Blackout

[Rugs]

Thunder rolled across the plains.

Allistair glanced out of the armored window of their speeder as it lumbered across the gentle rolls of the Kylah Plains. Rain streamed down the roof and pattered softly on the roof of the vehicle. The weather had been like this for the past few days. The rain was intermittent, coming and going in cycles of light and near-deluges. But the clouds had always been there, dark and gloomy.

It'd been so long since they'd done something. Too long.

Al sighed. None of them really wanted to stop in their fight, but they had to. Of course they'd never stopped doing what they could to help the people of Dantooine, but their presence had faded a bit. They hadn't done anything major--anything to tweak the noses of the Sith or to proclaim to the people that they were still giving their all to the fight--in a while. Morale plummeted after Dutch's accident, and they'd needed to take some time to do a bit of soul searching and make sure they'd all dealt with the blow accordingly. Better to take a bit of time to let the wound heal than rush out and get themselves killed.

Truth be told, it still hurt a bit. Now he was the only Sampson left. His mother, his father, Dutch... All of them had been lost in the fight with the Sith. True, there was still a chance Dutch might come out of his coma, but the chances of that were bleak. Never thought this would be easy though. He sighed again. Losses would be part of the struggle. He knew that. I just wish we didn't have to lose so many...

Forcing those thoughts from his mind, he turned back to glance at the others that were riding with him. Mo was there of course, as were Grizz and Mark. Two more of their fighters were in the front of the speeder , in the driver and passenger's seat.

The large speeder they rode in was one they'd taken from the Sith. The Sith uniforms they were in had been stolen as well. They probably wouldn't stand up under major scrutiny, but if they could get them far enough to start their objective, they'd work. And if they didn't, then they could force their way in with the vehicle. All of them had agreed it would be wiser to try to get in quietly instead of rushing in like horde of maniacs.

Of, it might have been a while since they'd done something, but they were about to make themselves known in a big way. The DLA was here to stay, and everyone, Sith and citizen alike was about to know that.

The Sith had built a series of radio towers across the plains that they were using to broadcast their own propaganda to the people. The DLA was about to change that.

The main tower--the one that sent the signals out to the others--was where they were headed. There was a small outpost around it for maintenance with and defense. They'd get in, get to the tower, broadcast a message of their own and get out.

It went without saying that once the message had been sent, the tower would go boom.

Joseph, the fighter in the front seat glanced back to them. "We're comin' up on the outpost. Get ready."

"Here we go," Al muttered to himself. He glanced out the window again. He could see the tower outlined against the harsh lights that surrounded the outpost. It was still raining. At least it had let up a bit.

He looked back to the others. They were his companions, his brothers and sisters in arms. Even Mark. "Everyone remember the plan?" He doubted he needed to ask. They'd checked and double checked and triple checked. Al let his gaze look down to the sack on the floor in between them all. It was full of explosives. "'Bout time we let those Sith bastards know we're still here, eh?"

[Kella]

Grizzelda had her feet kicked upon on the seat across from hers. They hadn't quite filled the speeder to capacity, might as well not leave space wasted.

She tugged the collar of the uniform up to her nose and breathed deep.

"Hmmmmm...." she said, "The smell of institution." She should know.

It wasn't the first time she'd worn a Sith's uniform.

"We're gonna blow you away," she sang quietly, somewhat off-key, "Blow you away tonight, lock up your soul, hm-m, or eat the dynamite..."

"Everyone remember the plan?" Al asked.

Grizzelda nodded, keeping her comment to herself. Plans weren't worth a Bantha's snot in this game. What mattered is how you held yourself when the plan went awry. That's what separated the ones who were alive and the ones who were little more than an epitaph.

Grizzelda's fingers wandered over the blaster at her hip. It was Sith standard issue. She'd cleaned up a lot of them in the past few weeks. Wasn't much else to do.

The nice thing about the fact that this particular uniform did not fit her particularly well was that it wasn't particularly difficult to stow away some particular weapons.

And this was a mission that hinged on Particulars.

The thunder boomed again.

"The only thing better than thunder, is when you make it." She grinned, then shifted to a more analytical tone. "This weather is good. The sound of the blast will be less conspicuous..."

[Meira]

Her head itched. Her back itched. Her arms, her stomach, anywhere the uniform touched her skin, she itched. Raven black hair was tied back in a bun at the base of her skull. It was too tight. She hated having her hair tied back. The stiff collar chaffed her neck, causing her to run her finger through it every few minutes. The fabric scratched her skin, causing the Mirialan woman to long for her homemade clothes. Clothes that, along with her soft green skin, blended perfectly into the grasslands and forests of Dantooine.

She sat as far to the back of the transport as possible, most of her frame concealed in the shadows that the dimness of the vehicle and the stormy night provided. Her hands were gloved. Every inch of her covered below the collar. Even so, Mo felt exposed, almost naked.

This mission worried her, more than any other stupid or reckless thing they'd done in the past. Why? Because during those missions, she had a background role, one that often involved staying the hell out of direct sight of the enemy. Even when they'd rescued Dutch from that base, she was able to use her stealth. This... this was too risky. The sith didn't have very many non-human soldiers, at least not on Dantooine. She stood out like a sore thumb.

What was worse, she couldn't bring her bow. That was what left her feeling the most helpless. She could shoot a blaster. The concept was simple enough. Point. Squeeze the trigger. Repeat. But she never quite got the knack for such a weapon. It was inorganic... she couldn't feel it like she could feel her bow.

"We're comin' up on the outpost. Get ready."

Al spoke. She nodded her head. Grizz responded, sang, mused... Mo remained quiet. She picked up the helmet that came with the uniform she wore. She insisted on this uniform, if nothing else for the partial cover the helmet would give her. It was only half a helmet, to be fair. It still left the lower portion of her face and neck exposed. The visor was tinted though, to better facilitate a HUD readout. A navigator's helmet. If she kept her head down, it might work well enough. The last thing she needed was to give the sith another face to be on the lookout for. And her face... well... it was easy to remember a green woman with a tattoo on her forehead. She swiveled her chair towards a computer display, switching the monitor on. Several readouts appeared on the screen, and soon, a voice issued over the comm.

Identify.

Mo cleared her throat before activating the mic embedded in her helmet. Sith patrol vehicle ID 7-8-Gamma-5 requesting entry. We have a coolant leak that needs repair. There was an uncomfortable pause.

Acknowledged. Enter through the side gate, Gamma-5.

10-4.

With a sigh, Mo switched off the comm and leaned back in her chair. She raised the visor on her helmet as she turned her head toward Al. Her lips pressed together for a moment, a sign of her thoughts wandering between him and his brother, their parents, her parents, the dangers of the mission. But then, as it always did, the excitement kicked in just enough to elicit a smile. Here comes the boom... She said, her voice not much more than a whisper as the smile spread wider across her face. She did always enjoy the boom.

[Twysper]

At last!

A contradiction; Mark was both excited and completely unfeeling as to what he had to do. It had been far, far too long since he had gotten the opportunity to blast Sith soldiers into oblivion. Oh to stare one of the murdering bastards in the face before pulling the trigger again.

Mark had saved up an unhealthy portion of hatred just for the occasion.

Even so, he calmly pulled the visored Sith service cap over his eyes as he lounged in the seat of the speeder, preparing himself mentally for the sabotage operation while reorganizing his thoughts on current matters.

Which brought him back to his opinions on resistance leadership... Personally, he had nothing against Dutch, but the fact that it seemed the man was the entire backbone of the DLA irked him to no end. Mark had no time or patience for those without the desire to fight, and his emotions were far too frozen over for his personal morale to be affected. His disdain with others among the DLA had grown more than apparent recently.

And so inside their icy prison, the furnaces of rage continued to burn.

The other members of the DLA, the ones sitting around him, they didn't understand. Some piece of Mark's humanity had been lost when the Sith invaded Dantooine, and they had all seemed to keep theirs intact. For Mark, they were there, but not there. Mo, Al, and Grizz; the teenager had been simply looking through them all like they were silhouettes made of fogged glass.

Al was saying something, probably something he already knew, given his tendencies, or something encouraging, or something stupid. And then Mo was talking into her navigator’s helmet, the mission was on, and his companions all snapped into focus, similarly clad in their drab Sith uniforms. Grizz sat on the opposite side of the speeder, quieter now, and he issued her a mute nod as the hovering vehicle drove through the walled gate.

Mark’s hand strayed to rest on the standard issue Sith repeating blaster, patting the dark metal comfortingly. Starting a firefight wasn’t the intended outcome for this mission, but he would be more than ready to engage in one, should the opportunity show itself…

[Rugs]

The speeder lumbered up to the checkpoint on the Sith outpost's edge. So far so good... The butterflies had to come now, didn't they? They always came. No matter how many raids they ran or vehicles they stole, the butterflies were always there, right before they got in deep. Not that he was scared. He couldn't be scared. Just understandably nervous. They'd fade away, though. That was the way of them; there for a moment, gone the next.

As they rolled along, a voice came over the intercom. Al looked to Mo as she spoke. His stomach clenched uncomfortably for a brief, tense moment. Then clearance came, and they were allowed to continue to sally forth unmolested.

So far so good...

Not that they'd done much. They'd made it into the Sith's yard without getting shot. Now all they had to do was make it through the front door and into the house to steal their cookies. Or, more appropriately, use the oven to make their own cookies and then blow the oven up. Without getting killed or captured in the process.

Just another job in the DLA, then.

"This weather is good. The sound of the blast will be less conspicuous..."

Al glanced up to Grizzelda when she spoke. He held a noted respect for the woman; the fact that she'd thrown in to help them in their fight when she wasn't a native--as far as he was aware--surely spoke volumes about her. "Yeah." Lightning flared once more, and as if summoned by her words, thunder rolled over the plains again. "Can't say I'd mind lettin' our own thunder be heard, but oh well. Everyone'll know we're back anyway."

"At the gate," Joseph called from the front.

Well, they weren't quite there, but the speeder was slowing to a stop. Al looked out the rain-soaked window to see a checkpoint in front of the gate with glimpses of the outpost visible behind it. A wall obscured everything else. If he craned his neck just so, he could see part of the radio tower.

One of the Sith guards stopped them and started a brief conversation with Joseph. Credentials--stolen credentials, but still valid--were flashed and their needs were affirmed. The gate opened and the speeder lurched forward again.

"Says we're to go to repair bay C," Joseph informed them as they passed the threshold into the base. "It's that one, right there." He pointed with a meaty finger toward the mentioned building. It was a large garge. The door was open despite the rain and harsh, bright light spilled out from it.

"Not too far from the tower," Al mused aloud as he looked around at their surroundings. "And not too many Sith out with the storm blowin' like it is."

If their luck held, they could simply sneak over to the Tower, get in, do their work, and get out. That was the plan, anyway. But plans had a way of going to hell once they reached the field.

Al leaned forward and check his boot. The knife he'd gotten from his uncle so many years ago was still there, tucked safely out of sight. The blaster pistol at his side was a heavy one, and of Sith make. Making noise wasn't the plan, but they always had a contingency...

At least the butterflies were gone now.

[Kella]

Fake credentials, fake problem, real access. Grizzelda knew the shtick.

She could feel the thunder in her lungs as it rocked the air. Thunderstorms, like space travel, were one of those things that could make you feel very, very small. A painful revelation for a headstrong youth. Ithor had been the place of many revelations for Grizzelda.

Among which 'do not go headlong into wild schemes' was not. She'd missed that memo.

Unfortunately, passing behind enemy lines failed to thrill her. Part of her secretly hoped the operation devolved into a firefight. Get the blood moving in her veins. But, while she knew she could handle herself in a firefight, these kids couldn't.

And that's what they were, really. Kids. Grizzelda didn't underestimate the power of hard circumstance to mature a person. She'd been there. But ten years put a lot of things into perspective, and despite all their talents or merits, they were just kids.

So maybe that's why she was here. So two teens didn't get themselves splattered on the pavement.

But such considerations never reached her face. Her expression was blank, almost bored, until they approached the repair garage. Lightning flashed, illuminating the inside of the speeder in stark relief. The light faded, but the speeder was soon alight again -- this time, by the flood of artificial light from the repair garage.

It was small, as far as repair garages went. Enough to hold a dozen speeders, or perhaps two small star-ships.

At present moment, it contained a clutter of hydrolic lifts, tools, oil drums and work benches, a half a dozen speeders, and a few bare chassis, all basking in a few thousand kilowatts of halogen glory. Four men in oil-stained cover-alls leaned against a bench, laughing amongst themselves. Wisps of smoke wandered up from their cigarras. Oh the diligent workers of the Empire. They looked up as the speeder approached, and Grizzelda wasted no time disembarking.

"So you're the ones who are gonna save my hide?" she asked, sauntering towards them.

"Yeh," One said, cigarra in the corner of his mouth, "Sure. Whuz the prollem?"

"Kriff, I thought I was gon' get the day off..." Another huffed.

"Clean up yer attitude," the first said, "It ain't so bad when the clientele is worthwhile." He grinned at Grizzelda.

"Oh, you flatter me," she said, sidling up to them. She could smell alcohol on their breath. "You all are lifesavers. My commanding officer never cuts me a break, I've got to get back on ASAP." She watched amused as they all straightened up a bit. A common reaction to a six-foot tall woman who knew how to handle herself.

"Well you know," the third said, "With the storm a'brewin' as it is, and with mechanical problems always being so much worse than they first seem," he gave her a significant look, "Maybe you an' yer mates," he gestured to the speeder, "can catch a break here. Jus', y'know, takin' advantage of an inevitable situation."

She smiled widely. "I suppose it wouldn't be so bad if we got rained in. Where's the chow hall?"

"Eas' wall, jus' head down the corridor, can't miss it."

"Thanks." Grizzelda nodded to them, and returned to the speeder.

"These nice gents have our mechanical problem taken care of." She started towards the corridor, then turned back. "You comin'? I'm starved."

[Meira]

Mo sat, rigid in her seat with a lump in her throat as they approached the checkpoint. Even after they'd cleared, she had trouble swallowing that lump. Way too exposed. She thought, looking out the armored window as lightning struck. She had one last glimps of the plains; an instant snapshop of the grass, bent by wind and rain and colored an odd pale white from the lightning. Then it was gone, too dark and on the other side of the sith compound's wall.

Their speeder ambled into the repair garage, and into the light. Mo's nerves doubled. It was really bright in the garage, compared to outside it. She glanced through the rear window. She almost would have rather been out in the rain than in here, so exposed.

The speeder came to a stop and the others began to step out. Grizz was already moving toward the four mechanics that occupied the garage. The outside door buzzed, then began to lower. Mo's eyes darted around, it didn't seem like there were any other people in the garage. That was good.

She did all she could within the confines of the speeder. She checked her gear, then reluctantly removed her helmet. Mo wanted to keep it, but she could think of no logical reason a person would wear such a thing indoors. She could hear Grizz talking to the mechanics. Mo couldn't make out all of the conversation, but she understood the tone well enough. She was wrapping those men around her little finger. If Mo hadn't been so nervous, she might have laughed.

From one of the bags they brought, she produced a datapad and promptly stuck her nose into it. All the intel they had on this outpost's layout was on it, as well as their little message they were going to send out to the people of Dantooine. Being the mere navigator that she was pretending to be, she holstered only a blaster pistol at her hip. Appearances were everything. Hopefully, wherever they snuck around on this base, she wouldn't call much attention to herself with her nose in a datapad as if she were working.

Her job in this was to help set the charges. She'd watched her dad when he set charges at the failed mines. He'd place them just so, to bring down just enough of the mountain to dig a little deeper, without destroying what they'd already dug into. Well, she didn't have to be quite so precise as her father had been, but it was important that they destroy the tower, and the facility enough that the site would prove unfixable. Luckily, it seemed that the opperating systems for the tower and the broadcasts that went out over it were located at the base of the tower. So, bring down the tower, bring down the tech as well. Simple right?

Mo stayed positioned among the others so that she always seemed just out of sight, or just on the other side of someone's shoulder. You can do this. She repeated this phrase over and over in her mind as she moved with the others. She also made herself a promise that she would never take such a role in their missions again. She belonged in the forest, in the shadows, not the limelight.

[Twysper]

Mark, felt rather than saw the speeder come to a stop, vision obscured by the military cap he had pulled over his face, as it were.

It was a personal game of confidence. He was in control of his emotions; his temporary persona. He would not worry about having to immediately see what was around him, because this was routine amongst the gunmetal slagheaps the Sith called vehicles.

Nothing to worry about.

Grizzelda, according to the rustle from the spot she had occupied and the sound of her boots hitting the metal floor, had hastily vacated the speeder. He heard her voice almost immediately afterward, talking as confidently as he intended himself to be.

Mark's green snakebite eyes flashed open under the cap (it was promptly adjusted) and then he was clambering out of the back of the speeder himself, blaster knocking lightly against his chest as he walked into the halogen light. He nodded curtly to the mechanics, offering a wry smile as he followed briskly after Grizz.

Give or take ten minutes, and I don't think you'll all be sitting around here doing nothing. He thought towards the Sith workers in his dark, cheerful manner.

He didn't usually like to admit it, but the stress of fighting a guerrilla war had made him look much older than his lean seventeen years. Currently, it helped with the whole 'in disguise' thing, and the group passed out of the repair bay quietly.

Mark sincerely hoped that Al hadn't done something stupid already, like forgetting the gorram bag full of explosives that had been sitting between them all. That would just figure. Imposed mental discipline and the desire to appear in control stopped him from turning around to check on everything like a nervous kid, but he couldn't help one sulky thought in that direction.

New leader of the DLA my arse...

[Rugs]

The speeder lumbered along to the repair bay. Lightning continued to flash overhead, and thunder echoed still, but it was all different now. As Al looked out the rain-streaked windows, he realized that they were gone from the plains, even if this base claimed to sit out in the middle of them. No, this was a place that was different, strange and foreign. Everything they'd come to know as their own seemed right, fit in on Dantooine, but this...

We'll kick 'em out, he told himself. Just gonna some time. But we'll get 'em. One day. One day the cancer would be removed. And then Dantooine would be theirs again.

But he had to remind himself to keep his attention on more immediate matters. Most importantly, the fact that the speeder was pulling into the repair bay.

Al checked his equipment quickly, as if he hadn't done it a hundred times already on the way over. That done, he took a few breaths to calm himself and press the last vestiges of nervousness away. He had to be sure of himself now, despite his age. Not like I haven't done it before, he told himself, thinking back to his brother's rescue.

Just never been responsible for everyone like this.

In that moment he felt a touch of doubt rise in his stomach. There it sat, nagging him with untold fears and concerns, but he pushed it away. His father had told him once, told all of them when the resistance was still young, that there wasn't room for doubt once you'd already jumped into the devil's pit. That'd only you killed.

"Only way out," Al smiled softly as he remembered his father's voice, "is to look the devil in the eye and punch him in the mouth."

"Alright ladies and gents," Joseph's familiar voice snapped Al from his thoughts as the speeder slowed to a stop. "Here we are. You all know what to do. I'll make sure you got a way out." Joseph chuckled softly as he straightened his uniform a bit. "Now go on. Remind 'em what we're all about."

And so they went. Al waited for the others to disembark. It gave him a brief moment to compose himself, steady his nerves. He'd doom them all if he went out into the base looking like he was out of place.

Once he was ready, he took the bag of explosives and slung it casually onto his back. He looked at ease as he stepped out into the repair bay. He glanced at the parts and pieces that were scattered about as if he'd seen them a thousand times before and gave the men a casual nod. Not that they seemed to notice, distracted by Grizzelda as they were.

Thunder boomed mutedly from outside.

"Hell's ass," he muttered, sounding disgruntled, "can't stand all these damn storms."

That was about the time Grizz spoke to them again and started off down the hall. "I'm comin'," he said with a nod, starting after her. "Been too long since I had some hot food."

He fell in after her, standing opposite Mo so that he was between the actual Sith and her. "Take care of her," he said offhandedly to one of the mechanics. When the man lifted a greasy brow in question, Al gestured back at the speeder with his head. "She's been a good ride up 'til recently. Make sure she gets back to bein' a good one."

They moved into the corridor beyond. A few other Sith passed by, but none seemed to pay much attention beyond a casual glance or nod or disgruntled huff. Al waited until he knew they were far enough to be out of any unwanted person's earshot and glanced at Mo and spoke softly. "Where we headin'?"

[Meira]

Walking across that garage felt like running in a dream; that feeling that, no matter how much you tried, you didn't seem to move. Her ears were pounding as her heart raced and each step seemed to take her backward rather than forward. But soon enough, they were in a corridor and everything seemed to be a little easier. They were past their first real barrier. They were in. This is supposed to be the fun part. She thought to herself, trying to lighten her own mood.

"Where we headin'?"

"Huh? Oh..." Mo's hand darted across the datapad, searching for the correct file. It was an old schematic, a plan, and so was likely to not be entirely correct. But it was the best they had. Once she had it pulled up, she located the garage and traced their path from there.

"According to this, we can take the most direct route through the mess hall and then on to the control center, or we can go around. But that takes us through the barracks."

Mo's blue eyes glanced at Al, then down at the chrono readout on the datapad. If it's a meal time, the barracks isn't likely to be crowded, right?" But that was the longer way, more time could mean more of a chance to get caught. Then again, more exposure to more eyes was also a bad idea. She bit her lip as she looked up again. "What do you think?"

[Kella]

"Well," Grizzelda said, either unaware of or ignoring the fact that Mo had been speaking to Al, "The mess hall's the way to go. More people there are, less attention you attract. People get over-stimulated--"

Another cluster of Sith came around the corner. "And then it all goes to Hell. They get trigger happy, and you can't get anything done." The other officers passed harmlessly by. "Silly thing, really." Grizzelda counted in her head, until they would be out of earshot.

"Anyway, as I was saying," she continued, unperturbed, "People can't remember half as much as if they saw you in an empty barrack. 'sides, dun have to explain why you're not where everyone is when you're where everyone is." She shrugged.

Grizzelda noticed with some interest that Mo was still jittery. It would probably be better if they didn't run into any superior officers, as the only way for such an altercation to go smoothly would be for the others to be sharp enough to follow Grizzelda's lead. But the woman wasn't particularly invested either way, as her priority was excitement, not necessarily success.

[Rugs]

Al tried to think as their little group moved on and discussed their options. Through the mess or, or through the barracks. Mo had thoughts of her own, as did Grizzelda. In fact, the more seasoned spacefarer's pontification had Al raising his brows, then nodding slightly.

"Take cover in plain sight," he muttered, nodding. As they neared a corner, he slowed his pace slightly, dropping his voice a hair as he glanced back over his shoulder at Mo. "It's no so different than how we normally do things."

On the surface, anyway. The big difference between being out in the field and the heart of the enemy's territory was that the crowd they'd have to choose to hide themselves in. By and large, the people of Dantooine were supportive of their cause. Even if they didn't work with the DLA, they rarely got in the way and never really actively opposed them.

They belonged among the farmhands and shop owners and mechanics of Dantooine. Those things were who they were, even more than being rebels.

But the Sith... Grizz was right in a sense. If there were more people it was, in a sense, easier to blend in. Al could admit to that much, after using the fact to his advantage for the part he'd played when they rescued Dutch. But the Sith were most definitely not a group to which they belonged. All it would take was one person to realize they didn't belong, one poor answer to a question...

Not like we didn't know there'd be risks, though, he assured himself. And if we don't give anyone reason to notice us, we oughtta be fine.

It would just be a quick walk anyway, right?

A soldier came down the hall, going in the direction opposite theirs. Al stayed quiet, offering a casual nod of acknowledgement as the fellow passed, and waited until he was out of earshot.

"I think Grizz might have a point. We go through the mess and don't do anything to stand out, we can get to where we're goin' faster. Someone finds us where we're alone, we might get asked questions that lead to trouble."

The biggest annoyance of it all was that everything was hypothetical. Not what would happen. Just what might happen.

"What do you say, Mo?" Al looked again to Mo. If anyone had to worry about standing out, it would be her, with her green skin. She was the most different of their group, and that put her the most at risk. "You alright with it?"

He realized he should probably ask Mark too. Even if he was irritating.

"Mark?"

[Meira]

Grizz had a point. Part of Mo hated her for it, but there was no arguing with the logic of putting one's self in a crowd. True, it wasn't how Mo usually operated, but the DLA rarely got to work in ideal situations. And now that the general leadership of their movement rested on her and Al's shoulders, it was time she showed she was willing to take the necessary risks just like everyone else.

"Speak for yourself." Mo mumbled at Al's comment of hiding in plain sight. But she shrugged her shoulders, mentally forcing herself to accept the situation for what it was and deal with what that meant. "Yeah." she managed after a couple of calming breaths. She double checked the readout, then stepped a touch more confidently as she turned right at the next intersection of the corridor.

At the end of this hall was a set of double doors. On the other side of those doors, a large number of this base's sith soldiers would be sitting around tables, enjoying what was bound to be a meal ten times better than many in the DLA had had in quite a while. Mo's mind played scenarios over and over. In one, the doors opened and all within the mess hall fell silent, turning to stare at the obvious imposters stupid enough to try to infiltrate their numbers. In another, a group of armed soldiers came bursting through the door before they could even reach it to subdue them.

What actually happened was that the doors opened as Mo and the others approached. The sound of casual conversation and the smell of a well cooked meal filled the air. And not a one turned or even seemed to notice their presence. Mo paused, but only for a moment in the door before she moved to the left, navigating the outer side of the room around the long tables of soldiers far too interested in their food to pay her any mind. Her shoulders relaxed and her gait returned to something more normal for her.

Ahead, she could see another door along the wall. That was her focus now. She was meters away from what she considered the hardest part of this mission. Others might think the getting out part was the hardest, but Mo was pretty good at running away from the sith. Just a little farther and she'd be through the door.

The doors opened, far too soon for it to be her own movement that triggered the sensors. The door had been activated by the two men now entering the mess hall, officers by the look of them. And they were moving toward Mo and the others. Before she could avert her eyes, one of the officers glanced at her. He said something to the other and the two officers came to a stop, blocking their path.

"You must be the patrol that came in for repairs?" the first officer said by way of greeting. Mo felt as if her vocal chords had collapsed.