Edge of Sadowan space
Shuttle “Excavity”
Passenger compartment
Traveling was peaceful.
Blacked out windows, like the one of the customized T-4A shuttle, reminded him that unless he opened himself up to the world at large, he would remain cut off. The floor, which was equally blacked out, would usually serve as a reminder of how small he was in the infinite darkness of the universe. This realization usually came alongside a modicum of peace, which then allowed him to center his thoughts.
Not this time. This time it made him restless.
The figure sitting in the middle of the passenger compartment could barely been seen through the emergency lighting; all other light sources had been disabled. His face, although covered by both hood and shadow, was scrunched up in desperate concentration, eager for the tranquility that his current situation would not provide.
“Spast!”
The word reverberated off the bulkheads, echoing back and forth until it died out. A soft rustle gave away the movement as the man stood up and made his way to the cockpit in near-perfect darkness.
Might as well spend my time wisely, he thought as he checked his ETA. 2 hours.
The man queued up every sector news report for the last four months on the terminal to his right and began reading. It had been roughly 5 months since he had left this sector of space, under circumstances that were uncommon to say the least.
Under the influence of a little-known alchemical concoction that suppressed his Force-signature as well as his lifesigns, he had been whisked from the morgue on Aeotheran and smuggled off-world by discrete allies. All according to his machinations, he had been revived on-board a medical frigate. The only thing left on his body was a small scar on his neck where the jagged piece of metal had entered his body.
The deception had been necessary, certain groups and certain individuals had gotten too close. It had required the execution of one of his exit protocols. Sure, getting stabbed had hurt like hell, but soon after the compound he’d been given had kicked in, and he remembered nothing until they revived him.
And now he was back. Everyone here thought him dead, including his best friend, and that was for the best. He would remain hidden for a while, build up his old network of spies, and see where the events took him. By the look of the news reports scrolling past he knew that his old Clan had been busy, but now looked to be a powderkeg.
I wonder what will be the spark that sets it off, he mused.
The silence that had filled the cockpit for the past few days was broken by an incessant beeping that he quickly disabled. He had almost arrived at his destination. Leaning forward he disabled the ship’s stealth systems, at which point the comms immediately chirped to life with a ident-challenge.
“This is Sepros approach. Identify yourself.”
Feeling slightly apprehensive, he keyed the microphone. “Sepros approach, this is shuttle Excavity. We are delivering arms and ammunition to the Temple of Sorrow. Transmitting ident.”
It took several moments for the communications systems to exchange their information. Now he would find out if that ident-code was worth the creds he’d paid for it.
“Confirmed Excavity. Follow your planned route and check in with local port control once in atmosphere.”
“Understood. Excavity out,” he replied with a smile.
It worked. He was home.