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boxofmisfits2019-10-02 08:17 pm
cipher_fine) wrote in boxofmisfits2019-10-02 08:17 pm
Entry tags:
A minor setback
This had not gone according to plan.
He had successfully infiltrated a branch of the Alliance to Restore the Republic, where he was to observe their movements, learn their organizational structure and resources. He'd set up a covert communication triad on the planet, with just enough power to transmit encrypted messages to an off-world listening post without having to rely on the local holonet technology. He had steadily been feeding data back to the Ascendancy on that one-way transmitter, out of contact with his handlers. Until they gave him a sign, he would participate in planning and executing covert operations against the Galactic Empire to keep his cover intact.
And he'd almost grown used to seeing a pale, dull-eyed face in the mirror. His skin and hair follicles had been bleached and tinted with a reversible dye, and a disguise mesh and adaptive lenses had altered his eyes and features enough to make him seem Human.
It had worked. The only close call had been the injuries he'd sustained two months ago, when he'd had to hide their extent from the rest of the group rather than risk them seeing the large blue patches of skin left behind when the bacta patches came off. A little more dye, and he'd been back in character again, undermining the local Imperial presence and fomenting unrest. It wasn't work he was proud of, but he did enjoy the skill it took to pull off.
The arrival of the Seventh Fleet had been unexpected, and, frankly, a disaster. He'd advocated that the Alliance cell fall back out of the system and regroup, but there were too many local partisans who held the area as sacred ground. A battle that soon followed destroyed one pole of his triad, leaving him unable to send a message to the Ascendancy.
They didn't stand a chance. Mitth'raw'nuruodo was not going to be bested by these aliens, and he couldn't tell them why they were doomed without breaking his cover. He couldn't leave, either, not without his cover identity being branded a deserter from the cause. That could still reach other Alliance cells. He would have to wait until he could convince enough of them to flee or go to ground.
It was frustrating, knowing that regardless of what he did, much of his work here had been pointless. The local cell was unraveling, and while he'd begun to sketch out their connections to other groups, it wasn't enough to make it all seem worth it.
He'd hoped, at least, that he had sufficiently secured his own position. But that turned out not to be the case.
The raid struck without warning--perhaps they'd been compromised somehow, he had no idea. Cornered, countermeasures outmatched, there'd been nothing left to do but fight.
The blaster bolt burned a hole in the armored cloth of his coat, and he fell back hard onto the metal floor, hitting his head. He didn't remember very much after that.
He had successfully infiltrated a branch of the Alliance to Restore the Republic, where he was to observe their movements, learn their organizational structure and resources. He'd set up a covert communication triad on the planet, with just enough power to transmit encrypted messages to an off-world listening post without having to rely on the local holonet technology. He had steadily been feeding data back to the Ascendancy on that one-way transmitter, out of contact with his handlers. Until they gave him a sign, he would participate in planning and executing covert operations against the Galactic Empire to keep his cover intact.
And he'd almost grown used to seeing a pale, dull-eyed face in the mirror. His skin and hair follicles had been bleached and tinted with a reversible dye, and a disguise mesh and adaptive lenses had altered his eyes and features enough to make him seem Human.
It had worked. The only close call had been the injuries he'd sustained two months ago, when he'd had to hide their extent from the rest of the group rather than risk them seeing the large blue patches of skin left behind when the bacta patches came off. A little more dye, and he'd been back in character again, undermining the local Imperial presence and fomenting unrest. It wasn't work he was proud of, but he did enjoy the skill it took to pull off.
The arrival of the Seventh Fleet had been unexpected, and, frankly, a disaster. He'd advocated that the Alliance cell fall back out of the system and regroup, but there were too many local partisans who held the area as sacred ground. A battle that soon followed destroyed one pole of his triad, leaving him unable to send a message to the Ascendancy.
They didn't stand a chance. Mitth'raw'nuruodo was not going to be bested by these aliens, and he couldn't tell them why they were doomed without breaking his cover. He couldn't leave, either, not without his cover identity being branded a deserter from the cause. That could still reach other Alliance cells. He would have to wait until he could convince enough of them to flee or go to ground.
It was frustrating, knowing that regardless of what he did, much of his work here had been pointless. The local cell was unraveling, and while he'd begun to sketch out their connections to other groups, it wasn't enough to make it all seem worth it.
He'd hoped, at least, that he had sufficiently secured his own position. But that turned out not to be the case.
The raid struck without warning--perhaps they'd been compromised somehow, he had no idea. Cornered, countermeasures outmatched, there'd been nothing left to do but fight.
The blaster bolt burned a hole in the armored cloth of his coat, and he fell back hard onto the metal floor, hitting his head. He didn't remember very much after that.
no subject
Waving Legate along, Thrawn said, "The medical bay is this way. I know which corridors we may take so that we will not run into anyone."
Making sure Legate was walking with him, Thrawn led him down the corridors, as promised, ones in which nobody was using at this time, until they reached the medical bay. Taking a look within, Thrawn saw that there were only medical droids on staff, as requested.
"The droids may attend to you now."
no subject
The medbay was mercifully free of Humans as well, leaving only the lanky Imperial medical droids. He didn't relish the idea of foreign models getting near him with hypodermics, but he would have to trust the Admiral.
"Thank you, sir," he replied. "Once I'm patched up and back in a proper uniform, I'll be happy to provide a full debriefing." The armored fabric of his coat had served him well, but sadly he'd have to discard it, at least for now. And if he were to be playing the part of an Imperial, he'd need at least some form of identification. All his aliases that had worked on-planet wouldn't have the security clearance to match an ISB agent, or whichever branch he'd pretend to be a part of now.
no subject
He stayed only long enough to make sure Legate had given himself over to the droids' care, before turning and leaving his new agent to heal. He would have a uniform sent down, and left just inside the medical by for Legate. As he walked, he began to think up a cover for the other Chiss. Saying that he was ISB had risks, since Colonel Yularen would eventually figure out that Legate was not one of his agents. Still, the Colonel was one of Thrawn's greatest allies, and would possibly be willing to go with the story.
Claiming that Legate was a special forces agent might work better in the long run, and would be easier to falsify credentials for.
Back in his office, Thrawn patiently waited for the call, taking the time to meditate among holographic artworks.
no subject
"Understood."
The droids were, as expected, coldly professional. The only point of contention--keeping his shed clothes and personal effects available for retrieval. If possible, he would hold onto all of them as a back-up, including the wealth of hidden equipment within. The droids, meanwhile, wanted the area as sterile as possible. They finally compromised on placing his clothes in a sealed case. An odd, but acceptable exchange.
The wounds were not so dire as to necessitate a full bacta treatment, but the blaster burn was still raw and vulnerable to infection. Thankfully, the droids numbed the area before cleaning and sanitizing began, but even so the feeling was unpleasant.
The scalp wound was also sprayed clean with a dilute bacta solution, and patches and bandages of various strengths and formulations were placed over his burns and deeper bruises. They'd limit his range of movement a little, but he could adapt.
He declined to submit to a blood test, prompting another round of resistance from the droids. "Deferred, pending authorization" turned out to be the phrase that finally got them to leave off. With a few more tests and tweaks, he was released to collect his new uniform and the sealed case full of his old clothes.
Imperial uniforms were always somewhat restrictive in the shoulders, even more so now that he was wearing bandages under one. But with enough adjustments and the proper posture, he looked as if he belonged in it.
While he couldn't do a thing to dye his wounds yet, the gash on his scalp had closed over already. A small application of dye would solve that, and he hid the spot under his uniform cap to soak in the false skin tone. As a bonus--it hid what a mess his hair was by now. He needed more fixative, but that would have to wait for later.
Once he emerged from the changing room, the droids immediately and unceremoniously announced that they had contacted the Admiral.
Today was going to be such a long day, wasn't it.
no subject
When the droid contacted him, Thrawn shut down the holoprojector and slipped out of his Admiral's suite, making his way back down to the medbay.
Legate did an admirable job at looking a true Imperial in his uniform, even if Thrawn could tell that he didn't quite fit into it. Thrawn recalled the first time he'd worn the uniform, and how it had taken him time to get used to it.
"Report, agent."
no subject
He waited to be summoned, but the order never came. Instead, the Admiral came to him. Unexpected. But not enough to throw him off this time.
"Sir," He crisply saluted as Thrawn entered, standing at ease once he was addressed.
"I infiltrated the Marcan's Pride extremist group as a sleeper agent twenty months ago. Since that time I have primarily operated under the codename Legate, participating in rebel activities in the interest of gaining further access to broader Rebel Alliance operations. My specialist credentials led to deployment as a consulting asset to Rebel cells sector-wide."
This was information meant for the Ascendancy, but it would now act to secure his position here. He would have to keep a log of disclosures, but this gamble seemed worth taking. "While structure of operational groups has remained fluid, certain individuals act as key points in sector-wide operations, and have thus been identified as weak points."
Some of them might be dead by now, but they couldn't possibly all have been rooted out while his cell was cut off.
no subject
Either Legate already had that story prepared, or he thought it up while being healed. Either way, Thrawn had to commend it. If Legate truly found these key individuals, then it would be easy enough to find and capture them.
"I will expect a full report, so we may put an end to these extremists and secure this sector."
no subject
"Of course, sir." Now that he was out of the brig, patched up, and in a new disguise, the enormity of all this was finally starting to hit him. His assignment really was absolutely gutted now, he was infiltrating the wrong faction all of a sudden, and Mitth'raw'nuruodo just gave him a compliment.
Also, apart from being unconscious, he'd barely slept in the past three days. That might have something to do with this burst of manic energy he was trying to tamp down on.
"I'll prioritize hand-off on last known locations and my Rebel passcodes."
That was it--right? No. There was something else, something the Humans had taken off of him while he was unconscious. Not his rifle, not the knives, there was something else--
Oh. He might be able to turn over something valuable. "I've not had the chance to verify if the data is retrievable, but my confiscated gear included surveillance holos that may contain records of art owned by several targets."
no subject
"They will be of valuable aid to me, agent. I thank you for this information."
He could see that Legate was in need of rest, by the look in his eyes and in his face. He waved a hand, "Come. I apologize that we were not expecting you back, and therefor we haven't had proper quarters set up for you. But you may have the area near my personal office in the meantime."
Hands behind his back, Thrawn led his new agent away from the medical bay and towards the lift.