Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum.

Var leaned past the co-pilot's chair, pointing at the autopilot controls and the hyperdrive readout. "No, not that one. That's supposed to be flashing. If that one turns red and starts flashing, you get on the intercom and yell. Got it?"

Frida pursed her lips and nodded. "But what if they all start flashing?"

Var smirked and thought of her father. "'Count to three, think of home.'"

Frida blinked at her with tired eyes, obviously not in on the family joke.

"Look, I'm just going to visit the fresher and take a break. I'll be right back. Can you take command, Captain?"

"Of course." Frida tugged at her jacket and turned back to her instruments, checking them over with convincing efficiency. Var was no longer sure how much of her act was real and how much was cribbed from observation. Not that it really mattered. One couldn't put off the fresher forever.

Her leg throbbed dully with every step down the corridor, reminding her of the blaster fire she'd taken. Funny how the mind could banish pain when it had other things to worry about. She passed the captain's suite, empty now except for whatever Viridian had chosen to take from the Privilege. Relics. How long to wait before they had to be crated up? Var pressed her lips in a thin line.

Eight Imperial commandos crowded the living area, smelling of sweat and metal and some kind of hot food that they ate from bowls balanced on their knees. Two played holochess while others watched, offering commentary on the latest move. There were smears of blood on the floor and bandages visible on arms and legs.

There was a time when she would have considered this a nearly perfect way to waste a few hours, provided someone could find the recreational beverages. The thought made her stomach turn.

"Captain Theslin." They turned to look at her, and one got up from his resting place on the floor. Arms moved to salute.

"I'm not in uniform," Var said, trying to keep the edge from her voice. "Don't bother." Someday they'd figure out she had no intention of putting on that uniform again.

She continued down the hall, then turned back. "Did someone work out a bunk rotation? I talked to the crew about splitting cabins so whatever space is free is open for sleeping purposes."

"Yes ma'am. There are two vacant cabins, B and C. We're working on a schedule."

Var nodded, then stopped. "There are three cabins vacant."

"Captain Theslin?"

"Admiral Viridian's quarters are empty. I'll have his aid and the Twi'lek move there. It'll free up another cabin."

"Yes ma'am."

She turned back down the hall, barely aware of putting one foot in front of the other as she walked the curving length to the galley. More salutes there from the commandos being served food by Seela and waiting in line for the fresher. Of course there was a line for the fresher. Var breathed in the hot, moist air and felt sick. Too many people, too little room. She backed out of the galley and nearly tripped over another Imperial. He saluted.

"Just don't," Var snapped at him. "Stow the trained dog act." She pushed past him down the hall before he could say anything. Too late she realized she was headed back to the crowded living area. She spotted the turret access ladder and took it, dropping awkwardly into the lower turret as she adjusted to the gravity switch. She settled into the chair and palmed the laser cannon controls out of habit. The air was cooler here, and the windows gave the illusion of space, even if all one could see was the endless blue swirl of hyperspace.

Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum.

She remembered her mother saying it, but she'd never said it herself.

I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.

Muffled laughter echoed from the ship and footsteps approached the turret. Var punched up the targeting diagnostic and began cycling through the manual calibration process. Nevermind that she'd already calibrated the thing so many times before the Niven's Star incident she had Rel thinking it was faulty. Truthfully she just liked the simple mindlessness of the task, and if anyone poked their head in she had an excuse for sitting in the turret by herself. Damn thing was acting up again. Wouldn't want to get caught with a badly calibrated cannon.

Viridian was gone. Dead or not, he was gone.

Var lined up the blinking hatch marks on the display and pulled the trigger. It wasn't as satisfying as firing the cannons for real, but a trigger was a trigger.

She had a ship, no other pilot, a crew that was unsuited for combat and a belly full of wounded Imperials that were still oozing gratitude for their rescue.

Var swung over to the left indicators. Lined them up. Pulled the trigger.

Except she was a fraud, and their respect was based on lies, and Viridian wasn't here to cow them all into submission when they learned the truth because he was dead in a blaze of glory, in command, as it should be.

The next set of markers wouldn't line up properly. She cursed under her breath. Her hands were trembling. She pulled the trigger.

It was a good end for him. Far better than getting shot down while fleeing as a traitor. Far better than getting captured and tortured and executed. Far better than living to see one's name and record turned to shit. She should be glad that he was able to have such a death. It was a gift.

Var moved to the next set and the screen dissolved in a watery blur. She held still, tipping her chin up slightly. If she didn't blink the tears wouldn't fall, and she wouldn't be crying. Why get upset over something she could not change? Dead is dead. Besides, it wasn't like she'd really known Viridian. It wasn't like he was her father. He wasn't much more than convenient transportation, really.

Her chest felt heavy and tight, as if she carried a stone beneath her breastbone that pressed on her lungs and tugged at her throat. A little jostling and her thin shell would crack and all the rage and grief would gush out in an ugly mess. It hurt to keep it contained, but even worse was the fear that once broken, she wouldn't have the strength to put herself back together.

Enough liquor would numb it all up again.

Var sighed, equal parts desire and disgust. The cannon controls felt solid in her hands but all she could see was vague shapes of blue and black with flickering starburst halos. It's a fine thing, shooting blind, she thought. She blinked and the tears that fell on her cheeks were cold. The dull pain in her chest turned needle sharp and closed around her throat. She struggled against the urge to sob.

I will not mourn you, she thought, fighting tears. I will not weep for any of you. I won't speak of you in prayers and I won't put up markers in your name. I won't say the remembrance for you. I'm not ready for you to be gone. I'm not strong enough to be the one that keeps your memory. Until that day you are not dead, and I won't cry. Not yet. Not yet.

Var pulled her sleeve over her hand and scrubbed the moisture off her face. She cleared her throat to ease the tightness and took up the cannon controls. She lined up the blinking indicators, took a breath, and pulled the trigger.

She finished the calibration sequence. Not her most accurate reading. Var wrinkled her nose and backtracked to the automatic calibration options and reset the cannon. She eased out of the gunner's seat and climbed the ladder out of the turret, back to the corridor of scuffed grey and cream. She hoped no one noticed if her eyes were red. The intercom beside the turret access caught her eye and she felt the tingling at the back of her skull that suggested she was about to do something stupid. Well, why not?

Var grabbed the intercom handset and punched the shipwide announcement button. "Guests of the Maltese Falcon. We haven't been properly introduced. My name is Var Theslin. I am not Admiral Viridian's niece. I am not an Imperial officer. I am just a bounty hunter who happened to be traveling with the Admiral. Due to the circumstances I posed as an Imperial captain, which I am sure we can all agree that I am not good at. I was a fake, but the Admiral was not.

"We all owe our lives to Corric Viridian. Should we meet him again I can only hope we will give him the honor he is due. We are on a course to the station at Ghambeezi Drift, where you will be free to leave. It's going to be a slow flight, so let's try not to piss each other off and we'll all arrive safely. If you care to make trouble for myself or my crew, I will shoot you in the head and space your body. If anyone has any piloting experience and is mobile, please see me. I am the only capable pilot at this time. Thank you for your attention, and welcome to the Maltese Falcon."

Var hung up the handset. The ship was curiously quiet for the first time since they'd left. Var took one breath, in and out, and then headed down the hall back to the fresher. One could only hold it so long.

Var took the long way from the turret access tube to the main lounge, passing by Engineering as she did so. As expected, Rel was in there with the appropriated LE-model repair droid. "Var, what.." was all Rel got out before Var tossed her a comlink without breaking stride. Her younger sister caught it with ease, she may of been a mechanic but she still had the reflexes worthy of a Theslin. Thankfully the little squirt stayed quiet, Var wasn't sure what she'd say if Rel had any questions for her right now. Var did, with some grim satisfaction, note that one of the ships two escape pods branched off directly from Engineering. At least Rel would have a way off the ship if things turned ugly.

Continuing her determined stride Var turned the last corner into the crew area, brushing past Seela'fenn as she did so. The commandos in the lounge area watched silently as Var made her way to the fresher. The holochess game was instantly forgotten, one of the pieces quietly blinking as it waited a command to move. The commandos themselves seemed to be in the same state. It was not that any of them got out of her way as she moved across the room, it was just that none moved to stop her. They too were awaiting an order to move.

In the corner of her eye Var could see them glancing to Captain Elam Renato standing with arms crossed in the corner of the room as she passed by. She had to admit, the commando forces were good. The shock of their new situation was already wearing off as they visually looked to their officer for orders. None were forthcoming by the time she entered the fresher, so Var took the time to do what she had come to do before the inevitable shooting started.

Seela watched with rapt and fearful fascination as the Commandos silently, with a few eye glances and a minimal of short hand gestures, distributed themselves around the ship at key points: cockpit, engineering/environmental, crew quarters, and wounded in the cargo bay. She stood there, still holding a large plate of hot steamed dweezel as the Imperial troops moved around and past her. Ensign Pyderi, one of the Commando's heavy weapons experts, was standing in the hallway near her--leaving only Captain Renato and Ensign Youta Timour the squad's technical expert in the lounge area. Seela swallowed quietly to herself, Captain Renato had been one of the commandos that had been training her in their brutal martial art they called Stava. Certainly Var was an excellent warrior, but it seemed doubtful that even she could take on six to one odds.

Var exited the fresher, taking a look around as she did so. The commandos has obviously spent their time well, if things went badly here hey could take the ship easily if they choose to do so. Not that the commandos were ever unarmed, but those weapons are now either out in their hands or unclipped for quick access. Var feigned neutral boredom. So far, no shooting, and her face wasn't pressed against the floor. Things were going well. If she didn't give them the impression she felt threatened, they might not react to her as dangerous target. It was a bluffing game at this point.

I'm a citizen of the Empire in good standing, Var reminded herself. I've got nothing to fear. And they've got pretty flowers jammed in their holsters, too.

The two commandos in the common area began to approach Var. She noted with some glimmer of hope that while they were both armed, neither was actually holding their gun. The silence was oppressive, the only sound was the worrisome thrumming that constantly droned through the ship as the backup-hyperdrive labored to keep the vessel above the light barrier. Except for Rel squeak, no one had spoken since her announcement. That was about to change.

Captain Renato and his partner walked up to within easy striking distance of Var, looking at her critically.

"Are you the same Var Theslin that broke up the Travill Swoop Gang on Stanis Minor?"

Var was taken aback for a moment, that wasn't one of the hundred questions that she expected them to ask. Worse, Stanis Minor had not been one of her prouder moments. But it had been one of her moments. Not her mother, not Rel, not even the flighty holovid start that called herself captain. Her. And for once it didn't have anything to do with that mir'osik Dross Gor'vdon.

"If you'd call disobeying my parent's orders, infiltrating a gang for kicks and information, tracking an acquisition to a swoop race, getting my cover blown and having to call my parents to save my shebs while I had my blaster against the gang leader's skull to keep the rest of them from jumping me, then yeah, I broke up the Travill Swoop Gang. My parents called it something not nearly so flattering. Lucky for me he did have a bounty. Why? You got a swoop gang problem you need help with, Captain?"

Her attempt at levity did not go completely unrewarded she noticed, as the muscles on Elam Ranato's cheek twitched in what would of evolved into a smirk on another being's face. On an Imperial commando it merely came across as humoring her. The man at his left elbow was openly glaring at her.

"We spent three weeks setting up that operation Renato, are you telling me this is the punk who blew it all to hell?"

"At ease Ensign, Miss Theslin had no way of knowing that we suspected the Travilli of secretly shipping upgraded swoop components to the Rebellion. In fact, thanks to her 'assistance', the Ubiqtorate search team found a wealth of shipping data in their so-called headquarters. Once they were shipped out and could no longer defend it of course. We owe her our gratitude."

He nodded to her, a mix between a salute and a bow, but Var got the impression that he did not fully mean either. His casual mention of an Imperial Ubiqtorate team had rattled her more than she cared to admit. They were the top tier of the vaunted Imperial Intelligence units, known throughout the fringe as Imperial Dirty Tricks Teams. The last thing any person, or gang, or planet, wanted to do was get their attention. She almost felt sorry for Harve Travill, almost.

"So, Miss Theslin, let us start on a clean slate," the Commando Captain offered. "You know who we are. Tell who you are."

So they finally asked for the official story, Var thought to herself. Fine, she mused, I will comply. Seeing that Seela'fenn was still in the room, and praying that Rel was listening on the open comlink she had tossed her, Var began her version of things.

"Rel and I are looking for our extended family. We met up with the others - Sumna and Frida - on Ord Mantell to get transportation to Ghambeezi Drift. They needed a pilot; I could fly and Rel occasionally fixes things when she's not being a pain. On the way there we intercepted a distress signal and pulled a man who called himself Viridian off his stranded luxury yacht. I think it was called Pride, or Pomposity? I can't remember. He was alone. We weren't equipped for the necessary repairs so we marked the location and continued on our way to Ghambeezi. Viridian kept to himself and didn't say much, and we didn't ask questions."

"At Ghambeezi Drift we took a job for a Twi'lek named Bah'ger, and we added Seela and the furball. I was also taken aside by the station commander and asked to keep my eyes open and report back to him. Maybe he thought something was fishy. I don't know. We did our job, and on the way back we were trapped by the vines and pulled into Niven's Star. We didn't understand what was going on and we met up with a group of the locals. We understood that our ship was functional and was a valuable commodity. We were told about the Imperial presence and the group was divided about what course of action to take. That's when Viridian revealed himself to be an Admiral and thought we should go to the Imperials. We didn't believe him at first, and we argued. Even if he were an Admiral, what was he doing traveling with the rest of us space flotsam, you know? Who would believe that? It was Viridian's idea to pretend he was on vacation, and for us to assume roles. We didn't think it was a good idea - I mean, who would believe I'm an Imperial Captain, right? - but when the Falcon was targeted for a raid we had no choice but to follow Viridian's plan. It was the only one we had."

"I don't know what an Admiral was doing out there by himself. I don't know why he traveled with us. I thought he was just a grouchy old man who knew how to give orders. Maybe we'll never know. But he gave us all a chance to get out of dar'yaim and here we are, alive. "

"Look, if we had anything to hide we would have left you and your well armed friends to die, but we took as many of you we could fit in the hold. I don't know a better indication of innocence than that. You owe us, frankly. You don't look like a stupid man, Captain, and I knew you'd figure out I'm not an officer soon enough. I thought it best to come clean rather than continue to perpetrate a lie. I haven't worn the uniform since we hit hyperspace and I'm sick of getting saluted."

"When we get to Ghambeezi Drift you can talk to the station commander and he will confirm my story. In the meantime, I've got a job to do, so tell me if I'm under arrest or not so we can get this over with."

"It was called the Privilege," the Commando Captain replied simply. "Timour and I had the honour of serving under Admiral Viridian aboard the Judgment before he recommended us for transfer to the Stiletto Project."

Var noted that the technician at Renato's side had straightened visibly at the mention of Viridian's name. Frack me, she thought, this might just work. The old man is going to save my hide again.

"It seems," Elam Renato proposed, "that we have a mutual friend. Come, let us sit and discuss what we are going to do once we get to our destination. I am curious to know how you would like to proceed."

"We're naming the ship Viridian's Gambit!" called Rel's tinny voice from her comlink, Var winced visibly. Of all the stupid..

"That," agreed the Imperial Commando with a genuine grin, "is an excellent beginning."

Var took a deep breath, moving toward the chair Renato indicated as Seela suddenly moved forward to place her plate of steaming dweezel on the table between them. This was going to be a long night.

Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum.