"Of Unknown Causes" -- Case XXX-XX-XXXX

[Petra Williams]

7 ABY

The battle of Endor, three years ago, leaves remnants of the Galactic Empire floating through the Galaxy. Much of it has been based on a small planet in the Outer Rim, and the new capitol for the Empire has become Bastion. Chaos reigns along with the struggling and diminishing Empire, who is tethering on its last legs.

Currently Director Isard is located at Thyferra, struggling with her attempts to hold the bacta supplies on that planet, and the planet itself. Her newly risen Admiral Thrawn has been working along with her to try and save the Empire that is regrouping from the vicious attacks of the newly-formed and strong New Republic.

Among the different parts of the Empire, a special organization has rooted itself here. It is one of the strongest parts of the Empire still left. It is called “Imperial Intelligence,” or “Ubiqtorate”

It is said that the ISB (Imperial Security Bureau) never managed to translate or even intercept a single Imperial Intel document, or Scandoc. The men and women that pass through the doors of the II become some of the most powerful and deadly agents in the Galaxy. They protect the Empire, the Imperial Palace, and the good of Mankind throughout the Galaxy.

The spies that leave II have no rank, no name in the Galaxy. They simply do not exist. They must never have any distinguishing marks such as tattoos or scars. They must not reveal themselves to anyone. An agent careless enough to get caught has no hope of rescue.

Their expectancy in their career is until they either receive an irreparable scar… or die.


Imperial Security Bureau, Sartinaynian AKA Bastion, Braxant Secotr, Outer Rim
900 Hours

Target: Lai Nootka (species: Duros)
Mission: Find Nootka and destroy his base of operations. Eliminate Target.

“No way in hell.” Field Operations Supervisor Bail Korren fixed his icy gaze on his assistant. “No way am I sending that… that… that hellion, on a mission this delicate! I don’t care if she’s your current bed partner, Bowher, the answer is no!”

Jeg Bowher grinned and shrugged. “Can you think of anyone better?” he asked. “You may not get along with her, but she’s damned good at what she does, sir.”

“She’s disrespectful, impulsive, risky…” Korren counted on his fingers. “And she doesn’t listen to me!”

“Maybe if you were nice to her, she’d be nice back,” Jeg suggested. When Korren only gave him a look that could possibly kill any lesser being, Jeg shrugged. “Sir, despite what you think about her, she’s always gotten the job done. Yes, you may not agree with her methods, but in the end she comes back successful.”

“With a trail of disaster right behind her,” Korren added.

Raising an eyebrow, Jeg said, “Now, if you’re referring to the Dantooine job…”

“Nevermind!” Korren fought a flush of embarrassment on his face. He did not want to be reminded about how he had called her to give a lecture at an extremely inopportune time, ending with his agent in a firefight and Admiral Thrawn and Isard’s demands on why he handled his agents so sloppily.

Holding back a snicker Jeg just said, “You’ve been throwing her in the Brig left and right on a whim, General. Just give her a chance… or I’ll make a call to Isard.”

“You wouldn’t.” Korren’s tone, however, sounded doubtful.

Jeg’s eyes met his steadily. “I wouldn’t?”

“Fine, call… Agent Williams.”

------------------------------------------------------------

“C’mon, Marsh, you’re turning into a wimp!” Petra shouted over her shoulder, still running at an even pace despite the hilly terrain.

“Wait… just… a… minute!” She paused and waited patiently until a sweating dark-haired man, almost a foot shorter than her, walked-crawled over to her at an excrutiatingly slow pace. “How… do… you keep… in… good… shape…?” he gasped out.

Tousling Marsh’s curly head, she grinned. “I don’t spend eight hours a day in front of a computer, Marsh.”

He groaned and collapsed onto the ground on his back. “Kill… me… please!” He panted hard for gulps of air. “You’re crazy, Pet,” he informed her once breathing was possible.

“You know you love me,” she teased. “C’mon, lazybum, we need to head back to Headquarters.” Grabbing Marsh’s arm, she pulled him up to his feet.

Marsh managed out a yelp before they went flying up and down the hills towards the Bureau of Imperial Intelligence’s housing for their agents. The dorms for the agents reeked of the charm of Imperial stormtrooper barracks, on Grand Admiral Thrawn’s order that any agent be prepared for whatever conditions.

Once in her room, Petra stripped off her sweaty workout clothes and stepped into the refresher, sighing with relief at the warm water pouring over her muscles. Despite her physical condition, she had a tendency to overwork herself.

But I want to work hard, she reminded herself, scrubbing her body clean. I’ll never give Dad a reason to have been ashamed of me.

A lump formed in her throat, but she swallowed it back. Her father’s death three years ago still stung; but she needed all her strength to keep going. He had been proud of her making it into the II training camp, and that was all that mattered to her.

Rinsing off, she turned off the water and grabbed a towel, drying herself off and changing into her nondescript clothes.

Technically the II had no uniform, since they could not be considered a governmental branch, but Director Isard and General Korren still wanted their agents looking respectable in case of any surprise visits from Thrawn.

She almost rolled her eyes at the thought of “Iceheart.” Despite Isard’s impressive career and tough standards Petra was not impressed. That had gotten her enough Brig time in the past and many icy threats from the director of the II, but she could not respect any woman with Isard’s ruthless and unethical behavior patterns.

That makes us no different than the Rebels, she thought rebelliously while yanking her boots onto her feet.

Suddenly her comlink started beeping, shaking her out of her thoughts. Grabbing it, she answered, “Williams.”

“Petra, it’s Jeg. Korren needs you to report to Adjustments in fifteen minutes. Can you make it?”

“On my way.” She hung up and grabbed her jacket, sliding it on before hurrying out into the hallway and towards the lift, pressing the button for a much higher floor.

Within minutes, she entered the Adjustments office of the building.

[Petra Williams]

Conference Room

A small breeze swept through the large room as the doors slid open to let Petra enter the room. At the head of a large table sat Bail Korren, lounging like a Nabooan king on the conference chair that supposedly proclaimed his ultimate power over his charges in an obvious way.

Korren looked up from a datapad in front of him with a sardonic smile when Petra entered the room. “Thank you for joining us, Agent Williams.”

“Any chance I get to be close to you,” she responded with a cheeky smile, but stood at attention at the end of the table.

With the smaller budget of the struggling Empire the room had barely any real comforts. Cold tile floors beneath Petra’s boots, with the thread-bare chairs for the rooms. It was a far cry from the former-glorious atmosphere the Imperials prided themselves with. Even the windows that revealed the bare landscape of Bastion looked smudged and dusty instead of sparkling clean.

Only replying to Petra’s sarcasm with a barely-tolerant smile, Korren touched a button at his side. “Madame Director,” he spoke respectfully, almost reverently. “The agent’s here.”

Immediately any trace of amusement disappeared from Petra’s face as the blue and imposing holographic image of Madame Director Ysanne Isard arose in the middle of the table. She immediately saluted. “Madame Director.”

“At ease, Agent.” Isard narrowed her cold eyes at Petra critically, studying her. "Agent Bowher assures me that despite your lack of professionalism you get the job done. Is this true, Agent?”

Nodding, Petra made a mental note to kill Jeg later. He may be her mentor, but slandering her to Isard was plain back-stabbing. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Manners. I like that.” Isard started pacing. "Field Operations Supervisor Korren has informed me that he has not told you what your mission’s objectives are yet. I wished to tell you in person, since this is a sensitive matter for the Empire.”

“I’ll do my duty, Madame.”

“Good. Korren, give her the specs.” Korren slid the ‘pad he had been perusing over to Petra’s waiting hand. With a flick of her thumb, a holo-image appeared before her eyes along with some details. “The target you are now looking at is known as Lai Nootka, a Duros arms dealer and trader.

“Nootka knows sensitive information about an interrogation I recently made about a Rebel pilot named Tycho Celchu. We know he has sold ship parts to the Rebellion and now works with them. He, and his base of operations, must be eliminated.”

Petra looked at the image, holding back an initial distaste for the alien humanoid. It made no sense to her to call any type of alien anything pertaining to humanity, but she simply nodded. “I understand, Madame. Do we want this to be quiet, or do you want to make a public example of him?”

“I want it quiet.” Isard looked almost pleased at the question, nodding to the girl. “As much as I would like to show these Rebels what we do to traitors, we cannot risk exposure.”

“Technician Marsh Flick will provide you with the necessary equipment for this trip,” Korren added from his position, still sullen at the choice of agent.

“The next time I hear from you, Agent, I expect a successful report. I will not be pleased if it is otherwise.” The ominous words, and the glare from Isard’s di-colored eyes, made Petra force back a swallow of intimidation as she simply saluted again. “Isard out.” The image disappeared and the atmosphere already felt less chilly.

Korren stood, his ample girth jiggling a little. “I don’t have to tell you,” Korren said with a glare, “that I think Isard is going to regret her decision. You have one of the longest records of screw-up’s in this agency.”

“Cheer up. I might come back in a bodybag,” Petra retorted.

“Don’t make me dream.” Korren pressed another button. “Send Technician Flick in here ASAP.”

“Yes, sir,” his secretary replied through the ‘com unit.

Meeting Petra’s eyes again, Korren scowled at her. “I mean it, though. Williams. This could reflect on you, me, and your precious mentor, Bowher. I won’t let you do that to us.”

A faint blush threatened to cross over Petra’s face. Was Korren ever going to let her forget her mistakes?

It still felt like yesterday when Jeg came to her quarters to tell her about her father’s death, and comforting led to one of the biggest mistakes she made in her life: sleeping with her mentor on a regular basis until she finally called it quits about a year ago. During the two years that she and Jeg “dated,” Petra’s missions reflected her inner torment: risky maneuvers, careless mistakes, and about five bacta tank visits. Before Korren could kick her out of Intel, Petra finally informed Jeg whatever they had other than mentor-student was over.

But of course Korren would never overlook that, not matter what she did.

“I’ve got the same drive to live as you, ‘Boss,’” she only informed him. “I’m not going to risk my skin at the hands of the Director.”

“Good.” The doors opened to reveal Marsh as Korren nodded again. “Good.”

[Petra Williams]

”Psst, Petra.” With a sleepy yawn, the ten year old woke up and fixed her bright eyes on her father. “Come here, I have a surprise.”

“What is it, Dad?” She obediently got out of her seat, trying to not wake up her mother. Her steps were a bit shaky and awkward, from not being used to space travel. After all, this was her first trip in her life, as they moved from sunny and warm Naboo to the gem of the Empire: Coruscant.

Landon gave his daughter a mysterious smile as he guided her out of the bunking room for their private ship. When they reached the lounge, he picked her up with ease, carrying her. “Close your eyes.”

She closed her eyes even when the temperature dropped in the room they were in. “When can I open them, Daddy?”

He placed her carefully on the ground, her feet on top of his shoes, facing away from him. “Now.”

Petra opened her eyes and gasped. Before her was hyperspace in all its’ magnificent glory, something she had never seen the like of in her decade in the Galaxy. “Dad, it’s so pretty…”

Kneeling down carefully to hug her (and keep her warm), Landon smiled. “Someday we’ll go travel to all the planets together, just you and me?”

“No mother?” she asked, happy to hear her tormentor would not join them.

“We’ll leave her at home and go explore.” Landon kissed her cheek, his beard scratching the child’s skin as he gave her a serious look. “Things will change, Pet. I promise I’ll make them get better somehow.”

With her thin arms she managed to turn and hug around his neck, ignoring the cold floor now under her feet. “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too, my Petra…”

“What did you do to piss off Korren?” Marsh muttered in an undertone, glancing to the side where their Supervisor paced next to a window. The temperature had dropped maybe ten degrees when Marsh entered, the frost coming from Korren.

“I told him I intend to come back alive.” Petra lifted up a gadget. “What does this do?”

“Put that down!” Marsh frowned at her, taking the item away. “You need to be more careful, Pet. This suicidal attitude of yours is going to get you killed.”

“Only if I’m lucky.” Petra looked out the window. “I lost what I’m fighting for.”

With a sigh Marsh gave up. He still remembered the less moody, evenly balanced girl he met at Basic Training about six years ago, when she arrived fresh from the hub of Imperial society with a disdain for etiquette and a longing to prove herself more than a delicate debutante.

“Well, this is the basic equipment you’re going to need.” Marsh opened the black bag he had slung over his shoulder and gently pulled out each item with genuine respect. “Since this is a short op, you don’t need dead drop info.

“This is a Subcutaneous comlink.” Marsh held up the device for her to see, letting her take it and examine it carefully. “We’re going to implant a microphone near your throat, just under the skin, and put a speaker near your ear.”

“How loud do I have to talk for you to hear me?” she asked, probing the device with her eyes and fingertips.

“Not even a whisper, practically. And you won’t be detected by any sweeper devices, or hear if there’s static. If you think someone’s picking up the device, clear your throat the number of the channel you want to change to.”

“Nice.” Petra smiled a little, leaning her head back so Marsh could slip the parts under her skin, only flinching a tiny bit.

“We also have these for you.” Marsh pulled out a package with translucent strips of plastic in it. “False fingerprints. You don’t have to worry about gloves, or anyone hacking into our system and finding out who you are, if things go wrong. We also have these…” He handed her a box.

Petra used her thumb to flip it open, revealing small tubes with a watery substance. “Do I even want to know?” she asked, looking into his eyes.

“Contacts, for your disguises. If they have retinal scanning.” He looked completely oblivious.

“Don’t you think that’s overkill?” She raised a slender eyebrow.

“This is you we’re talking about, right?”

“Point taken.” She added the contacts and fingerprints to her inventory.

Before Marsh moved onto the other items, he glanced at Korren’s bored stance then looked at Petra seriously. “He doesn’t really care if you come home in a bodybag, but I do.” He gave her a pleading look. “Please, Petra… please promise me you’ll come back.”

“I’ll… I’ll come back.” It was the hardest lie she had ever told in her life.

She blinked quickly against the sudden stinging in her eyes, hoping Marsh didn’t see it. Clearing her throat she returned to looking at the devices. “So what does this do?”

--------------------------------------------

“Welcome to Coruscant, Miss Thano.” The mechanic voice greeted the woman as she stepped out of the shuttle from Nar Shaddaa. “Would you like a guide to the city?”

“No, thank you.” Soft Nabooan tones answered as she tilted her head back, the sunshine falling onto her blonde locks. When she walked about twenty feet away from the shuttle, she murmured,

“This is Williams. Stage one is complete.”

A soft buzz, then she could hear Marsh’s reply in her ear. “Roger that, Williams. Know where you’re going next?”

“I spent half my life here, Marsh.” A sad smile curved onto her lips. “It hasn’t changed.”

The ramp lowered, revealing the colored lights and dark durrecrete. In the sky ships and speeders zoomed past with reckless abandon, with an orange sky overhead from the setting sun.

“I don’t like it,” Petra whispered, moving closer to her father.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Petra,” Jadis Williams frowned at her daughter. “This is the delight of the Empire, the place to be. If we’re going to be anyone, that is.”

“Let her be, Jadis.” Landon moved a hand to gently ruffle his daughter’s curls.

“Dad… There’s no green anywhere.” Two big brown eyes looked up at him sadly.

Kneeling down next to her, to meet her eyes, Landon whispered, “I promised it would get better, didn’t I?” She nodded, blinking back tears of homesickness. “Think of this a new adventure, my heart.”

No new adventures happened. Jadis, with her selfish wishes and manipulations, made Landon stand back helpless as she ended Petra’s formal education, forcing her into training to become a mindless debutante like her mother had been, entering society at a very young age.

Now she stood in almost the exact same spot, seeing how the glitter had diminished. The Bacta Wars, ended recently, left this area decimated. Reconstruction had not reached this part of the city yet.

She glanced down at her current identification pad. “Ada Thano, age 21, Nar Shaddaa.”

Now, Nootka, let’s see where you’re hiding.

Hefting her duffle over her shoulder, she headed into the swarm of people and aliens, heading towards passage to the lower levels. If she wanted to find scum, she’d go where the scum went.

[Petra Williams]

Three years ago

”Williams, report to the main office.” The monotonous voice broke through the simulation being performed by the soon-graduating recruits, who looked up towards the ‘com box then at the dark haired Nabooan girl straightening in the back row with a surprised expression.

Instructor Damaris nodded his grayed head at her. “Williams, dismissed.”

Petra glanced sideways at her technician friend, Marsh, who looked as perplexed as her, before saluting quickly and hurrying out of the room.

Her quick pace down the hallways barely caught anyone’s attention, since Bastion policy was to get to your location quickly and efficiently. Soon the durasteel gray of the doors to the main offices of Intelligence came into view. She approached only to have a robotic arm with a scanning device at the end shoot out at her.

< NAME AND RANK. >

“Petra Williams, rank cadet.” Only for a few more weeks, but she didn’t bother telling the droid that.

< ENTER, AGENT WILLIAMS. > The doors opened and the scanner retreated back into the wall as Petra stepped into the office with her hands clasped behind her back.

Some of her resolve lessened when she saw Jeg Bowher and Bail Korren, two of the higher leveled officers, standing there with a solemn-faced Nabooan priest. She could tell from the ornate garment robes he was wearing, which made her swallow. “You sent for me?” she asked without a tremor to her voice.

“Petra,” Jeg stepped forward and touched her shoulder gently. “Something’s happened…”

Immediately the odd feeling she had in her stomach the past few days made her start to feel sick. “Something?” she echoed, feeling stupid from her lack of communication, but she kept her eyes on the wall past Korren’s shoulder.

“Your father-”

The blinking lights to The Cheap Talisman shone through the dank atmosphere that was this lower level of Imperial Center- Coruscant, Petra inwardly corrected herself despite the way the strange title didn’t fit in her mind.

Her target, Lai Nootka, was known to have done business contacts here in the past, so she would start her search for him here.

Walking through the doorway Petra ignored a few of the stares she received from the patrons lounging around some of the back tables, nursing their drinks from dirty glasses and muttering in their own dialects, only a few using Basic. She caught different phrases, but the many alien tongues in one place proved too hard.

A few Duros grouped around a corner of the bar talking. Casually sitting down a few seats from them, Petra signaled the bartender and pulled out two large credit pieces. When he poured her a drink, she murmured, “I’m looking for someone.”

“You and about every other person on the planet,” he responded sarcastically. “What kind of kink are you into, sweetheart?” Gazing at the nerf-leather pants and the close-fitting shirt she wore as part of her smuggler disguise, he slowly gave her a lewd look. “I’m betting you like cuffs.”

“Ha, ha,” she forced a laugh before suddenly moving her hand fast and grabbing his collar, pulling him close so his ear was near her mouth. “I’m serious.”

Swallowing back panic, the bartender nodded quickly, letting out a sign of relief when she let him go and slump onto the counter. “Wh-who did you say you wanted, Miss?” he asked with a slight stutter from fear.

“I’m looking for Lai Nootka.” Petra sipped her drink.

“Nootka?” the bartender repeated, now confused. “What the hell you want with him?”

“I heard he’s always looking for new talent. I’m a smuggler without a job.”

“Well, I’ll need to have proof before I tell you where he is,” the bartender looked nervous, glancing at the now-listening group of Duros. But Petra only reached into her pocket and pulled out her Identification and said, “I’m Ada Thano.”

“Thano? Never heard of you, kid,” he said skeptically.

“You could say I’m now working for myself,” she said casually while letting her hand pat the blaster at her hip. Letting his imagination go wild with ideas of her killing her old boss, she only sipped her whiskey. “Think you can help me?”

“Wait here.” The bartender stepped into the back while she kept calmly pretending to take sips of her drink, her peripheral on the group near her.

They continued scanning her as if wondering if they could trust her before one finally moved over to the seat on her left. “You’re looking for Nootka, you said?” he asked with a curious look.

“Yes,” she replied, putting her glass down and meeting his eyes firmly. “He’s kind of a… hero of mine, for his actions after the Battle of Endor.”

The lie made her almost gag. Lai Nootka, as she learned soon, had started selling torpedoes and other weapons and ship parts to the Rebels even before they came into power. Using many different aliases for him and his ship, he proved almost impossible to track down, especially after shifting his base of operations to Coruscant. She would be lucky if she could find him in a day.

The Duros studied her some more, then suddenly curved his lips into what Petra realized was a smile. “Come,” he said as he stood and held out his thin fingers to her. “I will take you to Nootka myself.”