Hell Hath No Fury, [Alliance Mission] Theed

Many sentients in the galaxy wore uniforms of one form or another. Working in most professions required a particular sort of attire. In Aella's experience, the majority of those forced to obey a particular dress code while 'on the clock' often relished the opportunity to be free of such strictures. She'd known various fellow military men and women who'd held this point of view. Well, to be more accurate, she still knew a fair number of individuals who fit this description. Director Loran, for example, did not care to wear his duty dress grays save when necessary.

The same could not be said of the naval veteran. Quite the opposite, in fact; only when in uniform did she feel like herself. Aella begrudged every circumstance in which she was forced to don 'normal' clothing. Civilian wear did not rest comfortably on her shoulders in particular, where she keenly felt the absence of her rank insignia. Still, she'd never been one to complain about the necessities of duty, so her discomfort would go unmentioned to the other mission participants for the duration.

The Grand Admiral stood now before the mirror in her stateroom's fresher, applying eyeliner with careful precision. While she disliked the requirements of female formal dress as expected in most of the galaxy, that did not mean she was unskilled in its presentation. A far younger Aella had been enrolled in charm school once, one of many obligations placed upon the children of the Corulagi elite. She never spoke of such past times in the present, as they were irrelevant. However, she'd never forgotten a single lesson she'd been taught, including those relating to fashion.

She paid no mind to the indulgent luxury of the confiscated yacht the Alliance had provided for the trip to Naboo. The elegant trappings of her quarters neither impressed nor unsettled her. Aella came from money, an old and established wealth tracing back to when her home planet had first been colonized.

This was, in fact, the basis of their 'cover story'; Lady Taridon had been invited to one of the many and varied festivals the... colorful populous of Naboo so liked to throw. The fact her elder brother held a high place in Sienar Fleet Systems did not hurt either; the local shipwrights would no doubt appreciate the opportunity to do business with one of the primary military contractors for the Confederation. The Queen knew her true purpose here, of course, as did a few other trusted advisors, but the rest of the court would be unaware for security reasons.

The three other women assigned to her team were to play the parts of her 'entourage', a task she did not envy them. Courtiers and hangers-on were annoying, and rarely efficient in their purpose. She could not imagine pretending to be one. The very thought insulted her dignity. While Aella was far from the most compassionate humanoid in the galaxy, she would do her best to not make the younger women's duties too onerous.

Finishing painting her face in the culturally required manner, Grand Admiral Taridon retrieved her wide-brimmed hat from a side table and exited the stateroom. Narrow heels clicked a precisely metered cadence against the deckplates as she made her way up to the cockpit. Another necessity of civilian dress she disliked. Standard issue boots were far kinder on the feet. Upon arriving, eyes of turbolaser green fixed on the woman in the pilot's seat. "Have we received clearance to land as of yet?" Another inefficiency she must tolerate; in her long experience, she'd found all non-military port facilities to be downright sluggish in their operations.

Perhaps it was the heels. Or maybe the clothes. Yes, it was the clothes. The clothes, made of fine spidersilk, were light on the Mandalorian’s shoulders, far too light. It made her antsy, her heel tapping against the deck plates in an irritated tattoo. The Alliance outfitter who had presented them to her had assured her that the material could deflect blaster fire, but Rhia had her doubts, and that was a severe understatement. As all Mandalorians, she loved her beskar’gam, but there would be no tromping about in the heavy armor for this mission. It was unfortunate, but Rhia could roll with it. She wouldn’t survive long without being adaptable.

Besides, were a few things she could appreciate about the outfit. For one, it was pretty. The tunic, orange in color with wide strips of pale orange embroidery down the front was loose, save a single broad belt around her waist, with billowy sleeves that stopped and puckered around her elbows. It went well with the dusky tone of her skin as did the cream-colored pencil skirt. The only thing she didn’t like were the golden heels. She didn’t fear tripping over herself in them, but she loathed the thought of having to wear them for the rest of the night, stars above, that would make her want to strangle aruetiise babies.

However, Rhia distracted herself from the inconvenience by mentally cataloging the veritable armory she had on her person. She took full advantage of the loose shirt: strapped to her body, against her skin, were harnesses holding both her pistols and her fragmentation grenades, artfully hidden beneath the tunic’s folds. Her vibrodagger was slipped into her left sleeve, and her knuckler was in her right, strapped to the upper arm instead of around the wrist. She could easily slide it down and put it to good use.

Unable to leave them behind, her crushgaunts were folded up and kept in the... Ugh, disgustingly tiny and ineffectual purse she had shoved between her leg and the armrest of the pilot’s seat. Finally, a deadly Zenji needle kept her thick dark hair up in a loose bun, at the nape of her neck. Rhia couldn’t help but be proud of herself for having so many weapons, but still maintaining a slim profile. Anybody looking at her would not think she was armed to the teeth, just that she was remarkably tall, being thrown up to a good 6’4” with the heels on.

She felt that her ‘superior’ for this mission couldn’t complain. Rhia was only one of three bodyguards on this team, and if she knew Molly – which she did, the two of them having formed a fine sort of friendship after their last mission – the commando was similarly armed. The third woman, an older human, with the sharp look of an experienced warrior about her, Rhia didn’t know as well, but the Mandalorian had a feeling she’d grow to respect Danae as she had most of the Alliance warriors. That just left one Aella Taridon. In Rhia’s mind, the green-eyed woman was a non-combatant. She commanded fleets, not soldiers, and Rhia, forever a ground-pounder, just couldn’t figure out how that would earn praise and honor. However, she kept her mouth shut and her judgement reserved. Perhaps she would see what made Aella Taridon’s name whispered with a tinge of fear in due time.

Negotiations with the port officials went smoothly, Rhia’s knowledge of Basic suitable enough to let her communicate a desire to land a ship. Just she received permission, the staccato of heel on metal drew her dark eyes from the glowing console and she turned in time to see the very non-combatant she was thinking of enter the cockpit. The woman’s eyes were steel, impenetrable, and unreadable. Rhia cocked one dark eyebrow at her expression, but met Aella’s eyes nonetheless.

“Have we received clearance to land as of yet?”

Rhia’s pronunciation had improved since she’d started spending more time in aruetiise space, as had her vocabulary, but her voice still carried a lilting accent. Turning back to the console, she gripped the steering column before answering. “Just before you walked in. We are bringing the ship into atmo, so you will probably want to sit down, yes?”

On the subject of uniforms, Molly wasn't particularly into them. She liked them on the enemy, of course. It told her who to kill first. But she never really liked dressing like everyone else and marching to the beat of their drum. Perhaps it reminded the murderer a little too much of the grey she wore in prison; she didn't really dwell too long on the reason and just inherently knew she disliked it. She was definitely on the fringe of the Alliance, more a mercenary than one devoted heart and soul to the cause, someone like Grand Admiral Taridon.

Molly didn't know her and she didn't care to. It was as simple as that. She had been given a mission and she would fulfil it to the best of her abilities. Granted it was a little different than her usual salt the earth style, but she was a master of adaptation. She'd die before the damned admiral would. It was odd feeling preparing one's self to take a bullet for another and one that Molly wasn't looking forward to. Dying wasn't high on her list of things to do. As far as the mission went, Molly wasn't expecting much trouble. But that didn't mean she wasn't prepared for it.

The murderer sat in the co-pilot's chair beside the Mandalorian and was bored out of her skull. She had legs crossed at the ankle and tactical boots propped on the pleasure yacht's dash. Slumped in the chair with the armoured vest open and at an odd angle across her body, partially obscuring her face, she played with one of the sharp stiletto-like blades to pass the time. The weapon twirled through her fingers without thought and Moly stared out the wide viewport.

Snatching the blade from its nimble dance, she slid her thumb through the eye ring and sat up a little, pulling on the fitting dark brown top from where it had ridden up. The woman grumbled a little as she turned in the chair, resting both her hands on the simple and utilitarian black trousers she decided to wear. Molly would have preferred something a little more protective but had to make do. They had to think of appearances, apparently.

She caught another glance of Rhia as she moved and another smirk broke out. She still couldn't get over what ridiculous thing the Alliance had her wearing. Molly shook her head for what must had been the fortieth time and sighed. The Mandalorian seemed so out of place in airy and colourful fabrics. It didn't seem right given the second skin Molly was accustomed to seeing Rhia in.

Draped over the back of her chair was a heavy nerf-hide jacket that would have fallen to about her knees and an expansive tactical harness of leather and synthetic materials. This was a light load for the murderer and she begrudgingly left a good deal of her more showy pieces at home. Everything attached to the rig could be easily concealed beneath the coat. Luckily Molly's hands weren't tied like the others. Her teeth could be partially bared.

“Have we received clearance to land as of yet?”

Molly blinked twice as her superior entered the cockpit. She didn't make any attempt to get up or salute as one may have expected. If anything, the grand admiral was barely acknowledged, though the murderer was solidly aware of the older woman's presence. She learnt a long time ago how to pay attention and seem completely uninterested.

“Just before you walked in. We are bringing the ship into atmo, so you will probably want to sit down, yes?”

Glancing lazily over her shoulder and the armoured collar of her vest, she regarded the grand admiral as Rhia informed her of the situation. The murderer made a curious face but still managed to look bored. The slender dagger wrapped around her thumb rapped softly against her thigh. Taridon definitely looked the part.

Cold. Calculated. Efficient. Three words most commonly used to describe Grand Admiral Taridon. No woman in the Alliance was more feared, respected, admired, or idolized more than she of the platinum grey hair. She walked into a room, and the temperature dropped by a noticeable five degrees, productivity rose another ten, and attentiveness grew twelvefold. It was said by those among the lower echelons that eye contact with the woman would turn a person to stone. Now, that obviously wasn't true, but Danae could understand the reasoning behind such a statement.

Being a high ranking officer in the Intelligence division, Crashdown generally reported to Director Loran, but there had been a few occasions where her services had been solicited by Old Lady Durasteel herself; scouting missions, recon, and other tasks that required a discrete nature provided by few others save Danae and her partner. That being said, she suspected that no amount of familiarity with the older woman would make one comfortable in her presence. She was as unreadable as a faded piece of flimsi.

The other two members of the party were significantly less familiar to Idanian. One of them was a Mandalorian, which was to be expected. She was taller than the only other Mandalorian she'd ever met personally, Vexa of Clan Ordo. Her garb did little to dull her most distinguishing features; the critical, calculating gaze of a warrior and the "don't-frell-with-me" aura.

The other, Lieutenant-Colonel Molly Grimm, she'd actually heard of. Little needed to be said about that woman in particular, other than she wasn't someone you wanted to see on the opposing end of the battlefield. All four women shared at least one notable attribute: they knew how to handle themselves. That wasn't something that could be hidden beneath flashy attire and makeup.

Danae shifted in her position at the back of the cabin as Durasteel entered and conversed brusquely with the Mandalorian about docking clearances. She smoothed out the creases in her black crepe skirt and buttoned up her suit jacket, made of a turquoise shimmersilk. She figured that she probably carried significantly less armament than the other two, but the weapons that she did carry were as familiar to her as water to a Mon Calamari. A blaster holstered in her armpit, a vibroknife up her left sleeve, her snap-baton strapped to her right thigh, and a mini-stunner secured to the small of her back. She also carried a datapad and stylus, and left her comlink clipped to her ear, as Idanian would be playing the role of Taridon's secretary.

Aella took a moment to offer the subtlest of nods towards High Colonel Idanian after noticing the younger woman standing by the aft bulkhead. She recalled the Corellian from personal experience, rather than merely as a result of the vast stores of data etched into her brain. While Aella normally left matters of espionage to the Intelligence division, times came in the course of her plans where a more delicate touch than one could achieve with naval materiel was called for.

Selecting Idanian for this mission had been only logical. The High Colonel was a former CorSec agent, well versed in the tracking of criminal activity. Idanian's impressive record in such matters had been what caused Loran to recommend the High Colonel to her in the first place. The Grand Admiral had never found reason to criticize the Director on that point.

As for the other two women, the veteran possessed nothing beyond the cold and clear cut facts contained in Alliance records. Lieutenant Colonel Grimm had built a specific sort of reputation in her years of service, and the reports of her previous assignments had made for interesting reading. The commando's style leaned heavily towards the brutal, though this did not ever appear to impinge upon her efficiency much. A blunt instrument to be certain, yet a versatile one. Her lack of visible or verbal respect towards her superior officer made sense in this context, and so Aella chose not to comment on it.

An odd choice to take along on an investigative mission, perhaps—especially given the strong temper noted in her psychological profile. That said, the same profile indicated Grimm to be faultlessly loyal to the Alliance. This trait made her an advisable choice to serve as bodyguard in truth, not merely as her cover story. In addition, Aella's long experience in matters of war made her suspect the upcoming days would not be devoid of violence. Some sentients might call it a hunch; she would categorize it as a reasonable projection based on prior experience.

Then came Rhia of Clan Ischoron. Much as Aella had spearheaded the initiative on the subject of Alliance/Mandalorian collaboration, she'd interacted with fairly few members of the warrior culture. On the short list first came Cuyan Mand'alor, followed by the current Cabur Mand'alor, and then to one Orion of Clan Athiachos, the 'ambassador' assigned to liaison with High Command. This Rhia she only knew of through references in previous Alliance mission reports.

The reasoning behind including the warrior woman on her team was strategic in nature. She'd been apprised of some growing unrest amongst the Mandalorians towards their narudare, defined as 'allies of convenience'. While Aella could not blame the Mandalorians for their skepticism given their history, she found the possibility of a breakdown in cooperative efforts between the two factions a significant enough threat to address through personal action. She felt increasing the amount of integration on mission assignments would go a long way towards quelling any potential resentment and/or xenophobia on the part of the Alliance's associates.

“Just before you walked in. We are bringing the ship into atmo, so you will probably want to sit down, yes?”

Thin silver brows rose a few millimeters at Rhia's 'suggestion'. She found it difficult to estimate if the young woman's bluntness came as a result of her cultural mores, her lack of native fluency in Basic, or from some level of aversion to the 'outsider' who she'd been assigned to serve. Further study would be required to discern the most accurate interpretation.

“Indeed,” Aella pronounced, her tone dry as the Tatooine desert. Finding no reason to disagree with the Mandalorian on this topic, the Grand Admiral availed herself of one of the open seats in the cockpit. She secured the safety strap across her lap as specified by regulations, her motions worn smooth by decades of repetition. Perhaps Rhia might take the act as a potential insult to her piloting prowess, but the older woman meant nothing of the sort. She'd simply rather be prepared for any potential issues.

“Once we land, there will of course be an escort awaiting us.” Aella didn't make small talk; she only relayed necessary information. “The Queen could extend nothing less towards her honored guests. They will no doubt be appropriately effusive and servile, accustomed to dealing with the delicate egos of pampered civilians.” The slightest hint of derision entered her voice. “Do your best to react to their flailing about as if it is only to be expected, something to take for granted. Be courteous, but aloof.”

Green eyes lowered towards the neatly folded hands in the Grand Admiral's lap. Unlacing her fingers, Aella observed the platinum band circling her left ring finger. She considered removing the piece of jewelry, as its thickness and breadth indicated an ornament intended for the hand of a man rather than a woman. Perhaps that would be the most pragmatic action to take... but no, she would not do so. Such a tiny variance from her otherwise feminine appearance would more than likely not be noticed anyways. Civilians were an unobservant species in general.

“The same attitude must be shown towards your environment. We shall be staying in a suite of rooms in the Royal Palace. Any indication on your part that your surroundings are unfamiliar in context might raise suspicion in our target. If he is truly selling information to our enemies, it would behoove him to remain on constant alert for any sign of surveillance.”

The distinctive flash of light on a blade drew Rhia’s gaze from her work, and she glanced over at her co-pilot. The fierce woman was draped over the chair, feet up on the dash, and a grumble of jealousy sounded in Rhia’s throat. Being Aella’s ‘official’ bodyguard, the commando had been allowed to forgo the brightly colored party wear, and dress more comfortably in armor and boots, damn her. The thought brought into acute focus the rub of the heel’s strap on the back of her heel, and Rhia threw Molly a narrowed glare just in time to catch the woman’s smirk.

Rhia couldn’t help but mirror the smirk, but hid it by pursing her lips and blowing a strand of styled hair out of her face. “Do not even start, Grimm.” She shot back. “This was not by my choice.”

A low rumbling, vibrating the air and the deck beneath their feet was the first hint of atmospheric friction on the hull. Rhia’s eyes flicked between the console and the front viewport, monitoring all the ship functions as streams of fire licked across the clear panes. Even though her piloting was assisted by computer, her knuckles grew white as she gripped the steering column, fighting against gravity and turbulence to keep the vessel on the assigned flightpath.

Soon after they broke atmo from the dead cold of space, Rhia fired the yacht’s forward thrusters, slowing their acceleration, and allowing her to bring the ship to a cruising altitude. As the low rumble which had filled her hearing receded, she noticed Aella’s dry words cutting through the air.

“Once we land, there will of course be an escort awaiting us. [...] Do your best to react to their flailing about as if it is only to be expected, something to take for granted. Be courteous, but aloof.”

Rhia didn’t know Aella well, but if she could judge from the Admiral’s tone, the woman didn’t hold civilians in high regard. This was an attitude Rhia couldn’t help but sharing, though it wasn’t from personal experience, but a lack of understanding. The concept of ‘civilians’ was another oddity of the aruetiise. Why wouldn’t every single one of them join the fight if they were able-bodied? How could she see people who didn’t or refused to fight in any good light?

“The same attitude must be shown towards your environment. [...] If he is truly selling information to our enemies, it would behoove him to remain on constant alert for any sign of surveillance.”

Sweet stars, what had she gotten herself into? A suite of rooms in a royal palace was so far removed from the rough and tumble forests of Mandalore that Rhia actually felt a sense of apprehension, not knowing what to expect. It was followed by that familiar tinge of homesickness, the feeling only heightened by the absence of her armor on her back, and a tact-knife on her chest in easy reach. Still, she grunted in acknowledgement. Courteous, but aloof. She could do that, easy. As for looking like she knew her way around? She’d just stay silent, so long as these ‘flailing’ civilian didn’t get too close to the Admiral.

Bringing the ship into a slow descent, the terrain around them began to resolve itself through the white mists of atmosphere. Even if it was aruetiise territory, Rhia couldn’t deny that Naboo was beautiful. They passed over shining lakes, set like blue and green jewels into the forestry velvet of the land, and Rhia looked up from that just in time to see the domed and verdigris encrusted roofs of Theed.

Another lurked near the back of the cockpit. She hadn't said more than a word as of yet and Molly didn't care. She didn't need to know any of these other women on a personal basis. She would kill and die for them and that was all that mattered in the end. Their likes, dislikes, nitpicks, and dreams meant nothing to her and she wasn't bashful enough keep that thought hidden. Most learnt the hard way that befriending Lieutenant Grimm was an exercise in futility. One slicer, however, didn't seem to get that memo.

“Do not even start, Grimm. This was not by my choice.”

"Like frell it wasn't." Molly shot back almost instantly. Her grin grew and a lively shimmer set in her murderous green eyes. She was loving this and although she wished the Mandalorian no ill-will, seeing the normally armour-clad warrior in silks and a skirt was something she couldn't let pass without comment. They had both been in the shit together and the bond between them was far stronger than some light ribbing.

The atmospheric entry shook the star-yacht and Molly adjusted her boot on the front console, propping herself up against it and pressing her back into the chair. Of course she could have sat up and fastened the multi-point safety harness, but couldn't be bothered to. Riding the turbulence down, the flames licking up the expanse of transparisteel disappeared and the shuddering of the ships frame diminished to a dull vibration that numbed her ass.

“Once we land, there will of course be an escort awaiting us. [...] Be courteous, but aloof.”

Holy frell, the admiral liked to talk. Molly spared her an eye as she droned on, using words that the murderer wasn't familiar with. With a look of barely veiled irritation, she turned her eye forward and watched their approach. Like frell was she going to be courteous to these frellers. It wasn't her place to be docile with a dumb smile plastered across her face. She was there to ensure the Grand Admiral's safety and while it may have appeared that she didn't give two shits about Taridon's life, it was a charge that Molly took deadly serious. She would end any freller that so much looked at Old Lady Durasteel the wrong way.

With a sigh, Molly slid the slender blade up her wrist and locked it in place. The woman was still talking and it took Molly some mental effort to focus on what she was saying. She was already bored and half the shit Taridon said went over her head. People that hid behind their words and made things complicated with them were immediately disliked.

“The same attitude must be shown towards your environment. [...] If he is truly selling information to our enemies, it would behoove him to remain on constant alert for any sign of surveillance.”

What the frell did 'behoove' mean? Molly sneered and snorted dismissively. They were going to have a problem if Taridon didn't start speaking normally. The murderer didn't ask for any clarification, however. She understood the gist of the speech and wouldn't be acting like some green cadet without a kill under his belt. She was a professional and she'd god damn act like one.

Even before the pleasure yacht was landing Molly was on her feet and checking her gear. The ballistic vest was zipped up and the straps across the chest were tightened. Molly pulled on the vest harshly, setting it in place and taking comfort in its embrace. The murderer pulled the rig from the back of the chair, the weapons and gear hanging from the various holsters and quick release harnesses clinked together. More straps were secured across the stomach and chest, locking the rig in place.

The woman locked eyes with Taridon for a second before she sat back down with her back pressed into the co-pilot's chair and one foot braced against the forward console. There hadn't been any warmth in her eyes and in that moment Molly thought they shared an understanding. The last thing Molly did was retrieve a small comm from a vest pocket and push it into her ear. The ergonomic communicator popped with static as their encrypted frequency was established. Molly tapped her ear.
"Comm test. Come in, over." she said, sounding very bored.

“Once we land, there will of course be an escort awaiting us. [...] Be courteous, but aloof.”

Danae in particular was used to such roles, having gone undercover no less than two dozen times in the past year with her partner codename Backfire. On Zeltros, Aargau, and Nubia, she'd played well the part of pampered bitch, which is what she assumed Lady Durasteel was hinting at here with her verbose verbiage. Having the utmost respect for her direct superior on this mission, she still found herself irked by the notion that she and other members of the Alliance brass insisted on trying to make their point with as many large, two-credit words as possible. But maybe that could be attributed to her time with Corsec, where she made her point with harsh tones and the occasional slap to the back of the head.

“The same attitude must be shown towards [...] it would behoove him to remain on constant alert for any sign of surveillance.”

That was her cue. Crashdown stood from her position leaning against the rear bulkhead and reached around into the corridor to snag a small bantha leather briefcase, about two and a half by one feet across. Unclipping the pristine durasteel clasps, she sat in the fourth and final seat, opening the lid to expose her surveillance gear. The large interference box and her camouflage device dominated most of the interior, but there were also a number of smaller, secondary items such as a view screen, a smaller data monitor, and an alphanumerical keypad. She'd already acquired the access codes for the city's security cameras, and these were waiting on a small piece of flimsi secured to the monitor by a sticky backing.

She plucked a small cylindrical item from a niche inside the case and closed it back up. About the size of a breathmint, with a single button at the base, it was a sensor tag to be attached to the target once the other three members of the group made contact. Danae leaned around Grimm's jump seat and handed her the item. "Sensor device. The button activates a barb in order to clip it to the target's clothing. Once it's securely attached, I can track him halfway across the system."

Leaning back, she set the briefcase between her legs and adjusted her attire one last time as they passed over one of the planet's numerous lakeside towns. Molly's voice crackled in her ear, "Comm test. Come in, over."

"Copy," she replied, fiddling with the buttons of her jacket and sounding equally disinterested.

“Do not even start, Grimm.”

"Like frell it wasn't."

The banter exchanged between the two young women rated no more than a brief glance from the Grand Admiral. She did not care how the members of her current team related to eachother so long as such behavior did not interfere with their performance. As the antagonism shown appeared to be the friendly sort, Aella felt no need to intervene. They were not under any potential observation at present, so such an exchange of jibes did not endanger the mission.

"Comm test. Come in, over."

"Copy,"

The sound of Idanian and Grimm going through a comm check also went ignored by the veteran. They were acting in due diligence. While Aella had every confidence any equipment provided by Alliance Intelligence would be in good working order, it never hurt to double-check. She had also considered an earsculpt, but had ultimately concluded it would not be advisable. Such equipment would be expected for a bodyguard or another member of her entourage, but a noblewoman would not deem it appropriate. The chances of anyone spotting the small comm in her ear was remote, admittedly, but Aella did not care to take chances when they were unnecessary.

Landing the yacht thereafter proceeded without incident. Grand Admiral Taridon expected no less from their Mandalorian 'exchange officer', though she did make an internal note of same. Aella neglected no detail in her mission reports, for all she did to keep them concise. Certainly the Mand'alor would appreciate hearing how well her subordinate performed as well.

Then came the time for the party to disembark. Grimm went first, as befitting her role as bodyguard. Aella walked down the ramp next, followed by her 'servants'. The quotations were in fact added on a mental level since the Grand Admiral considered them nothing of the sort. Their ranks and standing might be less than hers, as were their levels of experience, but she would not demean them by thinking of them as anything less than fellow soldiers.

As she had predicted, a well outfitted welcoming party awaited them on the tarmac. A female Twi'lek lead the 'charge' towards the quadruplet of women. An obsequious bow preceded the eager rush of speech. “Lady Taridon, it is a pleasure and an honor to meet you! The Queen is most anxious to make your acquaintance! Would you like...”

Aella's bright green eyes narrowed a few millimeters. Subtle shifts in expression and posture followed, as the Grand Admiral's demeanor turned from chilly to glacial. Her treatment of the other women on the mission team proved 'nice' by contrast. The Twi'lek's words trailed off as her own eyes went wide, her shoulders hunching in an instinctive cringe. The other diplomatic toadies shifted uncomfortably as well.

“You will take us to the palace now.” Taridon's tone offered no quarter towards argument. She did not raise her voice in the slightest, but she did not need to. Decades of experience in giving orders made her most affective in getting her point across by vocal resonance alone.

“Y-yes milady.” The red-skinned young woman had already started backing up, as were the rest of the brightly liveried servants. Their escorts made as much haste as could be accomplished while maintaining some small semblance of dignity. Soon they had arrived at the awaiting hoverlimo, sleek of line and plush of interior. One of the honor guard scrambled to open the door for Lady Taridon. The silver-haired soldier did not pay him so much respect as to take note of his efforts as she slid inside.

Even though the driver elected against taking the scenic route, the trip towards the Naboo Palace took some time. The spaceport had been constructed a prudent distance away from the royal district, as to not trouble the nobles with noise. Aella's keen gaze scanned the scenery as the vehicle glided down the wide boulevards. Even she had to admit the environs to be aesthetically pleasing. The granites and marbles used in the construction of building walls contrasted in a pleasant fashion with the domed verdigris roofs of the structures. The great Triumphal Arch made a significant impression on its own, a great monument separating the lesser—by comparison—residential districts from the royal section of the city.

For all the Grand Admiral acknowledged the artistic nature of their surroundings, she gave no outward show of approval or disapproval. Her countenance remained impassive from the time they exited the vehicle, during the winding stroll through the sculpted interior of the palace, ending at their arrival at their assigned quarters.

The Corulagi noblewoman had rated an entire suite of rooms: an expansive sitting room positively dripping with antiques, connected to a private dining area as well as four generously sized sleeping areas. Each of the latter possessed its own private fresher, as well as a prime view either towards one angle or another of the well-tended gardens surrounding the palace or the great cliff upon which the palace perched.

After the door to the hallway slid shut behind them, Aella strode several measured steps towards the center of the parlor. She cast a series of significant looks towards the corners of the room, then turned back to look at the three younger women. Turbolaser eyes picked out Idanian in particular. “Sweep.” While the Grand Admiral did not think the Queen herself would attempt to keep tabs on them, she had no such confidence in the others who might have access to the suite. She could not take the slightest chance of them being observed by anyone, Confederate spies or otherwise.

Shaking her head with a half-formed grin on her lips, Rhia fell into the silence of concentration. She was glad to see Molly smiling, and especially glad for the almost normal interaction. Except for that exchange, the group seemed a fairly dull one. Taridon didn’t speak much after giving her advice and the first words Rhia registered from Danae were flat and uninterested. She paid it no mind, figuring she was not quite used to the aruetiise way of handling things. Not that she wanted to. The aruetiise way of doing things was often very nonsensical.

Fair weather gave the Mandalorian an easy landing and the yacht settled gently into its berth. Through the cockpit viewport, she could already see the waiting party and that half-formed grin, which had been ebbing away, disappeared entirely. The towering city beyond the spaceport was grand and very stately. A far cry from the jungles of Mandalore, came the homesick thought again. Rhia knew how to handle herself, but growing up in a culture where a tavern brawl was as common and easy as putting on her boots didn’t leave much in the way of proper ballroom etiquette. This would be an adventure.

Getting up from her seat, she shifted her clothes to better conceal the armory beneath the fabric, tapped a few commands into the ship’s console, and then followed the party out of the cockpit. She paused only to pick up the datapad and the tiny purse she’d been assigned and then took up position behind Taridon on the gangplank. As they stepped out into the sun, Rhia’s eyes were hardset and wary, first on the approaching group and then up to the sky, to the vantage points on their positions. No danger, not yet anyway, but Rhia was ready. The towering woman was almost hoping there would be some kind of fighting, though, if the tsad’alor died, it wouldn’t reflect very well on her.

“Lady Taridon, it is a pleasure and an honor to meet you! The Queen is most anxious to make your acquaintance! Would you like...”

Rhia didn’t have to see Aella’s face to know the woman was giving a good and proper death stare to the Twi’lek. Such groveling behavior was further evidence to the exceeding strangeness of the non-Mandos. Rhia couldn’t even pretend to understand the reasons behind it.

“You will take us to the palace now.”

The more words Rhia heard from this woman’s mouth, the more the she liked her. The human was small and weak-looking, but she was beginning to see why Taridon was a leader. Straightforwardness was good, especially when just standing there had Rhia gritting her teeth at her shoes.

Uneventful was good, but uneventful was also boring. Even if the sights of Naboo were lovely, Rhia found nothing of interest in the sculpted buildings. Her dark eyes sought out signs of a military structure of some sort, and saw only a small police force with tiny blasters, a palace guard, and liveried servants holding ornamental weaponry. More than once the thought occurred to her of how easy it would be for the Mandalorians to dominate this planet and take it for their own. She mentally took notes for just such an occasion.

Once out of the car, she was given no more opportunities, so her attention was once again turned to Taridon’s protection. The garden, while beautiful, had Rhia shaking her head. Too many places to hide. And the upkeep! Stars, there were so many more useful things they could be putting their skills to. Like ensuring there was no pathetically easy invasion of their lovely, but ineffectual planet.

Out of instinct, the maze of hallways which brought them to their suite of rooms was memorized and Rhia took the time to note down a few choice ones which might prove useful, such as the location of the ballroom, the service lifts, and, of course, the kitchens. She did all this in silence, keeping her face stoney, and her posture aloof. As soon as they were inside the rooms, however, and the door slid shut, the Mandalorian was kicking off the shoes that had been imprisoning her feet, the sound of them clattering to the ground followed by a steady stream of Mando’a cursing.

The obscenities slowing to a mere grumble, Rhia took Aella’s prompting and padded about the room, searching meticulously for any suspicious electronics. It wasn’t the job she hated after all, it was the costume. An abrupt statement was thrown out to the general public as she worked, pulling down an antique vase from the top of a bookshelf.

“These aruetiise keep such useless things.” She hefted the vase and grinned. “Surely, this will not serve in a gunfight.”

((Does the sweep of the room turn anything up?))

It turns up several items of interest. Mostly in the range of bugs designed to give them a front seat to any and all discussion that happens in the room, as well as sensors to indicate how many individuals can be found in the room, and a mirror with a camera hidden beneath the reflective surface. The markings on the devices, easily detached from their hiding places and disposed of, vary, indicating that they're not being bugged by a single party. It seems several are interested in what goes on in the room.

The markings themselves are not distinctive enough to tell them who is behind any of the bugging attempts.

The boarding ramp lowered and Molly began down to the platform. Given everything that she had done in her relatively short existence, being responsible for another’s life was still an unfamiliar sensation but one she was becoming accustomed to. It had started with frelling slicer who didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut and now she was watching a Grand Admiral’s back. But she didn’t mind it, not entirely.

Their welcoming went off without a hitch just as Molly had expected and she got a sick kick of satisfaction out of seeing Taridon verbally rip them apart. She sneered into the collar of her jacket at the submissive Twi’lek and her party of servants. Molly begged them to try something stupid but highly doubted they wouldn’t. She would have enjoyed putting a bolt through the bitch’s forehead.

But nothing happened and they were soon marching down the walkway toward the awaiting hoverlimo. Molly led the way and kept a close eye on Taridon. This wasn’t the same as watching Muse. She always had the feeling he was going to break down at any moment. But Taridon was a different beast entirely.

The architecture did nothing to sate Molly’s appetite and she stared out of the window barely registering the Triumphal Arch, the domed roofs, or the beautiful scenery that the Grand Admiral was occupying her mind with. Molly was growing bored and shared a look with the Mando. Neither of them was suited for this ride.

The limo didn’t stop and they soon arrived at the palace. So far Naboo seemed a peaceful paradise and she loved it, but not for the reasons that one might have expected. She could have had so much fun here back in the day. This place was ripe for the picking. Molly tried to shake her mind from such thoughts and told herself that she wasn’t like that anymore. But she knew it was a lie.

The suite of rooms they had been assigned were more decadent than anything Molly had been in before. She was more used to cells of some form or another and similarly small rooms. For the first time in a long time Molly was uncomfortable. She frowned, giving nothing away to the others. She had a job to do and like frell was she going to let her feelings get in the way of it.

"Sweep"

She smirked as the heels flew across the room followed by a string of syllables that Molly recognized as curses even though the language was foreign to her. She chuckled to herself, peering out an impossibly large window and frowning again. Molly drew the curtains for the Grand Admiral’s sake and theirs. It was like the frellers were asking for a sniper to take them all out.

“These aruetiise keep such useless things. Surely, this will not serve in a gunfight.”

After unbuttoning her jacket Molly gave Rhia a shrug. She wasn’t so uneducated to know what the thing was, but she didn’t feel like sharing. It was ultimately unimportant to Molly but she knew that it was worth a pretty credit. She wondered how much could go missing before it would be noticed. Also she felt a little insulted that Rhia was lumping her in with the aruetiise. She was nothing like these people.

It wasn’t a surprise to her that they found bugs. The number, however, was. Molly was reluctant to open her mouth around them and deliberately stood out of the view of the camera they had discovered. No doubt they were live and Molly wondered if anyone listening had picked up on the aruetiise comment and recognized the language.

After unbuckling her safety webbing and rising to follow the others out of the command cabin, Idanian reached down to snag her briefcase and a significantly larger duffel bag, hefting the latter over her shoulder with ease that befitted someone who had done this dozens, if not hundreds, of times. Upon exiting the ship, she made a scene of not being able to carry both comfortably, but shrugged off any offers of assistance. Never letting another set of hands on either bag, the Intelligence officer placed both in the back of the hoverlimo on her own, waving the driver away and sliding in next to Lady Durasteel and closing the door behind her.

The Corellian in her wanted to shrug off the startling odds against her and the other three women, guessing that sheer dumb luck would get them through the night. But the Alliance Operative in her couldn't help but notice a handful of things: namely, the wide gaps in between the buildings, the secreted weapon emplacements, and the routine patrols via starfighters and armed airspeeders. Now, Danae fully realized that it was not necessarily the Naboo forces that they were to be pitted against, merely a single man and whatever interests he might have held. However, it was her experience that intentions were easily misconstrued in the kerfuffle, and it would take only a single misplaced shot to take down any one of them.

After a singularly uneventful trip through the palace, with Danae covering the role of rear guard, sharp eyes pinpointing exits, unorthodox and otherwise, they arrived in their suite. Nudging the door shut behind her with a heel, she had the scanner out of her duffel before the word had escaped Taridon's lips. Starting with the main room, she made a slow circuit, pausing every so often to remove a bug, deactivate it, and set it on the nearby coffee table. The bedrooms turned up similar devices, as well as the dining room and refresher units. In all, a little more than a dozen items of varying surveillance methods.

Sitting at one of the couches, Crashdown propped open her briefcase, activating her interference box to shield them from any surveillance devices she might have missed for the moment, as well as her Versafunction-88. She checked for correlation between the markings, as well as manufacturing logos and variances in design. From there, she would attempt to deduce the producers and retailers of each item in turn.

((Does Danae's research turn up anything? If not, is there any indication of how long it will take?))

The markings are obscure and it will take many hours to track down the information on the manufacturing origins of the many devices. As of yet, the markings reveal no secret, but with enough research, something is bound to come up.

While the rest of the mission team began their search of the room, Aella took her own opportunity to evaluate their surroundings. Unlike the younger women, the Grand Admiral did not feel at all discomfited or out of place in her surroundings. As one who'd grown up amidst luxury and privilege, she'd acquired quite a resistance against feeling at all impressed by conspicuous displays of wealth. Even after over four decades in military service, she still felt rather blase about such things.

One element of their assigned quarters she did note was that they were not only appropriate for her actual status as one of the heirs to the Taridon legacy, but in fact were a few degrees beyond what was strictly required to show the proper hospitality. The domineering woman wondered what the Queen's motivations were in arranging such circumstances. Perhaps she sought to make the other courtiers and guests present within the palace treat the 'retired' Fleet Admiral Taridon with greater respect--and subsequently, seek to curry her favor even more. Of course, Therise might simply intend the choice to be a compliment.

In the end, such reasons were irrelevant to their plans, and so Aella discarded any further thought on the subject. Instead she shifted her attention to other more pressing details--such as the Mandalorian's quick removal of her footwear, accompanied by a string of Mando'a. Grand Admiral Taridon understood a few of the words--the previous Mand'alor had been most enthusiastic in sharing obscenities with her, after all. Others she did not comprehend, but in their context they were likely vulgar as well.

“These aruetiise keep such useless things. Surely, this will not serve in a gunfight.”

A silver brow canted upwards in mild interest. "The natives here are indeed quite fond of extraneous decoration." Her tone indicated neither approval nor disapproval, while still pressing the subtle point of the fact she held no such opinion. The Nabooan affection for knickknacks did not concern her; the existence of such items didn't matter within the scope of the mission. "Useless as they are, we should avoid breaking them if possible; it would draw both social disapproval and unwanted attention."

Striding over towards an artistically constructed wing chair--also an impressively preserved antique--Aella settled her within its cushioned confines with sophisticated grace. While the other women busied themselves with a security sweep, the Grand Admiral occupied herself with tugging off her white silk gloves. A necessary fashion accessory, to be certain, but she'd never cared to have her sense of touch restricted in any fashion without extremely good cause.

Another lift of a brow came as Aella observed the growing pile of surveillance devices discovered by the two Intelligence agents and the one Mandalorian medic. She had know there would be some present, of course; Naboo court life could be rather cutthroat, with various political factions jockeying for influence with the high officials. However, the sheer number of audio and visual sensors present did surprise her. In addition, even to her untrained eye it was rather apparent the devices came from a multiple manufacturers.

Only after she observed Idanian activating her interference device did Aella elect to speak again. "I see our arrival has generated an impressive amount of interest. How flattering for our presence to be so appreciated," she commented, utilizing the dry tone with which she made one of her extremely subtle jokes.

In short order the Grand Admiral returned to her standard cold and calculating mode. "I estimate there to be at least a 75% chance one of those devices will turn out to be of Confederate origin. If that is the case, then we have two primary potential scenarios to consider. The first would be we that are merely one of many subjects of Confederate observation, either by our target or by another turncoat within the ranks of the Naboo nobility."

A faint frown tugged at the corners of the domineering woman's mouth. "The second more concerning--though I believe less likely--circumstance is that there has been a security leak in Alliance Intelligence, and the Confederation has been alerted as to the nature of our visit."

Clasping her bare hands in her lap, Aella steepled her index fingers. Turbolaser eyes acquired a target lock on Idanian. "As the senior most representative of Director Loran's division, I shall defer to your expertise on the matter as to how we should proceed on the subject." Next she shifted her intense stare at the two other women in the room. "Of course, I would highly value your input as well, particularly in the area of anticipating the proper preparations in the event a more... physical approach is required."