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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
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.