion, the rest of her clothes were less impressive. She had long ago traded her uniform in for something far less professional. A dirty old jacket and a set of shirt and pants that she wore almost every day of the week. Oh the sacrifices she had made.

Once it became obvious that her guest, or prisoner really, wasn't going to speak, she took the opportunity to do so. Bringing a hand to her chest, she offered the pale woman her best smile, "You will have to forgive us for the somewhat extreme methods. We simply wished to speak to you in regards to your current activities. My name is Nadia Grell. Would you please introduce yourself to all of us?"

A burning hatred was present in the pale woman's yellow eyes. Set off seemingly by the sound of her captor's voice. Nadia sighed, shaking her head, making to try to explain herself further, but the pale woman started muttering something before she could manage it.

Nadia simply smiled, shaking her head. With a snap of her fingers, one of the men on the woman's right moved in, slapping a piece of tape over the woman's scarred lips. Nadia allowed herself another small chuckle, "I knew I had forgotten something." Sighing with some satisfaction, she uncrossed her legs, leaning forward, "You will have to forgive me, my dear, as I made sure to do my homework. No incantations for you, I'm afraid."

The pale woman's eyes went wide once Nadia had uttered the word 'incantation'. Nadia gave a short nod, continuing her point, "My dear Dathomirian witch, much as my voice may imply, I am not an agent of the Empire. Instead, I come on behalf of a group whose goals are more aligned with your own." A short pause. Enough to allow the woman to consider the possibility, but not enough time for her to think too much on it. "The Rebel Alliance extends its fondest greetings. We would like to express our utmost interest in your activities, with the possibility of joining us to better improve your method."

A dull look hit the woman's eyes as she appeared to process all of Nadia's words. Nadia gave her time to process it all, before opting to speak again, "Now if you agree to discuss some possibilities with us in more civil tones that won't cause us to go made with your 'illusions', I would love to have my associate remove that tape." Once again, a moment of consideration, before a sharp nod. Raising a hand, Nadia motioned for one of the men to take the tape from the woman's lip, and they followed suit, keeping it close by in the chance they should need to reapply it.

Spitting to get the taste of adhesive from her lips, the pale woman looked to her once more. It was with great hesitance that she spoke. When she did so, it was with a voice as cold as her expression, "What does your 'Alliance' wish to do to me?"

Nadia shook her head, "Now now, can't we be properly introduced first?"

If looks could kill, Nadia was certain that she would have exploded on the spot. With nothing short of acid in her voice, the other woman hissed out, "Gwynara. Of the Nightsisters. What does your Alliance wish to do to me."

Apparently satisfied, Nadia nodded, "We wish to offer you a place among our ranks. We believe that your methods, while a bit rough, would be beneficial to our cause of striking the Empire down. If you would agree, we would like you to meet our leadership at our base of operations in the area, and hear their proposal. Should you find our offer undesirable, then we shall go our separate ways."

"My methods," Gwynara said, letting the two words sit out in the air for the other woman to play with in her mind.

"Yes," Nadia said, "While we can see their effectiveness, we feel it best that you understand that perhaps they may not be the best method of attack." Before the pale would could respond, she brought a finger up, "You attack Imperial bases, and strike them down. That is respectable. But you do not necessarily help the people. What do you believe happens when you leave?" The question hung between them, those yellow eyes growing dark as the answer appeared to strike her. "The Imperials return, in harder force, and the people feel such."

"Then what do you propose."

"We feel you would best be used with a bit more precision. Accordingly, we believe we have an assignment that where you would be useful."

With great reluctance, the Dathomirian allowed her head to nod somewhat, before her chin fell to her chest to allow herself to stare at the floor. In a silent tone, one so low that Nadia was worried she was just going to start chanting again, she muttered "I shall hear this proposal."

Ghosts (Part 4)

He allowed himself to nod with approval the moment the mug touched his hands. His assistant gave a small bow, before turning to return to their prior position. It was going to be satisfying, and he knew it.  Warm to the touch, but not so hot as to have just been poured from the pot. Bringing the mug up to his nose, he took in a deep breath, savoring the smell. Caf, made from Mantellian beans, after they had been perfectly processed. Poured after being cooled for a short amount of time, and with a quick splash of Corellian whiskey. Truly, one of the few things that allowed him to stay sane while being forced to skim the Rim.

A comfy seat helped, and he had managed to swing that as well. Though on nights such as tonight, the plush nature of his care was almost a detriment. It threatened to swallow him into sleep if he leaned back and closed his eyes for too long. Something he could never afford. A mistake so terrible that it would be a high cost to pay. 

His superiors were certain of one thing, and that was that laziness was not something to be taken lightly. Another officer he was aware of had fallen asleep for a single minute. One long minute of not being conscious. That one minute had cost him his rank, his home, and earned him thirteen years in prison, with the chance of parole being about as good as the Emperor marrying a Twi'lek. 

Tonight especially, just as the week before, was not a night to fall asleep on the job. The entire outpost was on a rather covert version of high alert. For days now, the night shift had meant keeping a tight watch, without appearing to be actively seeking their quarry. 

The order for such had come down from a link on the chain of command at least three or four people above him. The type of person who had to make sure that the activities in this sector of the Rim were orderly, but never once had to dirty their own boots by checking in. Because they had people to do that for them. Specifically, the order had come down that they were on the look out for a particular individual. A terrorist, who had been going on a string of serial killings.

Finally bringing the mug to his lips, he allowed himself a sip of the golden nectar in his hands. It sat in his mouth for a long time, until he had savored the taste. A sigh escaped him as he leaned back somewhat, staring at the surrounding monitors. They were to keep a keen eye out for any sudden disappearances, or a woman in white. Neither seemed too hard to notice, if he was being frank. It helped that they had upped security for just such an occasion. 

New soldiers had been sent out, enough to swell their ranks to exactly twenty-seven. He had asked for no more, and wanted no less. It was the perfect number to keep an eye on every room of the small outpost over the course of two shifts. Enough for every room to have two individuals, six individuals, not counting himself, to watch the perimeter from their glass communications center. One for each cardinal direction. Those assigned to rooms were to rotate, so that when one went missing, the rest would know. 

"Current reports staying consistent with normal parameters," came one of his lookouts. 

He gave an accepting nod, bringing the mug to his lips, savoring the sip just as before. Such had been the case since their switch to this system. So numerous were these normal reports, that he was becoming more and more certain that this ghostly woman was nothing more than a story some locals had made up to cover for their rebellious friends. Had it not been for a few security tapes that had made the rounds, the entire notion would be silly.

"Sir," the person in charge of the northwest said, swiveling in her chair, "Movement."

Turning his chair, he sat up, leaning forward, elbow going to his knee. At first it was a small blur, but yes, in the distance he could make out a shape. It was not, in fact, a woman in a white cloak, but rather a woman in a black leather get up. She was standing, head concealed partially by a hood, along one of the long, tower-like corners of the outpost. Her head was tilted forward, and he could only assume that she was trying to stare at them in some menacing fashion.

"Move patrols, tell them to fire at will," he said calmly, flicking his hand in a gesture of dismissal. 

Before the Northwest Watcher could respond, another voice rose up, from directly behind him. He turned his chair, frowning down at the man in charge of the southwest, "Movement here as well, sir."

The officer's jaw fell slightly agape as he stared off into the southwest. Standing on that corner of their little garrison was the same woman. Shape, stance, attire. It was all the same. Twisting to look over his shoulder, he noticed that the first figure had yet to move. More noise rose in the room, but before anyone could give their report he had already turned to note, that there were in fact two more identical figures, posted in between the other two. The northwest, southwest, southeast, and northeast were all now occupied.

Having not apparently confused them enough, the four figures began a slow synchronized pacing, making their way around the upper walls of the garrison. Then, just as suddenly as they appeared, one by one they evaporated, fading out just as a fine mist would.

His breathing slowed. Resting back in his chair, he set aside the mug, steepling his fingers. "Recall the guards. Prepare ambush, make sure to keep in contact with each set of guards."

A short murmur of understanding filled the room as each watcher turned their attention from the windows, to their terminal. Each one had been assigned a set of guards, and now they were to recall them to the communication tower. They were to set up in anticipation of their guest, lest they all be caught unawares alone. 

It didn't take long for the closest sets of guards to filter in, setting up in their positions, surrounding the stairs, rifles at the ready. Yet others gave no response, as confirmed by their assigned watcher. Accordingly, they were immediately presumed dead. Once all of the guards that considered alive, having made their way up the stairs to their central location, he gave the order to go on high alert. 

"Now," he said slowly, with the most authoritative voice he could manage, "We wait."

Any sense of comfort in the room was gone. Their days of peace were over. Now the enemy was at their gates, and they were prepared. He took in a breath, held it, then released it. There was nothing they could do, was wait. And wait they did.

Such waiting paid off, just as he hoped it would. A noise eventually started filling the room. Quiet as it was, the silence of the room made it more obvious than it would be otherwise. Steps, slowly making their way up the metal stairs. The guards went on alert. Their shoulders stiffened in anticipation. By the time the steps were close enough to have been at the top, there were a few mutters. Talks of the obvious issue. No one stood at the top of the steps.

One of his fingers shot up, and with a short nod, a guard stationed just to the right of the stairs fired a bolt off at the top step itself. He slowly stood, adjusting his collar before bringing his hand down to draw the stun blaster from his belt. Overhead he heard the noise of their would-be attacker leaping from the spot she had been standing at. With completely calm composure, his hand followed the sound of her soaring through the air, and let off a quick squeeze of the trigger once it was obvious that she had hit the floor.

Before she could leap or dodge the shot, the blast made contact with her. As she faded back into existence, twitching from what appeared to be a hit to her shoulder, he motioned for the guard to pick her up from the ground. Two guards scooped her up from the ground, one having a tight hold on her right arm and shoulder, the second grabbing her left arm and pulling her hood back, taking a hold of what little white hair was present on her head. 

Once she had regained control of herself, the woman struggled, before practically falling limp. Save for her head, which remained in a firm upright position, she allowed the rest of herself to be held without opposition. A tuft of her white bangs that had managed to escape the guard's hand had fallen over her right eye, but the left one made her current thoughts rather clear. The yellow, bloodshot thing stared into him with the utmost amount of hatred a creature was capable of. Similarly, her lips, surrounded as they were by scarred white and purple skin, were twisted into an expression of complete disgust. 

"Let me guess," he said coolly, striding up to her, "You, my dear, are the 'Ghost of Nemara'?" She just stared at him. He half expected her to spit on him, but she did no such thing. With an amused grin, he allowed himself to laugh, "Well you certainly look like you're among the living to me. Flesh, bone, and all." Once again, she didn't respond, simply trying to bore holes into his skull with her mind. She wasn't successful. Turning his back to her, he took a moment to compose himself. The woman would need to be read the accusations against her, as well as be detained. The former likely didn't matter, since she might not even speak Basic. The latter, would be the true challenge.

Turning again, he opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it. At first, she spoke slowly, in a low voice he couldn't hear. Yet at the same time, he heard it perfectly. He blinked, stumbling in his steps as her voice rose. The words were foreign, some guttural tongue of tribal natives to some backwater world. But they didn't just hit his ears. He heard them in his mind, yet they didn't just translate like some electric signal from his brain, they were stuck there, rebounding eternally. 

A dizziness took him, and his hand reached out for a nearby console so that he could steady himself. Turning, he saw the others in the room doing similar. At one point the nausea that filled him was so terrible that he was forced to lean against the rock that he was already using for support.

No. He blinked, attempting to steady his mind. To regain his grasp on his surroundings. It was a terminal, a console he had leaned against. Hadn't it been? Blinking he stared down at the rock he was now touching. Heart raising, he looked up, hoping to be met by the familiar window, which would allow him to see a familiar desert landscape. But there was only jungle. Such as it should be. He was stationed on a world filled with jungle, wasn't he? 

The thought was wrong. He knew it was wrong. Everything about it was wrong. But it was the truth. He knew it to be the truth. He believed it to be the truth. Turning, he blinked. There was no woman. Should there have been a woman? Had there ever been a woman among all of this thick foliage? Rubbing his eyes again, he stumbled backwards against the jungle floor. There was no woman. But there was a horde of hairy white beasts, all looking at each other like they were preparing to strike.

All of the things, toothy maws opened as though prepared to begin devouring each other, looked between each other. Before one of them had the opportunity to strike, a blaster bolt shot out from somewhere over his shoulder. In a mere moment the entire section of trees erupted into chaos as the creatures began assaulting each other, screams of pain echoing through the open air. Crawling behind another rock, he panted heavily, not daring to look out, lest one of the things attack him. His hands found his eyes, covering them in the hopes that whatever horrors were going on, he could not be party to.

Then the noise stopped. Soon enough, there was the hum of terminals. The beeping of various devices going off. With great hesitance, he pulled his hands from his face, finding himself back in that familiar communication center. He felt ill. As though his skull was going to split open. He had been elsewhere just a moment ago. except he hadn't. Because he had never left this room. It was the truth. He knew it to be the truth. 

The woman was standing over him, having readjusted her hood to its rightful place over her head. The staff that had been slung across her back was now in her hands, the tip pointed directly at him. His lips moved to make some sort of noise. To beg. He wanted to beg for his life, to do something, but all he could do was sputter and gasp. 

"Please," he finally managed to spit out, "Please don't kill me."

Her head tilted to the side, as though to consider the request. She didn't consider it for long. Moments after he had begged for his life, she reared the staff back to take it. He brought his hands up to try to protect his head. It was for not. There was a distinct cracking noise as the metal struck him square in his forehead. He slumped off to his right, face meeting the ground. 

A gurgling noise escaped his lips as he tried begging one last time. Trying to form words in the hopes that he could sway this woman. This hateful woman. Through the vague blackness that was his vision, he saw her boots move. She was standing over him. With great effort, he managed to roll over onto his back, just in time to see that staff's tip being brought down towards his head. 

Ghosts (Part 3)

Three nights of waiting had produced nothing. Nothing but people asking where she had been. With each passing day they were buying her 'I'm just not feeling well' excuse less and less. Which meant that if nothing happened tonight, she was going to have to abandon the whole experiment, lest she get reported and picked up by some Imperial patrol. If that were to happen, she likely was going to spend the rest of her days out in a spot like this.

That is, a rather abandoned spot of the desert, that was a solid kilometer from town. Sat next to a rather large rock, she had built herself a small fire, and was now waiting for the fourth night in a row. Waiting, in the middle of the desert, with a sack of canned food. Canned food being the best that she could come up with in terms of an 'offering'. Why she had decided to dedicate so much time to an urban legend, even she wasn't entirely sure.

When she began to doubt the possibility, she ran over the entire tale again in her head. Once it was fresh in her mind, it was hard to not jump at every gust of wind, lest they be a vengeful spirit who had come to answer her call. At one point she had caught a glimpse of some white sheet flying off into the setting sun, but the next day had revealed it to be something that had escaped from someone's clothesline.

After an hour or two, her head was leaned back against the rock, staring up at the dark night sky. Clouds must have passed overhead as the sun set, as she could see neither stars nor moons. Just an empty black abyss. Like staring into a mine shaft. Another hour passed and she found herself in that realm between consciousness and sleep. Tossing and turning by her lonesome. Or at least, she had been alone.

The slightest shift of the sands, and light tinkling of cans was enough to bring her back to waking. Blinking and rubbing her eyes, at first she still considered herself alone. Once she determined that she had not in fact dreamed up the noises, she was forced to deal with the possibility that someone or something had crept out here and was now raiding through her potential offering.

Standing, she paced around the area. A frown found its way onto her face as she found nothing in the general vicinity of her little camp. Not on the rock, not near the rock, not off in the distance. She paced about the rock, not finding anything there either. It was once she circled back around the rock was when she finally found her quarry.

There, hovering near the fire, was a figure, clad in black. Black cloth covered her body, as opposed to the foretold white, and it was more pulled to her flesh, like something between a tunic or armor. It was not, as she had expected, some flowing robe or cloak. Stretched across her back was a long staff, of a silvery metal that had been polished to a shine. Most of her head was covered in a black hood of the same material, attached to the back of her coat, which framed her pale face into something she could only describe as menacing.

It was the face that made her ran cold. That pale, motionless face. A splotch of white against a black background, which had a pair of distant yellow eyes set within it. Small gray marks, scars as best as she could tell, marked her face here and there. Vague purple lines were layered into her skin, giving the impression that she was staring at a painting more than she was staring at a person. Not that she believed entirely that she was staring at a person.

To keep with her ominous appearance, the figure's arm rose in one slow, fluid motion, her fingers twisting to beckon Iroe forward. With an audible gulp, Iroe did as instructed, stopping in front of the fire. A shorter distance made her feel even less safe now than she had before, not least because now the rock was at her back.

"You called," the woman finally said, after they had stood there in silence. Her voice was a flat, cold tone. She spoke as though stating fact, without any room for question.

Taking in a breath, Iroe nodded slowly. With shaking hands, she bent down, picking up the sack full of cans and awkwardly holding it out, "I did."

Those yellow eyes stared down at the bag for a moment, before the head they were attached to gave a short nod. A pale hand motioned for the bag to be set down again, and that same cold tone spoke, though there might have been an edge of sympathy to it, "You wish the Imperials on your world punished."

Again she stated it as fact. A fact that Iroe certainly couldn't deny. While she had heard of far worse stories of Imperial occupation of worlds, that didn't mean she wanted the damned things to stay on her own world. "I do," she managed to say, steadying her voice, "I want them gone."

The figure gave another nod, closing her eyes to consider Iroe's words. After enough contemplation, she opened her eyes, "Return to your town. Leave your offering. Do not think of this encounter again." With that, she turned, making off past Iroe, until she was out of sight beyond the rock.

Seconds past, long enough for her to gain the courage to move from the spot she had been directed to. When she did, Iroe slowly peered around the rock, looking out into the night, finding only the lights of the settlement in the distance. Her stomach churned, wondering what exactly such a bargain she had just bought her way into.