Captain Tiberius Anson sighed contently
as he lay in his bunk, hands behind the back of his head as he rested
against the pillow below. "You should consider yourself fortunate,
Serra. Most people do not emerge from encounters with Inquisitor Thanor
unscathed," he said, flashing her a wicked grin. Slowly he turned
himself onto his side, keeping his head raised by leaning it against the
palm of his hand as if it were a pedestal. "...and it would be an awful
shame if anything were to happen to that body of yours," he added, his
eyes watching her intently as she dressed, despite the fact that only
moments earlier she had drained him completely. It seemed the
Intelligence officer had thus far managed to wrap the commanding officer
of the Grand Moff's command ship around her finger.
Two Captains, though their ranks meant
such immensely different things in their separate branches. Captain
Serra Eona didn't technically command any ships; really, she was pretty
low on the totem pole when it came to Imperial Intelligence Officers.
That was only a technicality, though, and the beauty of being part of
the Bureau; so little official ability, but so much vast power that went
unspoken but understood. IntOps made this doubly true. She pulled the
undershirt over her head, tucking it into her trousers. That done she
picked up her half-smoked cigarra from the bedside table where it sat
and took a drag, looking down at Tiberius as she did so. "Fortune
doesn't have anything to do with it. Sith are just like any other
problem. They have their solution, too. Most are just too damn scared to
try and find it." A second drag, then she set it back down so she could
shrug on her jacket. "Part of training for the work we do is learning
how to deal with Sith, Inquisitors included." She sat on the side of the
bed so she could work on her boots. His attention didn't go unnoticed,
but she left it alone for now. It was bad enough that she actually
enjoyed the sex. No need to complicate her work here more than that.
During their interludes Tiberius would
deactivate his comlink, as he did not wish to be disturbed during his
most pleasurable shipboard activity. Unfortunately for him, the bridge
had been attempting to reach him, but had been unable to for the past
ten minutes. "It feels like each time you leave a little sooner..." he
said, with a tinge of disappointment in his voice as he watched her
nearly finish dressing. Her manipulation of him had been complete ... not
merely physical, but psychological as well; she had succeeded completely
in her efforts to control him and he would now do anything to continue
seeing her. As she sat on the bed he slowly came up behind her,
positioning himself so that he could attempt several kisses in rapid
succession to the back of her neck. "Your quarters are still being
repaired. Are you sure you can't stay the entire night?" he pleaded,
sounded more like a child than the commander of a Star Destroyer.
It was something Serra had picked up on
and protested at first, but she made the concession at his insistence,
giving him a small victory. It was much the same situation when he
wanted to get affectionate after one of their little sessions; she
allowed those kisses and his touch, and even bothered to turn around
enough to give him a real kiss. She kept it brief, though. Serra had
taken some small interest in actually making Tiberius happy, but it only
went so far. "Absolutely not. What kind of mess do you think you'll end
up in if, say, the Inquisitor hears that I'm sleeping with you? I can
handle her, but I doubt you'd have as much luck the next time I ruin her
day." Something Serra full well expected to happen, too. Not that she
wouldn't work with the Sith, of course; her and Serine likely shared
similar objectives in many ways. However, after reading the details of
Serine's service record (what she could get of it at least) there was no
way her and the zealous, violent woman would always see eye to eye. "I
assumed you'd have the courtesy to provide me with a temporary room and
office until my quarters were repaired. Was I wrong?" She picked up the
cigarra again, her jacket and boots finally all on, and took another
drag, staring at him pointedly while she let the smoke sit in her lungs
then roll free.
"The Inquisitor's powers are
insignificant next to the power of this Star Destroyer!" Tiberius said,
exuding an overconfidence shared by many traditionalists in the Imperial
military. "Fine," he relented with an impassioned sigh ... as he always
did. Still naked, he slipped from beneath the sheets, and moved towards
the control panel on his desk. "I'll have the temporary quarters and
office space arranged..." he said, before entering a series of keystrokes
in rapid succession to issue the orders. "We're quite overbooked at the
moment, but these are the best we have," he assured her, before
commencing an intensive search for his undergarments in the pile of
clothes that had accumulated on the floor next to the bed. At long last
he succeeded finding them, and hopping on one leg began the process of
getting dressed himself.
Serra did not say anything about his
moment of bragging, knowing it for what it was. The man was intelligent,
but not enough to get over his pride. That was the difference between a
soldier like him and a spy like her. She scoffed a little, finishing the
cigarra and dropping the butt in the vac-bin. "Doesn't have to be the
best, just has to be functional. Remember, we're trying to make it look
like I'm not screwing you." Jacket buttoned and uniform sorted out, she
went for the door, overlooking the fact that Tiberius was barely in his
underwear. Not that she had any reason to think it would matter as she
went to make her exit.
As the door to the Captain's quarters
opened, Ensign Sun-Tu Beded stood, just about to press the comm panel to
request access. He had been dispatched by the bridge when the Captain
did not respond to repeated attempts to reach him on the comlink. The
young officer was fresh out of the Academy and not at all accustomed to
the complex personal relationships that often occurred on a starship.
His eyes looked past the Intel Officer and saw the Captain attempting to
dress himself, and instinctively took a step backwards, his eyes
widening and his mouth hanging somewhat ajar. "I-I-I'll come back..." he
nervously stammered, as if he were a child who had just walked in on his
parents making love. His cheeks now fully flushed a crimson red, he was
very nearly about to make a run for it, but simply turned on his heels
and slowly began walking down the corridor.
The face Serra found immediately on the
other side of the door came as a shock, but she didn't worry about it
too much until she noticed where his eyes went and his reaction to the
whole thing. She was, of course, well trained for split-second
decisions; this fresh young Ensign was in a position to undo her work
and make her life on this ship far more difficult than she needed it to
be. He was a threat to the mission. No sooner had he turned that a hand
darted out, covering his mouth and pulling him back. The other went for
his arm, dragging him into the room. Serra spun, putting her back to the
door, elbow striking the controls to get it shut. A brief struggle
ensued; Sun-Tu was a strong and capable soldier despite his freshness.
The hand on his mouth stayed firm, but her other released, disappearing
for a moment. It seemed that the Ensign might break free..and then a
blaster bolt shot through his stomach. Serra kept hold, of course; death
was not an immediate thing from a wound like this.
Ensign Beded looked with a sense of
terror towards his Captain as the life began to fade from his body. His
head dipped, eyes slowly closing, now too heavy to keep open. His
thoughts drifted to his family, particularly his mother, and the home
that he grew up on back on Talus. His last thoughts were of the young
woman he had fallen in love with before leaving to go to the Academy ...
and then he was gone, nothing more than a lifeless hulk pressed against
Captain Eona's form. A deep, low rush of air escaping his lips for the
"Serra!" Tiberius screamed, chastising
her as he watched the entire sordid scene play out in front of him.
"What have you done?" he asked, as he literally leapt over the bed,
still wearing only his underwear, and rushed towards them. "You've
killed one of my officers!" he said, stating the obvious as he looked
over the man's sunken features. "Was that really necessary?" he quickly
followed up, speaking in rapid succession as he considered how he would
explain this. He lowered his head suddenly, as he felt the onset of a
headache caused by the stress, and his right hand instinctively raised
to rub at his temple as he considered his options.
The way she cradled the Ensign was damn
near as tender as any embrace she had given Tiberius. She did not even
look at the Captain, for all his yelling, until she lowered the now
lifeless body to the floor. Her own features were cold, almost
expressionless, the very same way they rested at any given moment of the
day. For all her features betrayed, Serra Eona was watching paint dry.
"Yes." She took up the Ensign's arm and, after rubbing down the DL-18
blaster pistol she had produced when her hand disappeared, she put it
inside the Ensign's hand and squeezed his fingers around the grip. Then,
by the sleeve of her jacket to avoid her own prints, she offered the
pistol up to Tiberius, finally looking up to meet his rattled attention.
"I didn't kill anyone. You overwhelmed a rebel assassin and killed him
with his own weapon."
"Wait. I-I-I don't know..." Tiberius
anxiously stammered, as if he were back to being a first year cadet. He
thought about it a moment, all of the color fleeing from his face like a
retreating enemy, leaving only a pale complexion behind. His gaze was
transfixed on the young man's lifeless corpse as he desperately searched
for any other way. Finally ... reluctantly ... he reached the conclusion
that there was not, and took the blaster pistol from her outstretched
hand. "Now go..." he said weakly, waving his free hand at her, as he made
the necessary mental notes for the answers to the questions he would be
asked throughout the rest of the day. And to think, all he wanted was a
little action ... well now he had it, but of a much different kind.
The way he reacted was disappointing.
Serra simply watched while stammered and struggled, waiting for him to
take the pistol. When he did she utterly ignored his words at first;
there was still a little more to do, such as flipping the body so it was
face down. She rooted her gloves out of her jacket and set about leaving
a few serious bruises on the body, or what would soon become bruises.
She rose, then, and finally moved to the door, turning back briefly
before she walked out. "You should put a bruise or two on yourself,
Tiberius. Make the story believable. I'll be looking for your report."
With that she extracted a fresh cigarra, lit it, and left him alone with
the body of the ensign. So far as she was concerned, the problem was
solved. Tiberius only had to do what she said.