Office of the Praetor
Dark Hall, Antei
T Minus 89 Hours
The silence in the office was almost deafening. Upon the two Manaan-designed couches sitting either side of the caf table, three operatives faced down the Titan of New Tython as he stared quietly into his mug of Zsajhira berry tea. The steam rose into his eyes, half-lidded, his focus very intently on the warm liquid inside the crystal cup. It served as a great distraction from the terrible news that his top agents had brought him.
“You mean to tell me…” the Dathomiri began, every word a calculated choice - a skill he was rapidly inheriting from his Master. “Not only did you fail to meet with B’an Krillix, but you did not manage to convince him to join the Brotherhood.”
The lead agent across from him - a Cathar, like his sister and cousin beside him - wore a similarly stoic expression. “Yes, sir. We failed.”
“Talon, this is an issue I can not overlook.” Mirus took a sip of his drink, the scalding liquid burning its way down his throat, before he set it down upon the table before him. The Titan rose from his seat, folding his hands behind his back as he moved to the window, staring out upon the landscape of Antei - barren, in many places, but filling with life - fueled by the Darkness, of course.
“I’m sorry, sir. There was nothing we could do. He’s just that good.”
“This coming from some of the best agents outside the Shadow Clan? This coming from my hands?”
Mirus kept a strike-team of operatives on hand for sensitive missions out in the wider Galaxy, using them as his reach when he was shackled to the office of the Grand Master by the will of the Lion of Tarthos. They were his agents to enact his will, to take on simple missions - and, surprisingly, they had a sense of humour. The three men and women, all Cathar… had named themselves Strike-team Kittypew, in an inane twist of self-deprecating humour. All being feline species, all being experts with varying types of blaster, the name was practically a choice perfect for the facade they wore. And, of course, it was chosen by their youngest member.
“But, but, sir, we did manage to find where he could be hiding! We totally did that for you.”
Talon, the leader, shot a hard glare at his younger cousin, a girl of nineteen. On one hip was one of the heaviest custom blaster pistols in the Galaxy, on her opposite hand a Mandalorian crushgaunt, and between her eyes was a brain so hilariously twisted to fun and laughter that it was impossible to believe that this short little girl could wear heavy power armour and still keep pace with Mirus. She was, indeed, the little kittypew.
“Thank you, Aurora,” stated Mirus flatly. “Do you intend to solve this problem?”
The final member of the team present, a Cathar in her mid-twenties with tawny fur, folded her hands in front of her. At her feet rested a sniper rifle, prodded occasionally with a steel-plated toe. “I, uh, I think we can solve this,” she said quietly. “It wouldn’t be too hard to track his One Sith handler down. We may need your help, though.”
“A bit of insurance never hurt, sir,” added Talon, with a grin. "Luna’s right. We go after the handler, force him to call for backup - he’ll call in Krillix if we use the right method. We can capture Krillix or straight out prove we’re better than he is. “Hell, we do a good enough job, we’ll take out an entire One Sith cell in the process.”
“Remember, our goal is to recruit an operative, not to eradicate the Sith,” Mirus retorted, half-turning back to face them. “But you make a good point. Pack your things, Kittypews. We’re leaving right now.”
There’d be a ship waiting for them, stocked and ready. There always was, when the Titan came calling.
