The Mole (Closed)

[Samantha Koortyn]

This story takes place during the time of the EU novel Truce at Bakura. Lieutenant Traven Dunn, 25, is an officer in the Imperial Navy, and is very much pro-Empire. Samantha Koortyn, 20, trained at the Imperial Academy on Carida, has recently joined the Rebel Alliance, though she still retains her Coruscanti accent.

Her mission: to obtain sensitive information regarding the location of a hidden Imperial base, which will be key to the Alliance's planned capture of Coruscant.

Traven has that information.

(Repost after the great ez-debacle of 2005.)

[Traven Dunn]

Traven’s head was spinning. He could feel the pain on his forehead, where he had crashed against the cockpit instruments as his TIE had been hit. Not to imagine how his head would look now if hadn’t a helmet on. He was in a hangar now, but he couldn’t remember how he had landed here. Suddenly somebody opened the cockpit and four strong hands dragged him out. Traven’s look was still blurry, but he saw immediately that these guys were no Imperial service officers. Great, I survive a direct hit in my TIE to land in the custody of rebel scum. Somebody took off his helmet. “He’s a little groggy, but he can stand on his own feet.” A voice echoed unnaturally loud in Traven’s skull. “Yeah, I will carry no Imp for sure. He can walk.” Another voice answered, nudging Traven with something that felt like the muzzle of a Blaster rifle. The Imperial officer squinted his eyes and his sight became clearer. He was surrounded by eight soldiers of the Rebel Alliance.

They led him through the corridors of the ship, his arms cuffed on the back. It seemed to be one of the Mon Calamari cruiser that had been involved into the earlier battle. Even when some people would say now that the Empire was gone after the dead of Emperor Palpatine and Lord Darth Vader, who had died both heroically in their attempt to save the crews on the second Death Star as the Rebels attacked and finally killed thousands of people, including innocent construction worker, they would still fight to maintain the New Order. “Should we bring him to the sick-bay? He looks as if he has a concussion.” “And give him our few medical supplies? You are kidding. And we’ve our orders.” Traven tried to ignore the voices. He was trying to memorise the way from the hangar. Traven would try an escape as soon as he would recognise a weakness in the security.

They pushed him into a room. But it wasn’t a cell. It was a kind of interrogation room. One single chair opposite a desk-like table where four people sat. Two of them Traven recognised immediately. Organa and Solo. Their faces were burnt into his retina from the Imperial Wanted posters of terrorists. A soldier pressed him onto the chair, while another took off his cuffs. Traven was surprised about that behaviour. He rubbed his wrists, while the Rebels started to asked him questions. Even as Traven answered everything just with the same sentences, “Dunn, Traven, Lieutenant, Imperial Navy, 180772. Long live the Empire!”, they seemed patient. Traven hid it well but it made him nervous. What were they planning? An Imperial interrogator would start with a variant of torture. But nothing.

Maybe hours later, Traven couldn’t tell how long, they brought him to his cell. The soldiers weren’t as patient as their commanding officers. They shoved him very rough into it, so that Traven crashed against the back wall of the room. They closed the door and the cell was dark, except a dimmed light panel above the door. Traven sank down to the ground. He want to give in his concussion finally. But then he heard a voice in one of the darker corners of the room. “Nice of you to drop in.” He wasn’t alone...

[Samantha Koortyn]

Lieutenant Samantha Koortyn of the Rebel Alliance took the opportunity to study the dark figure – Lieutenant Traven Dunn of the Imperial Navy, she knew – as he quickly scrambled to his feet in the dark cell and turned unsteadily in her direction. The young Rebel had been accustomed to the darkness for some time, having spent the past few days in the cell acclimating herself to her surroundings; however, she knew that the Imperial officer had not seen her at all when he’d been thrown into the room, and even now was having difficulties discerning her from among the rest of the shadows in the rather cramped quarters. He also looks a bit off, she observed. Head trauma will do that.

“You’ll find a bunk right behind you,” Sam offered, not caring whether he took it or not. “Refresher to your right, in the back.”

Her accent and diction were flawless Imperial; she had, after all, learnt from the best: her own father. Attending the Imperial Academy on Carida had strengthened these qualities considerably; when she’d first introduced herself to a Rebel faction on Calamari, she had exuded Imperialism from every pore, nearly getting herself shot for her effort. Now, although she was attempting to rid herself of what she considered a flaw – even to the point of emulating her two superiors, General Solo and Princess Leia Organa – on this particular mission it was essential that she speak like one of them, and be the enemy. Otherwise, their plan would never work. Sam’s ability to pass as an Imperial officer had ultimately been the deciding factor in allowing her to join this unique and potentially dangerous mission, despite her age. That, and I wouldn’t take “no” for an answer.

Glancing to her left from her position on the opposite bunk, Sam realized that the Imp hadn’t taken a seat; he was still standing and now appeared to have identified her figure from out of the shadows as he grew more accustomed to the lack of light in the cell. Knowing that he was staring at her, even in near complete darkness, made the young Rebel’s skin crawl.

Adopting her haughtiest tone, one she’d heard nearly every day on Coruscant growing up, she forced herself to look directly into his eyes, barely reflecting the dim light over the cell door. “If you’ve a problem, say so. It’s very rude to stare.”

She got exactly the reaction she expected, as the man puffed up with indignation, affronted by her lack of protocol, and drew back his head so that he could look down his nose at her. “You will address me as Lieutenant, and you will salute your superior officer,” he said coldly.

He already believes I’m Imperial, Sam was certain. And he already assumes I’m beneath him in rank. Good. Impervious to his attitude – one she’d perfected years ago – she stood slowly and faced the man, perfectly matching his icy tone. “Of course you’ll inform me when a superior officer arrives, then.”

The young Rebel heard, rather than saw, the Imp’s mouth open, then close again, and she allowed the right corner of her mouth to twitch upward briefly, knowing he couldn’t see it. “Koortyn, Samantha; Lieutenant, Imperial Navy, NhM9467. Long live the Empire.”

It was all she could do to keep the sarcasm out of her voice as she spoke the last part. She had naturally abandoned her Imperial training upon fleeing the Academy and joining the Rebel Alliance, and, being barely 17 at the time, had never actually gotten past the rank of Cadet. However, Organa had decided that Sam’s skill level was on par with other Lieutenants in the Alliance, and since they needed all the help they could get, they had “promoted” her after a few test missions. It was this rank she used now to fool the man who stood before her in the darkness. A female with your rank. Chew on that for a while, Imp.

With a half-hearted salute, the young Rebel returned to her place in the bunk without waiting for him to return the gesture, or to introduce himself properly. “If I were you, Lieutenant, I’d make myself comfortable, as we’re going to be here a while.”

[Traven Dunn]

Traven tried to focus his eyes. The dimmed light made it easier for his headache to subside, but not easier to take a good look at the inmate, who was sharing the cell with him. He sat down slowly on the bunk. A female Imperial Lieutenant? That was more than unusual. It was very rare that a girl was accepted for the Academy. And even more rare that they survived the gruelling training of the first month, when the cadets were sorted out. Finally his eyes acclimated to the minimum of illumination. He saw that his vis-à-vis had short blonde hair. He had called her face cute, if there hadn’t been the hardness and cold in her ice. She seemed barely older than 20, but her charisma was the one of a soldier and not of a debutante, waiting for her first ball on Coruscant.

Another minute passed before Traven finally found his manners again. She had noticed his rank from his uniform, which the Rebels strangely allowed him to wear still. It was the putative evidence, that they didn’t followed the method, the Imperials preferred. Take away everything from a prisoner, that makes him an individual. Now it was about time to be this individual and introduce himself properly. “Dunn, Traven, Lieutenant, Imperial Navy, 180772.” He returned the salute she had given him earlier.

They kept silence again. Traven hated it to be passive. He was a man of action and even when he was used as a TIE pilot to be in narrow cockpits, this cell would made him claustrophobic sooner or later. The young pilot stretched his legs, searching for a comfortable position on the cold surface of the bunk. “How long are you here already, Lieutenant Koortyn?” he asked. Samantha shrugged her shoulders. “I can’t tell. There is no real day-night-change here. What is today?” As Traven told her the date, she seemed surprised, the first time an emotion on her face, that wasn’t controlled. “I’m here since one week.” Traven rose from his bunk. “Then it is order of the day to leave this hospitable place.” He started to examine the walls, looking for a possible weakness. Samantha watched him a moment. “You can stop that, Lieutenant Dunn. I have checked that countless times.” Traven turned to her. “I like to form my own impression of the situation.” He climbed on the top of his bunk to check the ceiling, but as he touched it, the light turned on brightly, that he had to squint his eyes. “What did I do?” Samantha smirked imperceptibly. “That wasn’t you. They bring the food.”

She was right. Traven had just the time to jump down to the ground before the door opened. An astromech rolled into the cell, beeping in his own language, a hubbub of electronic sounds. He was carrying a tray with two bowls with stew and two mugs of water. Not bad for prison diet. Two Rebel soldiers stood behind the droid, their guns ready for the case that one of the inmate would try something stupid. Traven took carefully one of the mug and bowl. Confused he noticed that Samantha wasn’t moving. She stood motionless at the back wall of the cell. The astromech was waiting, bleeping questioning. His electronic eye looked at Traven. Frowning the Imperial officer took also the bowl and mug for Samantha. The droid turned around, the door closed and the light was dimmed again.

Traven put down the food and drink for her next to her bunk. Then he sat down and started to eat. It was Drivveb stew, meat and vegetables in a thick broth. The Rebels seemed to care about the welfare of their prisoners. Very uncommon, but Traven wouldn’t complain about it. After he had eaten some spoonful, Traven had a look at Samantha’s bowl. She hadn’t even touched it. “You eat nothing?” He asked, looking at her. The blonde woman shook her head. “I will not eat their drugs.” Suddenly Traven had the feeling that there was a slight aftertaste in the food. Was she right about it?

But he had no time to think any longer about it. The light turned on again as the door opened for the second time. This time it was no friendly astromech, but four grim looking Rebels. While two aimed with their Blaster rifle at Traven, the other two grabbed Samantha and started to drag her out of the cell.

[Samantha Koortyn]

“What the hell were you thinking? You’re supposed to make him trust you. Not alienate him!”

Sitting across from General Solo and Princess Leia at a plastoid oval table in the center of a large, white stateroom, Sam cringed at his rebuke, her face reddening noticeably. She felt as though she were on trial. Rather than answer right away, she concentrated instead on the MD-5 droid inserting a needle into the crook of her arm, in order to feed her intravenously. The resulting bruise and needle mark would appear to Lieutenant Dunn to be from drug enhanced interrogation, and the nutrients she received meant she could continue to refuse real food while in the cell. She watched, fascinated, as the needle pierced her skin.

“That’s how they act, and he believed me... you saw it,” she replied finally, though she didn’t sound as confident as she wanted Solo to think she was. This was the first time since she’d defected to the Rebel Alliance that she’d been reprimanded so harshly, and her face tightened in unconscious preparation for the blow she usually received for making a mistake, both at home and at the Academy.

It never came.

“I know that’s how they act, kid,” Solo replied with a tone of long suffering, rubbing his face. “Yes, it looks like he bought it, but we have no way of knowing for sure. So could you tone it down just a little? And how could you possibly have known you were of equal rank? Will he even go for that? Maybe we should get someone else for this mission,” he concluded, glancing over at Princess Leia for her opinion.

Leia considered the young Rebel for a moment before speaking. “Samantha–“

“Sam.”

“...Sam, we don’t have a lot of time; we must make every minute count. Imperial officers take years to earn each other’s respect. We have days. Do you understand?”

After an interminable silence, Sam answered, her voice almost a whisper. “I can’t... do it... the way you want. I’m sorry.”

With a wordless sound of frustration, Solo pushed himself away from the table and began pacing the deck. “Just great. What now?”

The Princess by contrast remained calm, though her lips pursed almost imperceptibly at Solo’s outburst, and his misunderstanding of what Sam had been trying to say. She leaned forward and reached to touch the blonde Rebel’s arm reassuringly. Sam let her do so only because the diminutive woman was from Alderaan, and the only person she knew from her mother’s homeworld.

“Sam, we don’t want you to do... that. We don’t work that way. We just need you to get him to trust you, believe that you are who you say you are, so that when you and he make the escape attempt, he will take you with him. All we need are the coordinates.”

The young Rebel nodded in understanding, and forced herself to look up at Solo, who was wearing a path in the durasteel floor. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “He did believe me though. And his flightsuit has his rank insignia on it... but...“

Solo paused mid stride and fixed Sam with an irritated glare. “But being black, you couldn’t possibly have seen it so easily in the dark.”

“...right,” she finished, grimacing as she realized her mistake.

“And how long do you think it will take for him to realize that.”

The young Rebel’s face burned hotter the longer he stared at her; she’d wanted so badly to impress the General and she had done everything wrong so far. The disappointed expression on his face was worse than any punishment her superiors at the Academy could ever have given her.

Steeling her jaw, she held his gaze. “I can do this, sir. I won’t let you down.”

General Solo studied her face, and seeing her resolve, he finally nodded, reseating himself at the plastoid table.

Leia smiled comfortingly at the young Rebel and patted her arm before leaning back in her chair. “Good. Now, let’s go over what you’ll say.”

Sam furrowed her brows. “I don’t think I can memorize a script–“ at this Solo rolled his eyes and she hurriedly finished her sentence, “–but I have another idea. It will make him believe I’m telling the truth, in case he does start having doubts.” The two looked at her questioningly, and Sam began to explain her plan.

She barely got the idea past her lips, however, when General Solo interjected. “No. Out of the question. No. Leia, tell her no,” he repeated, pointing his finger at the Princess and then at Sam in turn.

Leia gazed impassively at the young Rebel for several moments, at first with curiosity, then with understanding. When Sam could stand the woman’s pity-filled expression no longer, she shrugged and looked away. “I’m used to it. And it will work, precisely because you don’t like it.”

Princess Leia and General Solo passed a look between each other, and Sam began to grow impatient. “Look, I’m not a baby. I screwed up, okay? Let me fix it at least.”

Solo finally broke the silence that had permeated the room again. “Why do I let myself get talked into these things,” he grumbled, slamming his fist on the table. “Fine! All right! But I’ll be the one to do it.” With that, he stood again and walked to the door, brooking no argument. He drew his blaster and set it to stun.

Sam shrugged again, and the medical droid withdrew the needle from her arm, leaving it to bleed a little rather than covering it with a bacta patch. Standing, she joined Solo at the door, and he fell into step behind her, one hand on her elbow, as the two escorts took their positions in front of her. “Guys, we’re doing something a little different,” he said as they walked back to the cell. “Just follow my lead.”

Outside the cell door, Sam waited until the last possible moment, timing her attack to coincide with its opening, and lunged at the shorter of the two guards just as light from the corridor filled the cell, illuminating the prisoner inside.

Traven Dunn, blinking rapidly at the sudden bath of light, got an excellent view of the blonde Lieutenant snatching a weapon out of the hands of one of her guards and turning it on General Han Solo himself. Before she could squeeze the trigger she was grabbed from behind and rendered immobile by the other guard, who seemed surprised and confused, yet had acted quickly to subdue his prisoner.

Solo, scowling in obvious distaste, jerked the weapon away from her, backhanded her across the face with his other hand, and shoved her forcefully into the cramped room, quickly palming the door closed behind her as she hit the floor with a painful thud. The two prisoners were again enveloped in near total darkness.

He pulled his punch, Sam realized, testing her jaw. The blow hadn’t even come close to knocking her out, which was what she’d hoped for. Probably won’t even bruise. Great. Now I have to fake it.

“That... was stupid,” she remarked drily, and attempted to drag herself to her feet.

[Traven Dunn]

Traven’s eyes hurt a little as he blinked into the brightness of the open door. He saw that Lieutenant Koortyn was punched by the scum Solo himself and pushed into the cell. Traven wanted to catch her, but after what seemed to him like hours of waiting, his reflexes wasn't the best. He heard the dull sound as she hit the ground. The cell was totally dark now, the Rebels had shut down even the small light panel at the door. Obviously some kind of punishment.

He heard Samantha saying something and in the blackness of the room, it was hard to spot where she was. But Traven stepped forward carefully, reaching out with a hand to help her up. “Are you okay so far, Lieutenant?” he asked. Against his usual behaviour, he let hear some concern in his voice. “I feel....great.” Samantha murmured. “Yes, of course.” Traven smirked. “Let me help you...” He led her to her bunk and they sat down. “What did they want to know?” The female Lieutenant leant against the wall, her voice tired. “Tons of questions....but I said nothing...” Traven tried to find the water bottle in the darkness. “I assumed nothing else. You are an officer.” He answered, handing the bottle to her. “Here, drink some water. You need it, when they used drugs. They dehydrate your body.” Traven couldn’t see her, but he felt that she sat motionless next to him. “You can drink it, Lieutenant. The water is okay. I drank it myself and if didn’t effect me negatively.” Samantha raised the bottle slowly. “Good, I will trust you with that, Lieutenant.” She answered, then taking a sip. “Yes, trust me. We are on the same side.” Traven noticed that he sat to close to her, he slipped away to a proper distance. Even under such circumstances an Imperial officer shouldn’t never forget the protocol.

They sat there in silent for a while. Traven thought it was too awkward to sit on her bunk, so he stretched and rose. He walked straight through the cell to his bunk. It was still so dark, that they couldn’t see something, so he hoped that he wouldn’t hit a wall. But his shin made a hard first contact with the metal frame of the bed. He couldn’t suppress an not very Gentleman-like curse. But something else was heard: a chuckle from the other side of the room. Traven didn’t know why, but it made him smile. “Damn Rebel bunk attacked me...” he added. “Or maybe it’s just that we pilots are clumsy on the ground.” He used the grim humour as a kind of relief. He felt better, even a little relaxed as he laid down on his bed.

The Imperial TIE pilot drifted into a light sleep. But he had not much time to rest. Suddenly the light flared up and the door opened again. Two Rebel guards stepped in, grabbing Traven, while a third one hold his rifle in Samantha’s direction to cover her. Traven fought against their grip, but a rifle butt meeting one of his kidneys, made him co-operative. They brought him to a room, very similar to the one they had interrogated him earlier. The walls had the typical grey of a military ship, the room was empty except one chair on which they cuffed him. In one corner waited a med-droid, inactive. The guards left the room and Traven was alone.

He tried to move his wrist in the cuffs, but they were to tight. And Traven was certainly aware, that he was being watched. They did let him wait to make him nervous but he showed the emotionless face of a trained Imperial. Finally the door behind him opened and three people stepped in. Again it was Leia Organa, former senator, a member of the Royal Family of Alderaan, now a traitor to the Empire. With her was Han Solo, pirate, smuggler, thief, he was on almost as much wanted posters as she. Their body language told Traven that they seemed to be lovers. Scum attracts scum he thought disgusted. The third person was obviously an officer of their intelligence. The trio started with questions about the squadrons and troops deployed on Coruscant. Traven stared just at the wall in front of him, saying his name, rank and number as only answer.

After some hours the Corellian smuggler looked as if he just wanted to beat into Traven’s face, but the Princess hold him back. “I have a suggestion.” The Intelligence officer said. He activated the droid, who rolled closer to Traven, raising a mechanical hand, that was holding an syringe. “This, Lieutenant Dunn, is a serum, that will make it easier for you to work with us.” Traven felt the needle puncturing his carotid as the droid injected the drug. His Imperial conditioning while his years of training started to fight against it. Even if Traven would wanted, it was impossible for him to give up. So his brain did the only thing to avoid damage: Traven blacked out.

He didn’t noticed as some hands threw him back into the cell.

[Samantha Koortyn]

Of course he blacked out; Imperials are conditioned not to reveal anything, even under the influence of drugs, the undercover Rebel thought, listening to the beeps and whistles of her astromech as he explained what had happened, while giving the appearance of merely bringing more food to the two prisoners. That’s what I’m here for. She dared not respond aloud to the droid in case Lieutenant Dunn was not quite as out of commission as he currently appeared. He’d been brought back hours ago, unconscious, and after leaving him lying prone on the deck for the first hour, she had reluctantly moved him to his bunk, where he now lay sleeping.

Sam nodded silently at Frak as he finished his tale, then pointed toward the only light source in the cell, making a “up” gesture with her thumb. I can’t very well do this if he can’t see me, she knew. The whole point was for the Imp to watch her slowly breaking under Rebel torture, and resolve to plan an escape with her, as preposterous as the idea sounded considering the apparent odds against them. If he couldn’t see the transition from strong Imperial officer to stoically suffering female, he’d probably let it go on forever, for both of them. It’s too bad Solo didn’t hit me harder. The bruise would have been perfect. As it was, she only had a little swelling and soreness from the blow, which would likely be gone by the next day.

A muffled groan came from Lieutenant Dunn’s bunk, and Sam shooed her droid out of the cell with a wave of her hand. Frak hastily complied, and as he exited, the light over the door flickered on, staying lit this time. Still too dim for Sam’s tastes, it was nevertheless bright enough for the two prisoners to see each other relatively well.

Which is exactly what Dunn saw when he finally opened his eyes – the fit and trim figure of “Lieutenant Koortyn” standing over him with her arms folded across her chest, frowning down at him.

“How do you feel?” she inquired, a tinge of annoyance in her voice. She was the one who was supposed to be deteriorating by now; not him. But she knew they had to make it look realistic...

Thankfully, Dunn misinterpreted her tone for one of worry. “Like my head is being pounded by hammers,” he answered honestly, slowly rising to a seated position and cradling his head. “They injected me with a serum, and my brain shut down, as expected. At least they put me back in my bunk.”

“That was me,” Sam absently replied, turning away from him and eyeing the food Frak had placed on the small ledge protruding from the wall next to the cell door. Having been fed intravenously, she wasn’t hungry, but although she’d never really been a discerning eater before, the sensation of consuming solid food was something she was beginning to miss after two days. She moved to the far side of the cell, positioning herself as far away from the two trays as possible, and leaned against the bulkhead, again facing Dunn, only to find a surprised expression on his features.

“You... put me in my bunk?” he asked incredulously, his eyes snaking down her lean form and back up again.

The young Rebel fought for control. “I’m stronger than I look,” she offered simply, attempting to dismiss the subject. It was the truth after all. She distracted herself from his intense scrutiny by looking again at the food on the trays.

Dunn followed her gaze and stood, taking a moment to get his balance before heading for the trays. “I suffered no ill effects from eating yesterday; as such, I highly doubt they are poisoning us,” he said, picking up a piece of bread. “Perhaps you should keep up that strength of yours...”

He trailed off as she silently shook her head. “No. But don’t starve yourself on my account,” she quipped, allowing a bit of Imperial haughtiness to creep into her voice. “I’d rather be tortured on an empty stomach.”

That statement was enough to give Dunn pause. “They’re not... treating you... the same, are they?”

Sam frowned, looking away. “They gave up on the serum not long ago,” she said quietly. “They’ve moved on to... other things.”

Abruptly, the cell door slid open again, and three guards stepped inside, one training his blaster on Lieutenant Dunn while the other two moved toward the undercover Rebel.

“Right on cue,” muttered Sam as they took hold of her by both arms and dragged her out of the cell. This time I’d better show some damage when they bring me back.

***

Several hours later, the same young woman, now pale and unconscious, with significant bruising on her inner arm and neck, was brought back in and dumped unceremoniously on the deck.

[Traven Dunn]

“You bastards! Damn Rebel scum!” Traven shouted as the guards turned around to leave. The Imperial pilot lunged forward and tried to tackle one of them. It was a hopeless attack, but Traven’s frustration had reached a level he couldn’t stand. He knew that he had no change against the guards, but it felt good to ram his fist into the ribs of the rebel. It was a short triumph. A well targeted punch of the taller guard did let Traven flew through the cell, his back hitting hard the rear panel of the room. The pilot gasped as the air left his lungs. The door closed and they were back in the dimmed darkness. “Great, Dunn. That was totally useless...” he muttered.

Suddenly Traven remembered that Sam was still unconscious on the floor. He knelt down and felt her pulse. At least it was beating steady. “Lieutenant?” He touched her shoulder to wake her. He got no reaction. Traven frowned. That wasn’t good. “Lieutenant Koortyn?” he addressed her again, touching her forehead. She felt cold. Obviously a shock to the torture. “Samantha?” He asked this time. There was still no sign that she awoke. Traven took her in his arms to carry her to her bunk. The metal bed without any blanket was just a little better than the floor. And the female Lieutenant felt even more icy than the surface of the plank bed.

Traven remembered from the first aid course he had got while his pilot training, that a person under shock needed warmth. But he had no blanket or survival foil to cover her. The only source of warmth was... Traven hesitated by the thought. That wouldn’t be proper and it was surely against Imperial protocol, but who would tell his superior officers about it? With a feeling of malaise Traven laid down next to Samantha and wrapped his arms around her. He hoped that she wouldn’t kill him when she awoke.

Without a possibility to measure the time, it seemed like hours to Traven that he did hold her. He was fighting against the tiredness until his eyelids felt too heavy. A dreamless sleep overcame him and did let him forget where he was. Suddenly a jolt woke him up. He needed some seconds to realise that it was Koortyn, fighting her way out of his arms. “Wai...” he started, but it was too late. With a hard hit, she pushed him down from the bed. Traven winced his face as his rear hit the metal ground. He looked up to Samantha Koortyn, who stood above him with flashing eyes like a goddess of revenge. “How dare you?” she growled.

[Samantha Koortyn]

What the hell?? the young Rebel thought angrily, glaring down at Lieutenant Dunn. Waking up in his arms had nearly given her a coronary, and she could only thank the gods below he hadn’t been awake himself when she regained consciousness, because she had panicked, utterly and completely. Even now her heart raced with the adrenaline that had been dumped into her bloodstream. Memories of her dead father filled in her mind, holding her the same way, his face close to hers, leering... her flare of anger forgotten, Sam clutched at her abdomen as a wave of nausea rolled over her. Calm down... calm down...

“You were ice cold! I had to do something,” Dunn protested, indignantly getting to his feet and straightening his partial uniform. “Do you see any blankets in here?”

But his resentful demeanor became one of concern, when he saw the expression on her face. As pale as she had been before, she knew she must be positively ashen now, and as the adrenaline finally subsided, she began to feel dizzy as well. She reached blindly behind her for the bulkhead, leaned heavily against it when her hand made contact, never taking her eyes off the Imperial officer as she willed herself not to be sick.

Dunn moved to step toward her, hesitating when she recoiled, and assumed a rigid posture almost as though he were standing at attention. “You were unconscious; your body was in a state of shock,” he said formally, as though giving a status report. “I did what I could to warm you. Nothing more.”

Sam stared at him blankly for a few moments, recalling what had happened the last time she had been removed for “interrogation.” Against everyone’s better judgment, she had insisted upon making her ordeal seem real, and they had finally consented to giving her a sedative, something to make her look ill... which lasted much longer than it should have, and lowered my body temperature on top of that. She cursed inwardly at her stupidity as she looked at the bruising on her inner arm. Never again.

“See, you remember now,” Dunn said, more gently this time.

The young Rebel looked up, surprised at his tone. But before she could formulate a response, the door slid open and Frak rolled in, whistling and beeping excitedly as he brought two fresh trays of food into the cell. Dunn grumbled something about noisy astromechs and retreated away from the droid.

Pretending as usual not to understand the uncommonly cheery tones of her R2 unit, Sam could barely keep her face neutral while she listened, and she slowly met Dunn’s gaze again as Frak exited the cell with the old trays, still trilling happily. The Imperial officer’s expression confirmed everything the droid had said.

He bought it... His reaction to her being brought in unconscious, her instinctive behavior upon awakening, her appearance now... all these things had only cemented the reality for him. According to General Solo, Dunn was practically in the palm of her hand. He cares, her droid had said. But Imps don’t care... Sam continued to study the man; she couldn’t help feeling a nagging doubt now about her long-held views on the matter.

But that’s not important right now, she thought, forcing herself to look away and focusing her mind again on the mission. I hope Solo is right...

“I’m... sorry. Thank you,” she said hesitantly, feeling awkward.

Dunn only nodded stiffly, but when Sam looked back up at him she could still see the concern in his eyes.

“I can’t take another day of this, Lieutenant,” she spoke quietly but matter-of-factly, never lowering her gaze. And the hope in her eyes was real. “I have to get out of here, or die trying. Will you help me?”

[Traven Dunn]

“Out of here?” Traven whispered, looking around as if he expected that somebody would open the door and shot them immediately. He sat down slowly, meeting her eyes. “The odds will not be high. But yes,” he nodded. “I’ll help you. What else than the death will wait here for us. And it’s also our duty as Imperial officers that we try to escape. But do you have a plan, Samantha?” He also used her first name to show her finally that they were of the same rank. “We can steal a ship in their hangar.” She answered simply. Traven laughed humourless. “That simple, huh? I was a little groggy as they dragged me from the hangar to their interrogation room, but it wasn’t that far. The Rebel ships aren’t as big as our ships. The problem is that in this,” Traven pointed to her Imperial grey uniform and his black TIE flightsuit. “we are as noticeable like a Hutt on Carida.” Samantha looked serious. “We will need at least one uniform of them. One of us can dress as one of the scum and pretend to bring the other to interrogation. So the easiest way is to overwhelm our guards. I have an idea...”

Last an hour later Traven pounded against the door of their cell. “Hey!!! Help!!! We need help!!!! Is there anybody?” he shouted as loud as he was able too, while Samantha laid motionless on the floor. “Stop the noise, Imp! Shut up.” an angry answer came from the other side. “But she is still unconscious since you brought her back. I’m sure, she’s dying!” Traven gave his voice a desperate sound, better than even Garik Loran in his movies. It was almost audible that the guard was thinking Who cares if there is an Imp more or less?. Traven narrowed his eyes as he added. “I’m sure that your Admiral will not be happy when one of his precious prisoners dies before they got all information from her. “ First there were silent then he heard steps coming closer. A second guard. Traven suppressed a curse. It would be easier with just one, but even Rebels weren’t stupid enough to go into a cell without backing.

The door opened with the typical hissing sound. One guard pointed his A280 blaster rifle towards Traven. The Imperial pilot raised his hands and walked backwards into a corner away from the woman on the ground so that the guard couldn’t watch both at the same time. Behind the back of the Rebel soldier the second guard stepped in. He knelt down in front of Samantha, looking at her. He did put two fingers at her carotid. “Her pulse is...” He never ended the sentence. Koortyn’s fist rocketed up, hitting him at the chin very hard. The sound did let the other guard move around in reflex. That was the moment Traven had waited for. He jumped forwards, tackling the man against the wall. They started to wrestle for the gun, but the Rebel was stronger than he looked. Suddenly the guard slumped. Surprised Traven looked to Samantha, who stood with the rifle of the knocked out man in her hands. “Nice shot.” Traven said admiring. The woman blushed a little. “No time for compliments, Lieutenant. Now we have two uniforms. I guess, this one is your size.” She started to undress the other guard, while Traven took the clothes of the man in front of him.

They looked like strangers as they were wear dressed as Rebels. The uniforms didn’t fit perfectly like Imperial ones, but that was normal for the Alliance soldiers who had to take what they got. So hopefully nobody would notice. Traven aimed his rifle at the first of the unconscious guards on the ground. “What are you doing?” Samantha sounded surprised. Traven turned around to her, frowning. “Shoot them. What else? Two rebels less...” Strangely the woman looked sick again as she shook her head. “No. The others will hear it.” Slowly Traven nodded. “I guess, you are right. Let’s go!” He opened the door and they left their cell carefully.

[Samantha Koortyn]

Sam was more than relieved to be out of her old Imperial uniform and in more comfortable attire, although she had not exactly enjoyed changing clothes in the presence of the Lieutenant. As the two walked with feigned composure down the curved grey-white corridor of the Mon Cal Cruiser, the young Rebel’s opinion of Lieutenant Dunn wavered back and forth in a way that made her decidedly uneasy. The casual way he had wanted to kill the unconscious guards had made her feel physically ill, yet he had broken all sorts of protocol when he thought his new comrade was in danger. He had honestly cared about her... because he thinks I’m one of them...

Fortunately for the two, the corridors continued to be empty for the most part, aside from the occasional lone soldier walking past, who paid the pair of escapees no attention. In fact, they seemed to deliberately avoid any eye contact as they scurried past, their faces deep into their datapads. Sam knew that everyone on the rather large ship had been informed of the plan and the escape attempt, and knew to let it proceed to its conclusion, but she started to worry again that Lieutenant Dunn would begin to suspect something if no one questioned them at all.

Rounding a corner, the two escapees nearly collided with a red-haired young human who apparently didn’t get the memo; either that, or simply did not comprehend the term undercover. As they moved to continue around the heavily freckled cadet, his face lit with obvious recognition and adoration: he’d been trailing Sam all over the ship ever since she’d joined this mission, and his face displayed every hyperactive teenaged emotion that rolled across it for all the galaxy to see.

Before he could open his mouth to say anything, the young Rebel quickly raised her blaster and fired a shot directly into his chest. As he slumped unconscious to the floor, she hurriedly stepped past him, motioning for Dunn to follow, and making a mental note to buy the boy a caf when all this was over. Him, and the two guards...

“Someone will find him soon,” she said to Dunn, “we should quicken our pace.”

Dunn nodded and fell into a jog next to her, never giving the young man a second glance. “They’re indoctrinating them young these days,” he remarked disdainfully.

Sam’s jaw went slack, his comment completely blindsiding her, and she stopped in her tracks before she even realized what she was doing.

The Imperial officer advanced a few more meters ahead before he realized Sam had stopped, then halted and turned back toward her. “What is it?” he asked, concern evident in his voice and his puzzled expression.

”They’re indoctrinating them young,” the blonde Rebel repeated in her mind. He really believes that. And I did too, once...

“Samantha?” Dunn’s voice was more urgent this time.

Shaking herself physically, Sam swiftly closed the distance between them and continued her pace past the Lieutenant, without stopping. “Nothing. Sorry. Thought I heard something.”

***

As per the plan, no one followed after them on their journey, or stopped them for questioning, and Sam began to wish that someone would at least raise an alarm, real or not. The pair managed to secure a ‘lift and take it down several decks directly to the hangar level. After a quick scan of the cavernous space, the blonde Rebel spotted the ship they were supposed to take: a Firespray-class patrol ship.

“That one,” she said simply.

Dunn glanced around the hangar with a practiced eye, before finally nodding in agreement. But his eyes had narrowed as he surveyed the area, and Sam’s heart sank as she realized what that signaled. “This is too easy. Someone should have–”

Almost as if on cue, alarms began sounding all over the hangar, cutting Dunn’s comment off mid-sentence.

Thank the gods below for that, thought the blonde Rebel, sighing with relief but giving a look of frustration.

“Someone just did. Come on.”

[Traven Dunn]

Sam was about to start to run, but Traven did put a hand on her arm. “Slow down. We would be even more noticeable when we run. Let’s act...casual.” She nodded. “You are right.” Together they walked through the hangar, that was surprisingly deserted, pretending to belong to the rebels.. They stopped in front of the Firespray. Traven smirked, not really surprised about their Imperial superiority. The Rebels weren’t clever enough to secure their own ships. Something like that would never happen on any Imperial vessel.

As usual for a ship of the Firespray class they could step up the ramp, that ended into a closed door. Traven pushed the button to open it. Nothing happened. Frowning he looked at the panel, where a code could be typed in. Samantha shoved herself between him and the panel. “Maybe I can hot-wire it.” Her blue eyes were concentrated. “I’ll need some tools.” Traven nodded. “We’ll find something. This is a hangar and even scum should have some. Wait here.” He strolled down the ramp, hoping that nobody would ask for his authorisation. A locker at one of the walls attracted his attention. Traven walked up with quick steps, trying to avoid to look too hurried. Inside he found, what he was looking for. Enough tools to maintain all ships here. It surprised Traven. The Imperial intelligence had said, that the Rebels would lack of support, but obviously they had enough material.

“What are you doing here?” A rough voice did let Traven turn around. In front of him stood a brawny guy, a head taller than the Imperial pilot. The guy seemed to be several centuries older than Traven, but the muscles under his uniform showed clearly that he was in a good shape for a man of his age. “I just got order to repair that ship over there.” Traven indicated vaguely into the hangar. “Why is it that I have never seen you here before?” The Rebel pushed up his sleeves. “Well, I’m new...” Traven’s hand grasped a hydro-spanner. The other man didn’t believed him. “I think you are the reason for that alert, boy.” In a fluent movement the rebel’s fist did hit Traven’s chin. He felt the blood run over his face as his lip did burst open. With his free hand Traven wiped the blood away. “That...was a mistake.” He said slowly. Then without much ado the hydro spanner did hit the Rebel’s head. The man staggered backwards. Again Traven raised his arm for another blow. As an answer the guy landed his fist into the rips of the Imperial pilot so that he flew into some crates. The noise echoed through the hangar.

Traven gasped for breath, then his gaze found his rifle he had put next to the locker. Gathering his strength, Traven leapt forwards. The Rebel recognised his intention and tackled him. The both men rolled over the ground. Traven smashed his elbow into the man’s face, finally getting the fingers of his other hand around the weapon. There was just the short flash of a stun shot and the Rebel collapsed. Disgusted Traven pushed the unconscious man away. Fast he grabbed some of the tools and limped back to the Firespray where Samantha was waiting. She was looking at him with a mixture of surprise and shock. “What?” he snapped at her. “I had no choice to do that without noise.”

[Samantha Koortyn]

“Let’s hope none of the security cams picked it up,” Sam snapped in return, quickly masking her surprise and taking the tools from the Imperial Lieutenant’s hands. A cold feeling was starting to develop in the pit of her stomach as she pried open the access panel and began to rewire the circuitry.

This is getting out of control. Someone might get killed for real. She wanted to check on Tyir and make sure he was going to be okay. He’d been foolish for attempting to “capture” Traven, who had not even threatened him, but she dared not even risk a glance in the old man’s direction. She knew he’d done it for realism and hoped it wouldn’t be his last action.

“You okay?” she asked Traven instead, her voice barely able to be heard over the alarms.

“I’ll be fine. Do you know what you’re doing?”

The Imperial officer’s voice was urgent, and held no malice, but Sam bristled at the question. “Of course. I have a Level 3 Advanced in slicing.” Hopefully the old Imperial terminology was still in place. Her Level 3 had actually been in Engineering, but the Firespray they were shipjacking wasn’t that tightly secured.

Traven nodded, his eyes scanning the hangar for signs of trouble. His wait wasn’t long, as the door at the top of the ramp slid open with a hydraulic grating sound.

Wasting no time, Sam quickly ducked inside and madder her way to the pilot’s station, flipping switches and powering up the engines as she settled into the chair. “Do you know anything about one of these ships?” she asked as Traven followed her to the cockpit and took a position behind her in one of the two co-pilot’s seats.

“It seems crude, but I think I can manage,” he responded tersely. “Rebel ships are so outdated...”

“I wonder why,” Sam commented drily, but dropped the subject and pointed through the large domed cockpit window instead. Rebel Alliance soldiers were pouring in through the hangar entrance and taking up defensive positions to secure the hangar, but so far they didn’t seem to realize that the two escapees were already in a ship.

“Well, I do know how to fly one, and I’m going to have to lift off before the engine’s warmed up. So buckle up; gravity is about to shift. And man that laser cannon; they’re going to start shooting–”

Laser fire erupted across the bow, sparks dancing across the surface of the transparasteel, and Sam ducked reflexively, slamming her hand down on the shield activator. She knew the hull of the ship could withstand a few laser blasts, and the fire wasn’t going to be concentrated on anything important in any case. But one could never tell when something was going to go wrong.

“Get us out of here,” Traven ordered, causing the young Rebel to bristle yet again.

“I’m working on it.” As she finished her sentence, the patrol ship lifted from the deck and was covered in more laser fire, from all directions this time as more troops began to take notice. The hangar bay doors slowly began to close, eliminating their escape route.

“Good, I’ll take care of these,” Traven replied, swiveling the ship’s laser cannons toward the largest group of Rebels and target-locking.

Sam gritted her teeth as she pushed the sluggish engines to their max, aiming the ship toward the increasingly narrow opening. I hope they disabled those cannons...

“Sithspawn! Your ship has no weapons.” Traven’s voice was filled with frustration and scorn, and Sam relaxed inwardly.

“Once I get us out of here, we won’t need them,” she replied, positioning the ship vertically and expertly piloting it through the barrage of fire, sidelong through the doors seconds before they closed. “I can keep them off us if you can give the navcomputer a hyperjump or two.”

There. The whole mission had been for this one moment, and the blonde Rebel had finally said it. Intelligence suggested that a small Imperial base was stationed somewhere in the vicinity, no more than two hyperjumps away. A base that contained ciphers and cryptograms essential to the planned liberation of Coruscant. And Traven Dunn had been there.

The hangar bay doors reversed abruptly, and a squadron of X-Wings shot out of the opening, rapidly closing the distance between themselves and the escaping patrol ship. Sam put the ship in a vertical dive, then reversed and shot back towards the underbelly of the Mon Cal Cruiser, dodging blasts as she skimmed over the smooth, rounded surface of the much larger ship.

“Well? I can’t do this all day,” she urged.

[Traven Dunn]

“Don’t worry! Don’t worry!” Traven growled back. “I’ll take over the controls. That’s what I’m trained for.” That wasn’t the whole truth. The Firespray was no TIE and without weapons it was almost impossible to stand up against the X-Wings. But when he had to die while their escape, Traven would take as much of them as he could with them into a fiery death. “Switch the controls to my place.” He ordered, but Sam hesitated. “Do it! Now! What are you waiting for?!”

Finally his controls were activated and Traven’s hands danced over the panel. “Let’s see what this old bucket is really made off.” There was a cocky, almost boyish smile on his face as he pulled up the ship. Two X-Wings, which had tried to encircle them, didn’t realize the maneuver till it was too late. The ends of their S-Foils got in contact and they started to spin. “Yeah!” Traven’s triumphed as he looked to Sam. He misinterpreted her frozen look as fear. “Don’t worry.” He said again, trying to reassure her.

“I would feel better when we would jump finally.” Sam’s voice was as cold as her looks. Traven nodded, while flying a zigzag course to make it harder for the remaining X-Wings to aim. “Where are we?” he asked. Samantha checked a star map on her screen. “Bothan Space. Near the Expansion Region.” Traven began to smile as their ship raced away from the Mon Calamari Cruiser. “Expansion Region? That’s it!” His smile become broader. “I can save our asses.” Sam looked surprised. “How?” His finger pointed to a vague place near the planet Mimban. “We have a base there. Take over the controls again. I can programme the co-ordinates.”

While Sam increased the distance between them and the Rebel fighters, Traven tried to concentrate on the Nav-Computer. Just a minor aberration in his calculation could mean that they would land in a super nova or an asteroid field, so he chose an easier way, typing in two smaller jumps instead of one big one. “Now let’s just hope that our people will not shoot at us, when we arrive with this rust-heap.” Slowly he pushed the hyperjump lever and the stars blurred into the familiar lines of hyperspace.

[Samantha Koortyn]

Sam turned away from the swirling white-silver vortex, as much as to avoid a migraine as from sheer guilt at what she had done. Minutes after the Firespray they had stolen exited hyperspace over the hidden Imperial base, the Mon Cal Cruiser that was tracking them would appear, along with another full contingent of fighters. And they would raze the base to the ground, once they got what they needed; of this Sam felt sure. Making two small jumps would delay the Rebel Alliance only a few seconds longer, but based on their intelligence, the base Traven had led them to was so well hidden that heightened security had not been deemed necessary.

They were sitting ducks.

“We made it; we’re safe,” said the Imp – Sam was attempting to turn him back into the enemy in her mind, and failing – as he came up behind her, his voice tinged with excitement.

He reached for her shoulder, but the blonde Rebel caught the movement and quickly dodged the touch, stepping far back from the man and avoiding his gaze. “Yes,” was all she could think of to say in response.

Traven frowned. “Then why the funereal demeanor?”

Just wait, Sam thought bitterly.

An alarm sounded, causing the Rebel to flinch before she realized it was simply the alert that the ship was reaching the end of its first jump. Traven furrowed his brow, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he said nothing about her strange behaviour as he went back to the control panel to coordinate the final jump.

What is wrong with me? Sam could feel the acid building up in her stomach, which felt like a burning lump of cortosis ore inside her. He’s an Imp, like all the others. He would not hesitate to do the same, were he in my position. But, hovering near the co-pilot’s seat behind Traven, she couldn’t shake the feelings of shame that were shadowing her every thought. He won’t escape them – us – this time...

“Wait!” Suddenly Sam’s hand was over Traven’s on the console, before he could make the second jump to light speed. “Stop.”

Traven gazed questioningly up at her, his confused expression quickly hardening into the Imperial mask she knew so well as he realized that Sam was training his own appropriated blaster at him.

“Stand up,” ordered the young Rebel, sounding more confident than she felt, and backed away from the pilot’s seat, gesturing with the barrel of the weapon for him to follow suit.

Traven obeyed, his comportment reverting to what it had been the first day they had met in the cell. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked haughtily, unconsciously smoothing his uniform – the Rebel uniform they had stolen together. He is not that different from me, the thought came unbidden to Sam’s mind.

“This ship is being tracked,” she began, watching his face closely, “and when we make that second jump, your base will be attacked by the Mon Calamari Cruiser we just escaped from–”

She got no further, when the Imperial officer let out a roar of anger. “You will pay for this deception!” he growled, charging her.

“Wait!” Sam shouted again, backing hurriedly away as Traven advanced. “Don’t make me shoot you when I’m trying to help you,” she entreated, her finger tightening around the trigger. But she couldn’t make herself shoot him, even with a blaster set to stun. Not yet.

“Help me?” Traven closed the distance between them rapidly. “You have been lying to me with every breath, Scum. And I will take that breath from you if it is my last act as an Imperial!” As he spoke, his right hand shot out and closed around Sam’s neck, pinning her back against the bulkhead with her blaster clutched to her chest between them.

Desperate, the Rebel kneed him in the groin, backhanding him with the weapon as he doubled over in pain. “Yes! I’m trying to help you! If you will just listen to me...”

Traven studiously kept his attention anywhere except on Sam, but he was otherwise a captive audience, still holding the side of his head with one hand and remaining somewhat bent in posture as he leant heavily against the pilot’s seat. Her blaster still trained in his general direction, the Rebel explained the entire plan, from their first encounter in the cell, to the final stage, when the base would be leveled, the Imperials stationed there taken for questioning, and he himself recaptured and imprisoned again, this time in a cell he could not so easily escape from.

“...unless you get in the escape pod, right now.”

At this, the Imperial pilot finally directed his attention to his captor, disbelief spreading across his features and wrinkling his forehead. Then his face hardened again. “You are lying,” he said, looking away once more.

Sam could see his jaw clenching and unclenching. “For once, I am telling the truth. I’m not proud of what I did. So I’m offering you a way out; please take it.”

Traven finally straightened, lowering his hand to reveal a large welt that had begun to swell and redden on the side of his face from where she’d struck him. “Even if I were to believe you,” he spoke hesitantly, “the Empire would see me as a disgrace.

“No,” the Imperial officer added more confidently this time, and inclined his head upward to look down his nose at her, “I will not take the coward’s way out.”

Sam sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that,” she replied, and squeezed the trigger.

***

With Lieutenant Traven Dunn secured, unconscious but perfectly unharmed, in the escape pod, the blonde Rebel sealed the door and launched it into the vacuum of space. “Can’t say I never did anything for the Empire,” Sam said aloud to no one in particular, and hurried back to the cockpit to complete the second jump.

[Traven Dunn]

The taste in his mouth, as Traven woke up, was typical for the aftermath of a stun shot. His body fought against his efforts to sit up. His limbs were hurting and his head was pounding. Whoever said, that a stun shot was painless, had never experienced one. Of course it didn’t kill, but the impact of stun energy shouldn’t be underestimated. The Imperial officer ignored the protest of his body as he sat finally, looking around. The realisation where he was, did let him forget his pain. An amount of curses passed his lips. He had fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the galaxy: Send a cute, innocent looking female to a guy and he will tell whatever information she wants to know. “Frak, and I really liked her eyes.”

Traven sighed, rubbing his temples to clear his head. His whole life he was raised to become an Imperial officer, so he knew all too well, what was expecting him, when he returned to his unit. Court martial because of treachery and execution or if he would be lucky just demotion of his rank and ending as cannon fodder in a stormtrooper armour or in the spice mines of Kessel. But he was also raised to take responsibility for his mistakes. It wasn’t his style to run away. If his death or his work as a simple trooper or pit worker would serve the goals of the Empire, he would happily do his duty. And if it would be only to take revenge on Samantha Koortyn. “One day we’ll meet again, scum. And that time it will be me, who has the finger at the trigger.”

The escape pod was the typical standard, so Traven had no problems to check the controls. With this vehicle he would never reach any civilised system and obviously there was no food rations nor water on board. Traven decided to type an Imperial Mayday code into the communication unit. Hopefully some ship would hear it and take him on board. Then he leant back, closing his eyes to suppress the headache, making plans what to tell his superior officers.

It was hard to say, how many hours Traven had waited as he finally felt a jerk through the escape pod as it was caught by a tractor beam. Traven moved to the small viewport and smiled as he saw a majestic Star Destroyer coming closer. As they opened the pod in the hangar and four blaster rifles were pointing towards him, Traven remembered that he was still wearing the Rebel uniform. Slowly he rose his hands to show that he was unarmed. “Dunn, Traven, Lieutenant, Imperial Navy, 180772” He saw that two of the troopers changed a look, then one of them grabbed him hard and dragged him out of the escape pod.

They brought him in front of the Captain, who sat behind his desk in his ready room. Traven saluted, then stood in parade rest. The higher-ranking officer looked up from his data-screen, where Traven’s dossier was displayed. The Captain nodded to a man, who stepped forward now to perform a retina scan to verify Traven’s identity. The man turned to the Captain. “It is Lieutenant Dunn, Sir.” “Thank you, Doctor. Dismissed.” The doctor saluted and left the office.

The Captain waited almost a minute, deprecatory looking at Traven’s appearance, before he said something. “Lieutenant Dunn, missed in action after the battle at Endor and now returning in a Rebel uniform at the same time some rebels attacked our Bissillirus Resupply Base. Can you explain that, Lieutenant?” The fingers of the Captain tapped on the table top of his desk as he was waiting for the young man’s answer. Traven hid his nervousness and cleared his throat. “Yes, Sir. I can explain it, Sir.” Knowing that lies would bring him just deeper into trouble, he decided to tell the truth.

As he ended his report Traven saw that the Captain was close to exploding. With a red face he jumped up from his chair. “You dare to walk in here with such a story? Do you know the consequences of your actions?” Traven just looked straight forward. “Yes, Sir. I know the consequences, Sir. But would you have preferred to hear a lie, Sir?” The Captain looked like he would get a heart attack at any moment. “Don’t get cocky, Lieutenant!” he shouted. “You can be lucky, that I don’t execute you summarily.” The superior officer sat down again. “But that would be a too fast death for somebody like you. So you can serve as trooper for the rest of your miserable...”

“Well, Captain, that would be a dissipation of skills.” A voice behind Traven said and made the Captain jump up again. “Admiral Dodonna, Sir. I...I..thought...” he stuttered as he realised who the man was. The Admiral, veteran of many battles against the Rebel Alliance, stood in the door, that had open unnoticed while the Captain’s tirade. Traven hadn’t seen him since some years, but remembered Dodonna as friend of his father, who had visited the Dunn estate on Coruscant often. Now his voice became scathing. “Didn’t I tell you, that I wish to be informed, when something extraordinary happens, Captain?” The face of the Captain was still red, but this time it wasn’t anger. “Admiral, Sir, I didn’t thought, that...” “Correct. You didn’t thought.” Dodonna interrupted him. “I’m maybe just a guest on board of your destroyer, but I’m higher-ranking than you. So my wish is an order to you.” Finally the Admiral turned to Traven, who was still not moving. “Well, Lieutenant, I suggest that you change into an adequate uniform. Then meet me in my quarters. I need to discuss something with you. Dismissed.” Traven saluted to the Admiral. “Yes, Sir, Admiral, Sir.” Then he walked towards the door and left the ready room. Outside in the hallway, away from the looks of the officers, he took a deep breath of relief. He never had thought that he would be thankful one day, that his father had friends in important positions. Traven turned his head to a man waiting next to the door, obviously the adjutant of the Admiral. “Where can I change into some civilised clothes?”

Inside the office the Captain dared to address the Admiral. “Sir, when you would have heard his report, you would agree with me. Dunn is a traitor.” Dodonna narrowed his eyes. “I’m sure, that the Lieutenant will tell me the truth, when I talk to him later. If you would know his background, his family, you would never accuse him.” But the Captain was full of doubts. “With all respect, Sir, there have been members of even more loyal families, who joined the Rebels. What if they brain-washed him? I don’t want the danger of having a Rebel spy on board of my ship.” The Admiral smirked. “Don’t worry, Captain. He’ll not stay on board of your ship. I’ll take him with me when I leave to the flagship. I have plans with him...”

[Samantha Koortyn]

Back aboard the relative safety of the Mon Cal Cruiser, Lieutenant Samantha Koortyn stood at rigid attention in the same stateroom that had been used to “interrogate” both Traven Dunn and herself. Dressed in tan pants and shirt, with a brown vest and matching brown boots – the best the Rebels had been able to offer her as a uniform – she no longer had the air of the inexperienced novice that had colored her every move, her every expression, the last time she had been here in this room, face to face with two of the most powerful people in the Rebellion: General Han Solo and Princess Leia Organa.

As she was facing them again, now.

“At ease,” Han said tiredly, waving his hand at her and then gesturing toward the vacant chair at the plastiform oval table across from where they were already seated. He did not look happy, and although Leia managed to better conceal her emotions, Sam could see the hint of disappointment in her eyes.

But strangely enough, this time Sam didn’t care what either of them thought about what she’d done. She pulled out the chair that had been indicated and took a seat opposite them, folding her arms calmly across her chest.

General Solo had a datapad in his hands containing her entire report, and he laid it down on the table in front of him. “Now, would you like to explain the little stunt you pulled back there?” he asked, tapping the datapad for emphasis.

“It’s all in my report,” replied the blonde Rebel in clipped tones.

Han stood abruptly. “You weren’t supposed to let him go!”

“Han, sit down,” Leia said quietly, then turned her attention to Sam, her voice soft and reassuring. “We just want to understand why, Sam. Is there something in the report you’re not telling us? Did he threaten you? You know you can always talk to us...”

Sam’s eyes flashed. And tell you what? That I betrayed someone who trusted me? That I’m no better than he is, and neither are you? But she would never dare say such a thing out loud. “It’s all in–“

“–in your report; we know,” Han finished for her, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He had not come back to the table and was now pacing the room.

Sam’s jaw thrust forward stubbornly. “I completed the mission. You got what you wanted. The attack was a success.”

At this, Han paused and closed the distance between them, then bent at the waist as he leaned his face close to hers. “And what secrets does your new friend now possess about our movements, hmmm?”

Shocked at the accusation, Sam’s eyes widened disbelievingly. But anything she might have retorted was lost as Leia shot to her feet and rounded the table, placing her diminutive form between the two would-be combatants. “Han! That is quite enough,” she commanded. “Go. Sit. Down.”

The General grudgingly backed away, though he still did not return to his seat, and Leia’s stern expression softened into a smile when she faced Sam again. “We don’t think you did anything that would compromise our position or our goals. We’re just concerned, I’m sure you can understand that, can’t you?”

Leia’s almost lyrical tone, which Sam had attempted to emulate once upon a time, now began to grate on her nerves. Don’t patronize me, she thought to herself. “Yes ma’am,” she replied, her voice tight. “I told him nothing.”

“But you let him go, of your own free will.” Han made it a statement, not a question.

“Yes sir.”

“Fine. Dismissed, Lieutenant.”

Sam rose slowly to her feet, and began walking toward the exit. As the door slid open, she turned back to General Solo and Leia Organa, who had already forgotten she was present and were speaking quietly to each other, and took a deep breath as though steeling herself for what she was about to do.

“I do have one more thing to say.”

The two stopped their conversation and looked up at her expectantly, Han’s bitter expression the complete opposite of Leia’s affable one.

“I quit. You can drop me off at the next spaceport.”

With that, Sam turned on her heel and exited the room, leaving them staring after her.

Fini