On A Pale Horse, Alderaan, with Conner

[Mac Cheydin]

The planet of Alderaan was considered the shining star of the Core Worlds. At first sight, it was easy to understand the reasons behind it, with its wild grasslands and old mountain ranges; it struck a far more impressive view than the dark spires of Coruscant. Its natural beauty was breathtaking, reminiscent of Naboo. Despite its beauty, Mac found little comfort in wandering around the capital city of Aldera, settled on an island in the middle of a caldera. With a lake to one side and mountain to the other, the only way to reach it was either by air or across the lake. Mac had visited the capital city several times previously, as well as other cities on the planet. The first time he’d laid eyes on the planet; he’d been awestruck, which wasn’t a difficult emotion to produce in a fifteen year old boy. These days he merely noted that the planet was indeed beautiful, but didn’t dwell on it. He’d let the artists of Alderaan produce their works of art without his help.

The shipping traffic in and out of Alderaan wasn’t large, minor compared to most core planets due to the planet being mostly self sufficient, export being the largest shipping business rather than import. They still imported the luxury items from the various edges of the galaxy. Import was currently Mac’s excuse for being on the planet, delivering a shipment of various alcoholic beverages straight from the throneworld. He was leaving at the end of the day with a shipment of medical equipment bound for Coronet. All his papers checked out, as did the credentials to the Centurion. He’d put down his reason for visiting the city as ‘business’, which was both because of the shipping and because of a task Loran had given him.

Despite his lack of experience within professional Intelligence work, it wasn’t very different from being a smuggler, where secrecy was often the link between life and death, or jail. That fact was how Mac managed to feel so unworried about the whole situation. Secret meetings where getting shot would be the result of getting caught wasn’t that far away from his previous career, going from criminal to the Alliance wasn’t much of an adjustment for him. The additional military duties had taken a time to get used to, but as it was it didn’t bother him.

As he walked out of the spaceport, he noted with some satisfaction that he didn’t stick out much from the crowd. In this area there were plenty of spacers like him and with his current attire, the typical garment of a Corellian spacer, he blended in. Once he entered the city itself the fashions of Alderaan and the Core Worlds would take over, he’d be a little more conspicuous, but a spacer wasn’t that unique on any planet. He had sufficient reason for being there, after all.

The clean white and flowing architecture of the city streets passed by as he kept his eyes open for the location where Loran had told him he’d find the operative that he had to make contact with. Mac didn’t know entirely what she did or who she was, Loran hadn’t been specific, merely told Mac that he’d have to update the woman on the events in the Alliance, as well as the fact that Loran wasn’t dead. It was simple enough, straightforward. Eyes coming up, he spotted the place Loran had instructed that he go to, a large park right next to the university of Alderaan, named after the great philosopher Collus.

The park itself was rich with both foreign plants as well as local, but Mac was less interested in the flora, focusing more on keeping his attention on the statues scattered around. She would be sitting on a bench next to a statue of Collus the philosopher. She was supposed to have a Corellian fire rose in her hair, a flower not in the gardens if Mac was to believe Loran, as well as reading a particular romance novel Loran had named.

[Constance Bravil]

To Conner's mind, romance holonovel writers were some of the worst con artists in the galaxy. They made their fortunes selling empty hopes and false dreams, capitalizing on the desperate and lonely. Such works were nothing more than mind pablum for the masses, justifying the unrealistic expectations of millions of sentients. There was no bigger fraud than the concept of 'happily ever after'. Constance didn't believe in happy endings--well, at least not of the nature found in popular fiction. Good results to an intimate relationship were (theoretically) possible, but they were always a work in progress, not a prize to be won.

Orders are the only reason I'd ever consider reading this absolute dreck, the Alliance agent groused to herself beneath her engrossed facade. Unfortunately for Constance, she was in fact required to at least pretend to read it. It was one of the exhaustive list of coordinated signals Angler had memorized prior to her deep cover assignment. Every planet she might chance to take leave on was assigned its own combination of clues. On Alderaan, it was Corellian fire roses, bad romance novels, and strolls in the park; on Taris, she drank Flameouts, bet on swoop racing, and requested the cantina band play 'Cold Midnight', etc. The only civilized planet she didn't have a pre-set arrangement of flags to throw up for was Corellia, for obvious reasons.

For all Conner suffered now as the result of her late superior's twisted sense of humor, she possessed little reason to complain about her current situation. Even the most overwrought and melodramatic prose in existence couldn't ruin the sublime beauty of spring on Alderaan for the pilot. The combination of warm sun, cool breeze, and absolutely gorgeous flowers wherever her eyes chanced to rest soothed the Corellian's sore spirit. So much exposure to death on a daily basis could not help but wear you down over time, no matter how resilient your willpower may be. The chance to rest and drink in the sights and sounds of life for a change was just what she needed.

The increased rustling of leaves over her head and louder chiming from the small bells hung from several branches prompted Constance to cup a hand over the flower in her hair protectively. It just wouldn't do for her to lose the blossom to the wind, not after she'd gone through all the damned trouble to special order it for the occasion. Building off the vivid crimson and orange hues of the rose, she'd selected a cherry red sundress with matching sandals to wear this morning. A broad-brimmed linen hat rested besides her on the bench, unnecessary beneath the broad expanse of the ancient shade tree.

Well, only some of what you need, be honest now. A smirk quirked up the corners of her pink lips for a moment. Fair enough... there were a few other items she'd been lacking from her personal inventory in recent months, certain desires left long unfulfilled. Given the flights of fancy her thoughts--and her libido--had taken far too often as of late, Conner estimated she was long overdue for a pleasant no strings attached bunk date, as they put it back at the flight academy. While the main reason for her taking leave had been to reestablish contact with Alliance Intel, there'd be more than sufficient time for those sorts of extracurricular activities before she had to head back to Dolomar.

That being said... something inside her remained staunchly resistant to the idea. What said 'something' was confounded the spy something fierce. She knew it wasn't modesty, shyness, fear of rejection, or any sense of moral 'wrongness' towards the concept of casual sex. None of those had posed any problem for her in the past. So what's stopping me now? No answer came, no matter how many times she asked herself that question.

Constance was forced to conclude either she truly didn't know, or she didn't want to know. That the latter might be true gave her serious cause for worry. She'd hoped putting increasing time and distance between her and Talasea would cure her of that particular brand of crazy.

Shoving all these unwelcome thoughts back in the mental lockbox where they belonged, Angler returned her full attention towards subtly keeping an eye out for her newest contact. Who the Alliance would choose to send for her most recent debriefing was a complete unknown. Loran had always managed her in the past, keeping knowledge of her existence limited to as few brains as possible. Doubtless this had changed since Blue Eyes made his report back to whoever ran the show these days.

There's a thought... maybe they'll send him instead. He'd already met her, after all, so they wouldn't have to increase the number of individuals 'in the know'. Conner had to admit she wasn't opposed to the thought of spending more time with Lysander. He'd turned out to be nice enough, once they moved beyond the whole shooting her down and roughing her up thing. Frink, that whole incident was almost laughable now, looking back on it. Thankfully, today's events weren't likely to wind up in a similar scenario. She'd had enough of men taking potshots at her for a good long while.

[Mac Cheydin]

It was strangely peaceful in the Collus Gardens, an almost otherworldly hush over the nature nestled in its grounds. The only sound seemed to be the gentle rustling of the leaves as the wind passed through the branches and they swung gently from side to side. It was all very colourful and tranquil, appearing quite exotic while at the same time managing to look very Alderaanian. It fit into the surrounding city and the culture within the city. Mac wasn’t one who really knew how to tell the difference between plants and trees. Mostly only the Corellian flora was familiar which wasn’t surprising considering how much time he’d spent stationary on his homeplanet. The rest of the places he’d spent any significant amount of time either didn’t possess nature, Dolomar being one of them, or he merely hadn’t wandered far enough to encounter it.

As it was, Mac wasn’t here to admire the nature and found himself unmoved by the Alderaanian attempt at creating art out of nature. Rather than being focused on the natural beauty around him, he was studiously investigating statues from a distance, appearing inconspicuous enough to merely be taken for a somewhat oddball art appreciator if anyone was at all interested in what he was doing instead of looking at the far more eye catching blooms. His progress through the park was slow, but remained steady. If he appeared rushed he would merely come across as suspicious, blending in meant to take on the same attitude as those around him and no one in his vicinity appeared rushed at all.

He had little to no idea if the agent would be waiting or if he’d have to wait around for her to arrive, which was mostly the reason behind why he was being thorough in his investigation of the statues. Its exact location hadn’t been given, which was perhaps a good thing, it wouldn’t do to look like he was making for a place like a homed in missile. Looking like one was dawdling a bit was perhaps the smartest thing. Once again he was reminded that this sort of work was not for him, subtlety and delicacy were not his most developed skills.

Coming to the centre of the park, something he was able to deduce from having given the information board with the map over the place a brief glance, he was met with the sight of a quite magnificent and elegant fountain. In the centre of it stood a few unnamed sea creatures, spouting water out of their mouths as they seemed to be frozen in the middle of a rather elegant leap from the water. The sound of the water was surprisingly subdued, managing to blend in with the gentle sounds of the leaves rustling and the bells’ gentle tinkling. The fountain was designed to look pretty as well as provide the least noise possible, so that the peaceful atmosphere wouldn’t be disturbed.

Mac swept his gaze, spotting a woman sitting on a bench, next to a statue. By the look of the statue, it was a philosopher, garbed in what Mac guessed was normal for a philosopher back in the days the person had been alive. That being said, a lot of other statues looked similarly robed, so it wasn’t sure it was the specific philosopher Mac was looking for. However, the woman next to him looked to match the description of what Wes had given him. The fire rose was in place and she was reading a book of some sort. It was angled in a manner that would allow anyone approaching to see the cover of it. She looked very enraptured, Mac didn’t know if she was actually reading the drivel or merely pretending to.

Slowly he came closer, angling his gait so that if his guess was wrong it would merely appear as if he was taking a closer look at the statue. Soon he came close enough to recognise the cover of her book, and moments later the engraved name of Collus was to be seen. This would have to be the agent; the signs Loran had described were too specific to warrant any coincidence. Stopping in front of the statue, his front angled towards the woman, he spoke.

“Constance?” Loran had told him to call the woman by that name and if there was a crowd act as if they were old acquaintances.

[Constance Bravil]

Waiting was by far the worst part of any mission. Some people Conner knew practically got off on the rush of anticipation preceeding a confrontation, but not her, never her. It wasn't that Constance was an impatient person by nature--quite the contrary, actually. Overeager pilots tended to get themselves blown out of the sky in spectacular fashions more often than not. If necessary, Angler was prepared stay parked on this bench all kriffing day if that's what it took to make contact with the Alliance. She just never cared to sit around twiddling her thumbs and biding her time for the future to catch up to the present. You couldn't avoid the inevitable, so you might as well get it over with sooner rather than later.

In the carefully orchestrated serenity of the Collus Gardens, picking up the sound of a booted tred approaching her position was child's play. Looks like Lady Luck was listening to me for once. Conner's silver stare remained fixated on the purple prose in order to maintain proper appearances. Sure, it might be her contact, but it could also be some random lollygagger admiring the scenery. Acting too openly watchful of her surroundings would ruin her current act. Admittedly, the odds of her being under observation by the Confederation while on leave were slim, but they weren't nonexistent. Paranoia was an occupational hazard in her line of work.

“Constance?”

That voice... Long repressed memories teased at the shadowy edges of her conscious mind, refusing to step into the light of recognition. She knew the man who'd spoken, Conner was sure of it, but she'd be damned (again) if she could bring his name to mind. This was unusual, to say the least, as the spy possessed an excellent memory when it came to people. So either he was someone she'd only met in passing a while back... or he was someone from her previous life she'd made a deliberate effort to forget. For the sake of her remaining sanity, Constance hoped the former was the case.

Lifting her head from her assumed reading pose, Commander Bravil turned towards the source of the greeting. Her pale features were arranged in an expression of mildly surprised pleasure, the appropriate response to greet the unexpected appearance of an old acquaintance. It took a few seconds for her brain to process the appearance of the man standing a few feet away and spit out his identity. Time stopped dead in its tracks for the Alliance agent. While her smile never faltered, the cast of the woman's gray eyes grew bleak as Dolomar's ice fields.

The face was far easier to recall than the voice. Soral had been something of a shutterbug when it came to taking holos of her husband and child. "Michael." The name came out soft and strangled, forced from her suddenly dry throat. Out of all the sick jokes fate could play on her, it had to be this one. For one instant she felt the panic of discovery and had to fight down the urge to flee like a spooked nerf. Then her rational mind reminded Angler the former Confederate officer had addressed her as Constance, not Dora. Which could only mean...

Oh, frack me sideways. My dead sister's widower is my frinking contact?! Who in the hells at Intel thought that would be a good idea? Someone the spy would dearly like to strangle at the moment, that's for sure. For utter lack of anything more sensible to do, Conner picked up her sunhat in order to clear the space besides her on the bench. "Perhaps... you'd better sit down." Stars knew she was glad she hadn't needed to face the sight of him standing.

[Mac Cheydin]

Mac was a man who had long ago learnt to steel himself from nasty surprises on instinct. The fact that he held no illusion or hope connected to any job he undertook helped in that endeavour. Always expecting the worse meant that he wouldn’t be reeling when the worse eventually came to pass, if it didn’t, lucky for him, if it did, no loss. Anticipating the worse was something that had become a trait in his personality, leaving him a mean and cynical man who didn’t believe anyone could deliver until he was faced with the proof that they had indeed delivered. This was another reason why he disliked working with others, as far as he thought, he was the only one he could rely on, the rest could potentially be assets, but not assets he would rely on if it came down to it.

His lifetime of steeling himself from the worse circumstances had gone a long way in establishing his reputation as a man who couldn’t be surprised. Lately he’d been surprised more than he liked, those engaged in the fight between the Alliance and the Confederation thought differently than criminals, and although he was fairly good at anticipating the Confederation’s moves, his own people managed to make him pause occasionally in surprise. Despite the high percentage of criminals and ex-Feds in the Alliance, their methods were far removed from the baseline nature of the areas they originated from. Mac tended to think this was a good thing, even if he imagined he was losing his touch.

Despite all the preparation for nasty surprises, the one he was faced with now was one he found it hard to swallow. Dealing with the now was something he could handle; the now was what his work was about. Act in the moment, for a cause that would benefit from it in the moment. When it came to questions of the past, the preparation he’d gone through was useless.

All this meant that it would be an understatement that he’d been caught unawares when he recognised the woman in front of him. He’d taken a moment to recognise her, his eyes taking in the similarities between this woman in front of him and his late wife. Had he permitted himself, he would’ve visibly jerked back in an attempt to get away, but with the knowledge of the delicate operation they were dealing with, the imaginary voice of Loran warned him in the back of his mind. Anger flared directly after the surprise. Loran knew about this, he did it on purpose, the bastard.

"Michael."

Looking away from the woman, his fist tightened, a barely visible reaction on his part, but visible to any who was as close as Dora was. He hadn’t met her in person, being a soldier of the Confederation that would’ve been asking for more grief than he wanted. He’d heard Soral speak to her family over the comm., seen holos of them, but had never risked to meet them in person. If Soral’s earlier attitude meant anything, her family didn’t like the Confederation at all. Considering what Soral had died for, he didn’t find it all that peculiar that her sister had taken up what had to have been turning into a family tradition of sorts.

"Perhaps... you'd better sit down."

He’d prefer to stand, but realised that it wouldn’t aid in their current ruse to avoid any suspicion. He’d have to act relaxed even if he wasn’t, so he complied, sitting down next to her and trying his best to keep a smile on his face. He was afraid it was looking more like a pained grimace than a smile though.

“I didn’t expect to find you here.” Despite the reason behind being there and knowing he would meet someone, the statement couldn’t be more true for the moment. He was going to make sure Loran suffered for his sick joke when he got back to Corellia.

[Constance Bravil]

As her fellow Corellian took a seat besides her on the bench, Conner was struck with the sudden irony of the situation. This was literally the closest she'd ever been to her own brother-in-law. Soral and Michael had gotten married on exceedingly short notice in a private civil ceremony, without any relatives involved from either side. There'd been no holiday get togethers or family vacations for Colonel Cheydin; the few times Soral and Tyria had shuttled back to Corellia for a visit, he'd never come along. He hadn't even attended his wife's memorial service.

The Wing Commander remembered how irked she'd been about that at the time. Now she understood his reasoning with an almost painful clarity. After a certain point, you couldn't go home again.

“I didn’t expect to find you here.”

Constance gave Michael due credit--he expended an admirable amount of effort in maintaining the facade of a friendly greeting. While she could see the unease seeping through every strained crack, that was only due to her immediate proximity. "That makes two of us," she murmured in reply. Never in her wildest dreams had Conner imagined her brother-in-law would sign on for the cause. To all reports he'd been loyal enough to the Confederation while serving it. After his resignation, he'd promptly dropped out of circulation in lieu of pursuing revenge.

"They should have warned you." To say the least. Better than that, whoever was running Intel these days never should've sent the former soldier in the first place. Neither of them deserved this kind of misery. With her luck, whoever'd cut Mike's orders had thought the sight of 'family' after so long would provide the spy with some measure of moral support. Ha! I'd laugh if it weren't all so kriffing tragic.

The amount of sympathy Angler felt towards her sister's former spouse and the awful situation he'd been shoved into by their superiors would amaze--and perhaps disgust--her former self. No doubt it wasn't the reaction the man besides her expected in response to his presence. The Myslifs had never made any bones about the fact they despised the Confederation and all it stood for. That said, the woman now known as Constance Bravil was in no position to throw stones at Corellian collaborators anymore. She might be committing her crimes for all the right reasons, but murder was still murder.

"I'm sorry." Pitiful, inadequate words, but they were all she had. What exactly she was apologizing for was difficult to pin down, even in Conner's own head. Maybe it was for his being forced to tolerate her presence... maybe it was something deeper. Stars knew Michael deserved more than his fair share of apologies. She wasn't so arrogant as to think that her losses exceeded his. No doubt he'd grieved too, in his own way. His feelings for her sister were genuine, she'd always given him that much.

Constance's gray eyes dropped down to her lap, where her fingers absently bent and straightened the brim of her hat. With an effort she forced her hands to go still. Recent events may have thrown her off her mental stride for a brief interval, but she wasted no time in climbing back on the metaphorical horse. "Let's get done with this." Her practiced Coruscanti accent struck an off note in her ears considering the company she currently kept, but you just couldn't throw aside eleven years of habit at the snap of Fate's fingers.

[Mac Cheydin]

Slowly Mac allowed himself to relax, slacking his suddenly tensed muscles as he faced another bit of his past. He forced himself to lose the stiffness in his spine, trying to make his stance as natural and as relaxed. It wasn’t difficult; he was used to tense situations and knew that getting worked up about it only made things worse. While this wasn’t an ordinary situation, he was sure it was just as deadly as facing a group of two-bit criminals. This spy business was risky because the opposition usually had no qualms about killing those involved, which currently included Mac should they be unlucky. They appeared to be safe on Alderaan, but appearances could deceive and Mac wouldn’t let the peaceful surroundings of Aldera lull him into a false sense of security.

"They should have warned you."

Letting out a brief scoff he shot her a sideways glance that could, should one look carefully, almost appear chiding. “I think warnings in this mess is considered a privilege rather than a necessity. They probably needed someone who could do it at once, telling the whole truth would’ve been counterproductive, also potentially dangerous.” He had no intention of hiding the fact that had he known he hadn’t have been the one to volunteer for the work. If there was anything he was good at running away from it was his past, but he hadn’t been given a choice when it came to this encounter. He understood why he hadn’t been told, but said understanding didn’t endear Loran to him. There was a chance that he could’ve been captured and potentially revealed who the spy was, which was why he was taking the whole thing better than he would have in other circumstances.

"I'm sorry."

The corner of his mouth rose slightly as he turned his head to face her. He wondered where the apology had come from, but he figured he’d have to be privy to her thoughts in order to fully realise why she’d said it at all. “Don’t be, you didn’t pull the trigger.” As it was, Mac held no grudge to anyone except the Confederation, he didn’t care what Soral’s family had thought of him before or after Soral’s death, in a way he understood any ill will they’d held towards him, he had been the enemy.

"Let's get done with this."

He noted that her accent was distinctly Coruscantian, but didn’t give it much thought, just another element to Dora’s spy self she had to keep up. Nodding his agreement to her words, he stood, offering her a hand as he did so. “Let’s walk.” A simple invitation that they should perhaps relocate in order to continue their conversation. It would be easier to appear relaxed once on was in motion, it would also be difficult for potential eavesdroppers. Once Dora had complied, he led them into a path that would lead them deeper into the park, into the areas that would hopefully have less people wandering around, not that there were many to begin with.

When he judged that they were comfortably on their way and no one was around, he began to speak. “Loran thought you should know about some of the recent developments, the Jedi Order is aiding the Alliance. They mostly do intelligence work, which is why it’s not common knowledge, we’ve also got the Mandalorian’s pulling some weight.”

[Constance Bravil]

“They probably needed someone who could do it at once, telling the whole truth would’ve been counterproductive, also potentially dangerous.”

"So was setting us both up for a major shock," Constance returned with even measure, her newly rebuilt composure unruffled by the faint allusion to scorn in her brother-in-law's demeanor. So her sympathy had been rebuffed by its target. Oh well, she'd survive. It's not like she hadn't had plenty of practice in receiving that sort of rejection from other men in her life... which was a train of thought best left abandoned. Life was complicated enough for Angler today. "Fortunately neither of us are the jumpy sort."

Reading between the lines was practically a survival skill in the Confederation. How else were you supposed to winnow any shred of truth out of Dolomarian propaganda? His behavioral cues made it plain Michael wouldn't be here if he'd known who she was beforehand. Which doubtless was the primary motivation for keeping him in the dark, all tactical considerations rendered purely secondary. Conner accepted that, even understood where he was coming from. She'd never been the spitting image of Soral, but the resemblance was there for those who knew where to look. The fact she'd now reached the same age as her sister at the time she'd been executed couldn't help matters any. They should've found someone else. Anyone else. Frack it all to slag...

“Don’t be, you didn’t pull the trigger.”

And there it was, dragged out in the open at last. The one event that tied them together more firmly than any technicalities of 'family' ever could. The shared motivation that drove them both. A single death out of billions. Such a small event when taken out of its very personal context, given the scope of the current galactic conflict. Yet the loss had been enough to make the woman now known as Constance Bravil surrender everything she owned--including her soul--to the cause. This is why Confederate military strategists were morons for thinking the impact of individuals meant nothing to their long term plans. Dora Myslif hadn't presented one-hundredth the threat to Dolomar that Angler had become.

"No, I didn't. I only serve those who did." Shame did not blur the edges of her soft voice, and misery did not mist up her stormcloud eyes. All to be seen and heard for those few seconds was a deathly chill, a brief flash of the merciless killer circumstance had shaped her into. Few ever saw her this way, and she shifted the focus of her gaze off Michael to spare him the experience as best she could.

“Let’s walk.”

When the brunette turned back to the man seated beside her, the murderer was no more, replaced with the more proper facade of a woman enjoying a conversation with an old friend. With a nod and a gentle smile, she accepted Mike's offered assistance in standing, placing her much smaller hand within his calloused grip without any outward hesitation. I've been doing that a lot lately... taking a man's hand, I mean. Not that I mind sentimental gestures, but it's always with individuals I have no business being sentimental towards. Well, except Algernon, but that's different. Not to mention I was very, very drunk at the time.

Soon as she found her feet, Constance released her hold. No need to make this any more uncomfortable for the former Colonel than it already was. Lifting her now free hand to her hair, she proceeded to tease loose the fire rose from behind her ear. Falling into automatic step besides Michael, she worked on fastening the blossom to the white ribbon wound about her sunhat. Task complete, the slender woman settled its wide brim atop her head again, shielding her pale countenance from Alderaan's sun. Sure, the flower wasn't strictly necessary any longer, but she liked the touch of home.

“Loran thought you should know about some of the recent developments..."

While all of Michael's words were filed away by her enhanced synapses for further analysis, her conscience got stuck on the use of Loran's name in the present tense and refused to budge from that point. "Loran thought...? You mean... he's alive?" Her sense of decorum--not to mention her instinct for self preservation--prevented Constance from raising her voice. Still, the intensity of emotion underlying her words made an even stronger impression than if she'd shouted. Joy swelled in her chest, a feeling so long absent in her life that she didn't recognize the sensation for what it was at first.

Without a doubt this was the best news Angler had heard in the past year. That said, it didn't take long for her rational nature to ruthlessly dissect the statement. "He's the one who sent you then." The spy blew out a quick breath, more than a sigh but less than a laugh. "Bastard. Fits his sense of humor." When Conner came down from the emotional high that was finding out her mentor hadn't bit it on Abraxin, the Corellian was rather certain she'd entertain visions of punching Wes in the face for a while. Maybe I can ask Mike to do it for me. No doubt he'd enjoy that.

"...the Jedi Order is aiding the Alliance. They mostly do intelligence work, which is why it’s not common knowledge, we’ve also got the Mandalorians pulling some weight."

One corner of her mouth quirked upward at the mention of the Jedi, her tone shifting to a rueful register. "I stumbled across the Order's involvement on my own. Though it's good to have the truth confirmed by a trustworthy source. Got shot down by a Jedi in a kriffing invisible ship during a mapping mission a short while ago. He pieced together what I was while rifling through my brain to find out what the Confederation was doing there." Another logical connection clicked into place, transmuting her smile into a smirk. "Speaking of which, apparently I owe Lysander another swift kick in the man parts for not telling me about the boss..."

[Mac Cheydin]

“You mean... he's alive?"

Mac turned his head to regard her with a faint frown at her adopted tone. By her reaction, subdued due to the topic they were discussing but still communicating efficiently that she honestly hadn’t known that Loran was still alive and kicking. The report of his death had happened months ago and it hadn’t occurred to Mac that the undercover agent Angler hadn’t been informed yet. Now thinking about it, he realised that it wasn’t such an odd thing, considering the fact that no one from the Alliance had regular contact with her, all her information of the Alliance came across the Confederate propaganda channels. Peculiar that Loran hadn’t told Mac of this, but the former smuggler suspected that the Director had believed that that particular matter would solve itself, which it had.

“I wouldn’t go saying that,” Mac said lightly. “He went through some difficulties to end up dead, you know.” Of course, nothing beyond seeing Loran in the flesh or similar evidence would convince the Confederation that he was still alive, considering they probably had his body on some cold slab back on Dolomar. He rolled his shoulders in a shrug, letting his eyes casually pass over their surroundings. Despite talking about dead men, he still had to keep up the pretense that it was a casual conversation between friends.

“Fits his sense of humor."

He merely let out a hum of agreement, not giving a response as his jaw tightened slightly and the hand currently resting in his pocked curled up in a fist. Loran no doubt expected what Mac had planned for the Director, but for once he didn’t mind being predictable. Shay would be surprised at such thoughts, but it was hardly a loss on his part. Loran most likely wouldn’t even try to avoid it; the man was infuriating like that.

Their path was soon coming to an end; Mac recognised the plaque identifying an exotic bush from Corulag, signalling the end of the secluded path and their return to the main part of the park. There was another exit close by, Mac figured moving out of the path and onto the streets would shake off any potential followers. That being said he hadn’t noticed anyone trailing them yet.

“Got shot down by a Jedi in a kriffing invisible ship during a mapping mission a short while ago.”

A sly snicker escaped Mac as he realised he knew which brand of fighter she was speaking of. He’d seen them around, not curious enough to investigate closer on his own. They were primarily Jedi fighters, enough reason for him to keep clear. He had no wish to run into more of their lot than he had to. As she continued speaking, she mentioned a name that was very familiar to him; he narrowed his eyes slightly as he turned to look at Dora.

“So you met Dakota, huh?” His voice made it clear that Dakota was no man he was eager to meet again.

[Constance Bravil]

“I wouldn’t go saying that. He went through some difficulties to end up dead, you know.”

Difficulties, he said. What a droll way of describing getting shot in the head. Conner couldn't tell whether her brother-in-law was trying to make a dark-humored joke, or warn her about openly discussing the subject. Ha! Like Michael needed to tell her of all people to keep her mouth shut. Angler had been trained by the most secret obsessed man in the galaxy. "I'm aware. The holos of his body High Command released to the networks were rather... graphic. Scuttlebutt has it Grand Admiral Stone keeps his preserved corpse on display in her quarters as some kind of macabre trophy."

Intelligence work often led to surreal situations in Constance's experience. Indeed, you could term them an occupational hazard. Enjoying a peaceful stroll in the park with her sister's widower topped that particular list. Once she'd despised the man; now she empathized with him. Who knew how he felt about her--besides unnerved to discover she was the agent he'd been sent to debrief, of course. Damn Loran, anyways. Apparently coming back from the dead didn't make the boss any less of a manipulative busybody.

Behind the absent smile playing on her lips worked a wary mind. The pilot covered her subtle casing of their surroundings with a show of admiring the scenery. Conner never became so preoccupied with personal matters that she forgot what her true duties were. A brief glance in the direction of her fellow Corellian proved Mike hadn't let himself get distracted from the job either. Trying to think of the ex-Colonel as an Intelligence agent still strained her brain. He just didn't seem the type to skulk around in shadows for a living, not when there were more straightforward methods to dealing with his problems.

“So you met Dakota, huh?”

Years of long practice in concealing her emotions kept Conner's show of surprise restrained to a single blink. Talk about a small galaxy. By the stars, Constance detested coincidences. Far as she could fathom, they were reality's way of having a joke at your expense. Fate treated her enough like a chewtoy as it was, fine thank you. "I did. He turned out to be a decent enough guy once we got past the whole trying to kill eachother thing." The fact she'd found herself opening up to a surprising degree with Blue Eyes was personal, not professional in nature, and therefore didn't bear mentioning.

Discerning gray eyes swept over Michael's features, her brain processing the subtle--and not so subtle--emotional cues to be found on his face and in his voice. She was no Lorrdian, but she'd picked up a number of tricks when it came to reading people over the years. "I take it he's not one of your favorite people." Her tone was unmistakably wry as she made a deliberate understatement. "What's your deal with him?" There was no criticism embodied in the question, only curiosity. She might have decided she liked Lysander, but everyone was entitled to their own opinion. Besides, hearing her fellow Corellian's perspective on the Jedi Knight would give her more data on which to form said opinions.

[Mac Cheydin]

“... trying to kill eachother thing."

Mac let out a derisive snort at the news. It appeared Dakota had been busy spreading his special brand of attention throughout the galaxy. It proved that those involved in the galactic strife were very much connected, the chances that Dakota should encounter his former in-law and give her the same treatment would normally be overwhelming as far as odds went. As it was, Corellians didn’t listen to odds, so that might as well be a moot point. The difference, of course, was that Conner had probably not actively baited the Jedi when he’d turned out to be far too annoying to stand. Other’s would perhaps be slightly shamed at the things Mac had said all those months ago, but he bore no shred of regret, he rarely did when it came to his own actions. He lived up to them as his own choices, baiting Jedi included.

The pair continued down the park path, heading towards the nearest exit, into a rather fancy looking city quarter. Those who walked the streets were wearing the latest fashions and living life as if there wasn’t a galactic war going on. Mac envied them for their brazen manner of ignorance, but at the same time it made something in his mind burn ferociously. He wasn’t one to preach to others about their act of ignoring the war going on, but to see them like this made his own tattered past protest at the injustice. With purpose, he steered them towards the spaceport area of the town, where he’d be saved from watching the sparkly clean denizens of the city.

He shot the woman next to him a sidelong glance, feeling her eyes scrutinising him. He shifted his shoulders slightly, eyes narrowing as he decided that the feeling of someone’s eyes watching his every move and every emotion that flitted across his face was one that brought his hackles up. Directing a flat stare at the woman, he endured her scrutiny with no words, letting her finish whatever she had started.

"I take it he's not one of your favorite people."

Letting out a slightly mocking laugh, directed at himself rather than the woman next to him, he shook his head slightly. “We didn’t get off to a good start,” he said, purposefully being vague. Mac didn’t much like the idea of having to divulge the fact that he’d spun tales about the intimacies between himself and the woman he found himself thoroughly infatuated with to the man who very much considered himself the brother of that woman.

"What's your deal with him?"

Mac remained silent for a few moments, looking like someone who couldn’t decide if he wanted to be pained by the conversation matter or seriously consider divulging the information prompted for. In the end, he decided that saying something would be best. “We had a disagreement.”

[Constance Bravil]

The Alliance spy absorbed the signs of discomfort in her fellow Corellian's stance, with belated realization of how intense her scrutiny had become. Constance met Michael's stare with a small, apologetic smile. She wasn't sorry for reading him--perpetually analyzing other people's behavior wasn't mere habit for her, but a matter of survival. However, she did regret she'd caused him to feel uneasy by the close attention. The situation as it stood was already awkward enough for the both of them.

“We didn’t get off to a good start.”

Well, that tells me precisely nothing. No doubt he'd intended it that way, his words selected with care to not divulge anything but the vaguest inferences. Admittedly, Mike's personal life was none of her business. What made her curious was the fact he was treating the subject of 'Dakota' as personal in the first place. Certainly not to protect the guy, what with how little Michael cares for him. But he's definitely protecting something. While Michael owed her no explanations, she couldn't help but speculate as to the cause of his silence.

"I can see how that would happen," she responded with all sincerity. After all, Lysander had done his best to outstubborn her when they'd met. Conner had been forced to back down due to the circumstances involved, not because of any lack of tenacity on her part. She could easily comprehend that behavior causing a clash between the Jedi and her sister's widower. You'd think the guy would've learned his lesson in antagonizing Corellians after that, Angler mused to herself, the corners of her mouth twitching as she restrained a private smirk.

The scenery shifted around them as the former Colonel altered their course towards the spaceport district. Buildings became less fanciful and more utilitarian in architecture. Fewer and fewer natives with their colorful and impractical clothing passed them on the street, replaced by rough and ready men and women from dozens of species. For all the changes, they were still on Alderaan; sculptures populated the occasional street corner, between buildings arranged with a geometric precision reflecting careful civic planning.

The war felt so far from here. No doubt the populace prized that illusion. To Conner, the effect seemed very much like a deliberate attempt by a society to stick its collective head in the sand. She knew this wasn't entirely accurate--the Alliance held a strong following on this world--but it rankled her all the same. The knowledge that there were sentient beings in this galaxy who held themselves in purposeful ignorance of current events was an affront to everything she stood for.

“We had a disagreement.”

Something else she could easily see the two of them doing. Soral had always said her husband was the opinionated type, and stars knew Lysander didn't give up easily. "A personal and not a professional one, I hope." Given how resistant Michael was to providing details, Constance elected to make a strategic retreat from the topic. So I'm a kriffing soft touch. So what? Mike deserves at least that much consideration. "He knows too much about my mission for me to want to think of him as a potential security risk."

One hand reached up to the brim of her hat to adjust its angle after a breeze threatened to knock it askew. "So the Mandalorians are on board now," she commented, returning to the earlier topic of conversation before they'd become sidetracked. "That'll be a surprise when High Command finds out. There's been some speculation about the possibility, following the close spacing of the attacks on Bespin and Onderon, but most believe them too xenophobic to work willingly with outsiders."

Well, that and the common Dolomarian conceit that everyone who opposses the Confederation is inherently incompetent. The propaganda pushers were directly to blame for that particular logical fallacy. The irony being this faulty mindset led members of the military to underestimate their foes, which more often than not resulted in their demise. Sometimes Conner couldn't help but view the Confederation as a snake eating its own tail and congratulating itself on the fact.

Commander Bravil let silence stretch between them until they were relatively alone on their patch of sidewalk. "I've got a fair amount of strategic data on current fleet operations memorized." Her hands clasped behind her back in unconscious habit. It was time to stop indulging in private interests and start focusing on her job. "The boss should find it useful."

[Mac Cheydin]

“... potential security risk."

At her words, Mac let out a derisive snort, channelling his disbelief quite efficiently in that small act. Dakota, a Guardian of the Jedi Order and spiritual brother to Shay Marin, was unlikely to turn into a security risk for the Alliance. While her words did provide a suitable distraction from the topic they’d been discussing, Mac didn’t miss the fact that she purposefully did it, saving him the hassle of having to explain the situation between Dakota and himself. Not that he would’ve even if she’d been persistent.

“... with outsiders."

“Understandable conclusion, they’re not really friendly when push comes to shove, but they do cooperate,” Mac said, murmuring the words as his eyes narrowed slightly and he scanned the street ahead of them. No one was around them to listen to what they were saying, but Mac remained suspicious despite that.

"The boss should find it useful."

Right, onto the reason he was there in the first place. Clearly Dora, or Constance, had managed to get a fair amount of information for the Alliance. Prepared for the exchange of information, Mac pulled a datapad from his pocket and handed it over to her. “You better write the information onto that.” His memory wasn’t exactly faulty, but he’d rather give Loran accurate information and run the risk of being caught with the information in a hard copy. He was confident that he’d get away from whatever he’d encounter, and it was a fairly simple thing to sabotage a datapad if push came to shove.

A knot was forming between his shoulders as a feeling of being watched encroached upon him. With a casual glance around he saw that whoever was watching them wasn’t close enough to hear what they were discussing, the individual was also keeping out of sight. “Careful, we’re being watched,” he cautioned, saying it as if he was merely commenting on the content of the datapad he’d handed over. His eyes remained firmly on Dora while he spoke, as wandering eyes could potentially alert the lurker. “Deaf, but not blind.”

He threw one more glance around, casual, as if he was merely looking at the name of the street they were on. “We should probably deal with it.”

[Constance Bravil]

“You better write the information onto that.”

The concept of recording any of the secrets she held for posterity rankled her something fierce. One of the major reasons Angler hadn't been caught thus far was the fact she never left evidence of her activities behind. No crib notes, no personal logs, no encrypted data files in Bucket's protected memory core. Anything related to her true purpose and mission remained locked her brain, the one storage medium she could trust to stay secure. Or at least I thought that before I got mindjacked by a Jedi. Still, that's a pretty extreme circumstance, and not one that's likely to happen again.

With an effort of will, Conner forced herself to accept the 'pad Michael offered without visible hesitation. She couldn't claim to know him well--hells, she barely knew her former brother-in-law at all--but he was Alliance, and that was enough to allow some amount of trust. Surely he wouldn't ask her to write anything down if he wasn't able and willing to destroy the device before it could fall into enemy hands. Besides, not everyone had cybernetically enhanced synapses like her; they didn't have the time to spare for Mike to acquire the reams of data she had to offer through rote memorization.

“Careful, we’re being watched. Deaf, but not blind.”

Her fellow Corellian's words were no real surprise to the spy. The paranoia she lived with daily meant Constance expected to be under surveillance more often than not. That didn't stop the pit of her stomach from freezing over. "Understood," she murmured in reply, barely moving her lips and keeping her gray eyes fixed on the datapad in her hand. Her expression became one of mild confusion, as though whatever the (in reality blank) screen displayed failed to make sense to the brunette.

Behind the mask, Conner's thoughts whirled at a blinding speed as she processed these latest happenings. Who could be stalking the two of them now? There'd been no unwelcome watchers at the park, Angler would stake her life on that fact. She'd taken every precaution to make sure no one could use their scheduled meeting as a setup. Therefore, the rational conclusion was they'd picked up their tail on the streets. While this made it less likely they were currently under the official scrutiny of Confederate intelligence, she couldn't discount the possibility whole cloth. If they were lucky, they were merely being sized up by one of the local opportunists looking for an easy mark. Even on a planet as peaceful and prosperous as Alderaan, petty--and not so petty--crime still existed.

“We should probably deal with it.”

Commander Bravil lifted the focus of her attention to Michael's face, gazing into his green eyes with a quizzical countenance. "I agree," she responded, her body language conveying the impression to their unwelcome admirer that she was asking a question about the contents of the 'pad. "If we angle west at the next corner and head down a few blocks, there should be a blind alley leading off to our right."

Now it was her turn to glance about at nearby landmarks, as though she were concerned the two of them had become lost. The old 'man who refuses to stop and ask for directions' scenario is a classic to play out, not to mention quite believable. Conner had no more luck at spotting their stalker than the former Colonel did, unfortunately. "Perfect place to set up an ambush." No point in dressing up the circumstance. Whoever had chosen to target the two of them, the next few minutes of their life promised to be unpleasant.

[Mac Cheydin]

Mac reacted accordingly, set them up to move in her suggested direction by making an obvious pointing motion, as if he was suggesting or claiming that if they took that road they’d end up wherever they wanted to be if they’d had a specific location in mind. It was something you often saw coming from people who weren’t familiar with their surroundings, most often coming from tourists, making them painfully obvious to the natives. Mac’s motion was slightly more subdued than that, making it overt, but still a casual motion.

Together they moved, making their way through the few crowds and across the streets that separated them and the alley they hoped to find. As far as Mac could tell, their tail followed them and due to the layout of the street was forced to move closer unless he wanted to lose them, which would prove helpful for their own plans. During the whole duration of their walk, he kept a covert but thorough watch out for anyone other than the presence behind them. Curiously enough, he or she seemed to be operating chiefly on their own, there was no other sign of anyone showing any interest in them, and while Mac was not an intelligence agent, he knew enough about spying on someone to recognise certain telltale signs. The fact that Constance didn’t voice any extra concerns confirmed his theory that their follower was alone.

The silence between them was broken only a few times, more to give the illusion that they weren’t completely preoccupied with keeping their attention on everyone around them. Mac had little to say concerning what Loran had told him to say, he’d cleared that up already, and it made sense to refrain from talking shop when they had a tail with potentially hostile intentions following them.

They reached the blind alley in good time, they’d kept up an easy relaxed pace, indicating that they weren’t in a rush or feeling pressured by anyone. Their act might not fool an excellent operative, like perhaps Loran himself, but it seemed they’d kept the tail on their scent without scaring him off. Mac wasn’t about to pat himself on the back yet though, not until he found out who was following them.

Slipping easily and inconspicuously into the alley, Mac discovered that it was a fairly clean one, not at all like one you’d find on Corellia or Coruscant. Mac settled into one of the dark corners of it, hiding him from anyone peering into the alley entrance. They waited for a few moments, before a man who seemed unusually interested in the alley turned up. His way of holding himself was reminiscent of a soldier, and Mac saw clearly where any training the man had gone through had originated from. His stance was very similar to his own, ten years ago. Little seemed to change when it came to the Confederation.

Biding his time, Mac remained where he was, unwilling to cause a ruckus should he jump the gun and grab the man from the street, only a few steps into the alley would suffice. The man was clearly cautious, and seemed reluctant to go into such a narrow place, where a trap was obvious, but it seemed he was confident he hadn’t been spotted following them, as he took a few steps in, peering into the dark confines.

Mac struck as quick as he could, slamming into the man from the side and forcing him into the wall. The Fed didn’t give up easily, putting up a fight as the two men scuffled further into the alley. Mac had more power behind him, while the Fed was more agile, avoiding many blows that would’ve ended the fight quickly. Perhaps the fight would’ve been likened to a dance, had not the both of them decided that lashing out at each other with the most viciousness was the more favourable option. Pent up anger and hate fuelled much of Mac’s attacks, turning it into a versatile fist fight with the occasional kicks.

While Mac would have denied being a adrenaline junkie, he couldn’t exactly in this moment deny that he wasn’t enjoying the act of giving and receiving vicious blows. Sometimes a good old fashioned fight was the best to get the tension and pent up emotions to ease up. Being a captain of a starship wasn’t particularly good in relieving his urge to fight.

A solid kick from Mac made him lose his balance, and the former smuggler took his cue, knocking the man to the ground and pinning him to the ground, using his larger size to keep the Fed down. A few solid punches were delivered to make the man cease his struggling, Mac perhaps taking more enjoyment in the fight than was morally right, but when it came to morals he rarely paid them much mind unless they were his own. He would’ve continued, but he knew questioning the man was more important than giving him what was coming for him. He threw Constance a quick glance