Fandom Changing Fates: A Star Wars Story [Closed]

[Lucyfer]

Spira was a world of resorts, of beaches, of pleasures abound for the elites in the Empire, or those few who saved for years and years for just a taste of the luxury. Despite the fact that governors and moffs vacationed there frequently, there was little in the way of an active military presence there. There was no need of many Stormtroopers – the will of the Emperor was already in force here.

What it seemed the Emperor overlooked was that this world was ripe for any Rebellion Spies, too. ‘If they are so bold….’

That was the lingering thought, and lingering hope, of Governor Mia Tarkin, as the woman stepped out of the Carrion Spike and made sure to lock it up behind her. She was expected in Spira, more or less. She’d told Rivoche and Tagge she would be heading out this way to clear her head after the death of Wilhuff Tarkin, and she certainly needed the distance.

If the Emperor had known what was on the Carrion Spike…well, she never would have gotten it, suffice to say.

What Wilhuff recorded on the Empire, what he thought of it, and much else, were upon the Carrion Spike, though she’d heard some of it before during their walks around Coruscant. He would never phrase it as doubts, merely as ideas he thought he may propose to the Emperor, of ways to better the Empire to achieve their goals, but after every conversation, Mia understood more and more, that the Empire was no longer supporting the ideals it stood for.

That, and Wilhuff started to hint that he knew Vader, long before he was Vader. The casual namedrop of Anakin Skywalker was not forgotten, nor was mention of the Jedi and the Sith, words all but forbidden in the Empire, titles and history buried as the Emperor strove to rid the galaxy of it.

But everyone in the Empire knew that Darth Vader used the Force, a misunderstood and confused power. No one quite knew how far it went, what he was capable of…and so, what the Emperor may be capable of, even if no one would dare suggest the Emperor could use it, it only followed that he could. Wilhuff had unraveled clone war hologram tech before, and had shown her images of Darth Sidious next to holograms of the Emperor now.

Two and two were easy to put together.

Wilhuff had been plotting a coup.

He thought he could do it from within.

Mia knew better – and it was time to hope that this tactic paid off, as she left the hangars behind and entered the glittering resort, red marble floors, pearl-sheened pillars, gilded gold, were the greeting, along with all the tourists moving about. The gentle sound of waves could be heard all around, but she went right on up to her room first to set her things there, before trying to consider how best to map out the resort, how best to find what she was looking for. ‘If I was a Rebel, where would I be?’

A cantina, hoping some drunk Imperial offered more than they ought. And one where they could easily blend in – which meant, to her, the casino. It was likely to attract several odd sorts that wouldn’t be questioned, so long as they were putting up money. Not to mention it’d have a cantina on one, or all three, of its floors – and of course, aliens would move around with drinks on trays. Always aliens, never humans, the Empire did so like to put anything non-human, nor not humanoid enough, into positions lower than the rest.

It was a wonder Thrawn lasted as long as he did.

She changed from the Imperial attire, into a black dress. Proper color for mourning, on most worlds. She would have preferred green, but some traditions had to stay out of sight, she had to appear just as Core as she could be, and not like an Outer Rim savage. Besides, the sleek black dress worked for the casino as well, with a touch of blue and red to note her rank as a brooch in an 8-point start design – gold, of course. She pushed her hair back, putting it up in golden hair sticks topped blue and red.

Their secret was simple – a twist of the top and two small blades would be revealed.

Mia never went anywhere without being armed in some way, even if weapons weren’t allowed.

She took her credits, and her datapad, into a nice black handbag with a golden chain strap, and made her way down. She wouldn’t find anyone by staying in her room, after all.

The casino was loud with music from a band, an alien singer, with twi’lek dancers, keeping things upbeat as Imperials shouted curses or celebrated their victories over dice, cards, and machines. The floor here was carpeted, but there were still plenty of snaking pillars, wound with gold up through all three levels - balconies over looked each one, in case some table on a lower floor got exciting. Some Imperials noted her, recognized her, and she got a few waves, greetings, and condolences as she went first to one of the bar counters. This one was being worked by a rodian.

“Raava,” she told the bartender, and soon enough, a glass of the dark purple liquid was put up, and she flashed her room key, “Just put it on the tab,” she offered, asked, “Where can I exchange credits for chips?”

“Over there, miss,” the Rodian said, its basic almost atrocious, heavily accented, but it was understood. She followed its finger with her blue eyes off towards the left, and nodded, but didn’t head that way immediately, wanting to get a feel of the room first and where she might think to join a game, or who she might want to observe more. She leaned back on the counter, rather than sit, and sipped her raava as she took it in, acclimating herself to the environment as she so often did within the Carrion Plateau.

The only difference was, she wasn’t trying to play predator. For once, she was trying to pretend to be prey, and it was a mindset she only understood in theory. ‘Just pretend to be a predator that uses cunning. A blackstalker, not a nexu.’

 

[Kathsisa]

Her orders were to observe, but not engage.

This is a surveillance mission only. Under absolutely no circumstances are you to engage. Had been the actual phrasing the first time around, and some variation of the words had been repeated to her right up until she had boarded the ship for Spira.

Perfectly reasonable instructions, considering she wasn’t an actual rebel operative. She was doing this as a favor to Leia, providing some assistance to her friend while the Rebellion handled the aftermath of the Battle of Yavin. Easy reconnaissance was the mission’s description, keeping an eye on a person of interest until something could be done about them.

Observe, but not engage.

She would do just that, but she couldn’t help the instinctual drive she held to want to do more. She envisioned a daring shootout with a wicked Imperial general, or a stealth operation into an enemy-infested fortress to retrieve priceless intel - anything with some modicum of peril. Of course, common sense told her missions such as that were no fit for a lanky 18 year-old who spent most of her time studying or meditating.

Instead, she would be sent to Spira, the resort world favored by so many of the Empire’s elite, to keep tabs on a particular target without drawing attention to herself.

At first, the latter half of these directions had caught her off guard, for blending in had never been something Amilyn Holdo was particularly skilled at nor interested in. Her colorful hair and style of dress had always set her apart on her homeworld, surely they would do the same in the drab setting of an Imperial resort.

But upon arriving on Spira, she soon realized this was far from the case. Her hair, dyed bright turquoise currently, and extravagant clothing might have stood out against the blacks and golds and reds of Imperial architecture, but she looked right at home in the resort as just another outlandish young tycoon who had made a profit off of some dirty business that benefited the Empire.

She understood then why it had been her asked to come here. The usual rebel tactic for scenarios such as this seemed to be blending in as much as possible. By being as colorful as she was, Amilyn was essentially doing the opposite. No spy would dare look as noticeable as she, and the air of eccentricity she apparently gave off would excuse any potentially suspicious behavior. It was clever planning on the part of her friend and the rebels, as she also didn’t need to put on an act to achieve any of it.

Under the guise of Aellyce Taraia, the spoiled heir to some family fortune or another, she had made herself comfortable on Spira while awaiting her target to arrive. She spent her time loitering on beaches and casino floors, acclimating herself to the lavish world she was supposedly all too used to while reading over the data given to her on the woman she was here to watch.

Her time with the Apprentice Legislature had given her some grasp over the important families and names in the Empire, so she was already somewhat familiar with the name “Tarkin” prior to this mission, though she was not familiar with this particular member of the family. Junior Lieutenant Mia Tarkin, recent governor of Eriadu and loyal Imperial through and through, was expected soon on Spira, if the rebel’s sources had been correct. Relative of the now deceased Wilhuf Tarkin, she was among the more active members of the family deemed worth keeping an eye on. Amilyn was certainly eager to see what all the fuss about her was.

But not engage. She reminded herself.

After three days of drifting about the resort as she imagined a vapid young heir did, finally she caught word of the arrival of her target. Sitting at a card table in the casino, her silver jumpsuit glittering under the lights and her hair done up into an intricate affair of braids and shining pins, she picked up on some of the talk being shared by the trio of Imperial officers playing across from her. Murmured mentions of how distraught the young governor was at the passing on her kin and half-hearted wishes for the clean Spiran air to help cheer her up caught Amilyn’s attention. She didn’t join in, instead gazing down at the cards she held, but she hung onto their words, keen for any possible mention of where the poor governor was to be found. Drowning her sorrows? Gambling away her credits? She’d always preferred more exciting methods of escaping one’s worries, perhaps pathfinding on some distant and dangerous planet, but to each their own, she supposed.

 

[Lucyfer]

The problem with pretending to be prey was, simply put, Mia wasn’t.

She noticed things, attuned to her environment in order to stay alive, and even as the alcohol started to slip into her veins, she remained aware of a strange young woman with turquoise hair, in a silvery jumpsuit. There were a thousand reasons for the stranger with the braids to stand out, at least to her, even in the crowd of aliens.

For one, she was human.

A human in the Empire would know better than to dye their hair. It wasn’t a written rule, but certainly, an unwritten one, like tattoos and piercings. The human-centric nature of the Empire ended up making all bodily alterations to their form seem a disgrace, or worse, alien. Even her scars could seem that way to some, though they were at least more acceptable. Sheev had his scars, after all, from the Jedi.

Two, in spite of that, she was hanging around other Imperial officers without a care in the world – or she would have liked to seem that way.

Three – her attention was focused on those Imperials, in spite of those blue eyes being focused on her cards. Mia knew the tell-tale signs of eavesdropping, but in an environment of high emotions and drunken individuals, such things easily went overlooked. Another reason why it was a great place to head to in order to spy, and why Mia thought she’d find a rebel here.

It could be the stranger with the bright hair. It may not be – but it was the first lead, and Mia would need to make sure to follow it. She’d learn soon enough if she was wrong, and move on. She had time….

So, with half of her drink remaining, she made her way over to the table with the stranger, and the three Imperial Officers sporting their ranks upon their own lapels, “Mind if I join in the next game?” She asked easily, looking to the familiar one.

“Not at all, Governor Tarkin,” Demetri gestured to a seat, the Imperial with the cut of blonde hair too close to his head.

“Spending all your inheritance already?” Another she didn’t know tried to joke, though the woman with her black hair up in a bun shot him a wretched glare for the unsympathetic words.

“Ignore him,” the woman said, as Mia slid right into the seat besides the turquoise-haired stranger. “Do you know how to play sabacc?”

“Very little, I’m afraid,” it was an easy lie. Better than to confess how many den’s of criminal activity she’d been to, or how often she was in the Empire’s underbelly, to know enough about sabacc. “I’m sure I will catch on.” Lose a few rounds, create a false tell – and then clean them out.

That wasn’t her goal, but there were perks to being in a casino, right? She looked to the stranger then, asked, “I hope you do not mind the addition?”