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She moved off into the gathering dusk, and Kaird resisted the urge to follow immediately. No need to rush. He had his quarry, and now he would learn everything germane to his needs about them. He would obtain their medical records from Lens. From a clerk in Personnel, he would get their service information. A censor in Comm Intercept would provide copies of communications, if any, the pair had sent or received from family or friends.

In a day, probably less, he would have amassed as much intel about these two as anybody here could possibly need to know. Then, when he had enough information, he would find a keystone, a link, a glitch—some small bit of data around which he would build a plan. Not a perfect plan, perhaps, but Kaird had learned many things in his years with Black Sun, and he counted this as one of the most important: it didn’t have to be perfect. One always had to leave some looseness for variables.

He would also think of ways that would cover any contingencies, of course. Then he would put things into motion. All things going well, it would slide like a greased mynock over transparisteel. Even if there were problems, he could deal with them. It would still happen.

A few days from now, he would be in his new ship, with a cargo valued far beyond easy measure, on his way to turn it in, and then to take an early retirement. And to live happily thereafter, until the Final Flight…

There was a flash of lightning, an almost immediate clap of thunder to reveal how close the strike had been— very close—and the rain started falling, fat, heavy drops.

Time to get indoors, Kaird thought. He’d done enough for tonight. It was best, he knew, not to get too far ahead in his plans. It was always good to remember his eggmother’s recipe for taboret stew: first, you must catch a taboret…

Column was not without regret, or even remorse, as the coded message was sent to the spy’s Separatist superiors. There had been a moment of hesitation, a long and reflective pause—but in the end, one did what one had to do. The control function was initiated, the information transmitted. And it could not be recalled, once it was gone.

The transmission was accomplished without difficulty, even though communications all over the base had been subject recently to noise and loss of signal. This was because the area had been covered not long ago by a new, state-of-the-art broadband confounder stationed in the jungle about five kilometers away. The blockage wasn’t consistent enough to arouse suspicion, but it did provide cover and protection when the spy had to send and receive. The official explanation, of course, was sunspots.

The code, as always, was cumbersome and over-wrought, and most of the time a major waste of effort, but in this instance the intricacy of it was useful. One most certainly did not want the Republic to intercept and read this particular missive.

On the other end of the communication the deciphered message would undoubtedly cause much consternation— to put it mildly. That they would disbelieve it was to be expected. Column knew there would be follow-up exchanges, at least one or two, perhaps more, to verify the information. It was not a matter of trust, per se, but of certainty: if a large-scale attack was to be launched, if massive forces were to be gathered and expended, such things could not be done with any possibility of some code reader’s simple error.

What? No, I didn’t say that the bota is going bad, I said Bothans are far too sad …

Column smiled, but the smile quickly faded. The mission here was coming to an end. If not a blow that could topple the Republic, this last strike would at least be a barb in the beast’s side worthy of a painful howl. It was tragic that many of the staff of this and of other Rimsoos would surely die as a result of this action. But it was done now, and there was no turning back. Best start getting prepared to exit this venue. There would be other places, other identities, wherein an agent of Column’s skill and