The Planetary Government Building was one of the dominating monoliths in Muunilist City’s skyline. It was the New Order’s way of letting the citizens know who was protecting their well being, and that they should be thankful for it. With all the other squabbling “governments” in the galaxy, it could be much worse for them. Even worse than the sad condition the New Order found them in. The people had no real form of government and instead were controlled by large, bloated corporations, defended by private armies driven by dwindling corporate funds, and had been in an economic depression since the end of the Galactic Civil War which made poverty the norm. Yes, the New Order was Muunilist’s saving grace. There were other worlds in the galaxy that were suffering like Muunilist had suffered. The New Order’s intent was to aid those planets in their time of great need, once the various Imperial Intelligence agents spread around the galaxy had identified them.
As Bren Stian ascended the turbolift in the Planetary Government Building to receive his next assign, he wondered if it was one of these observations missions. Twenty of these observation missions were going on all the time. Once one had ended, another needed to take its place. Who ever had been assigned to Teth was due to return to their home in the next few standard days, which meant another agent needed to place into one.
The turbolift doors opened with a faint hiss. Bren walked down the sanitized durasteel corridor; each click his boots made echoed up and down it. To one who hadn’t been working in these, usually empty, building for at least a standard year, the echoed clicking would have been maddening. Bren welcomed it. It gave him a sense of normality.
He walked past several doors before stopping at one. He withdrew a key card from his uniform pocket, and placed it into the key slot. The lights on the slot changed from red to green, approving the key card, unlocking the door for Bren. He opened the door to his temporary office; Intel was always moving their agent due to a lack of a formal headquarters. Left on his desk by the assignment droid was a datapad that would contain the specs of his next mission, as outlined by Gormul Hyfe, Intel’s interim director. Bren plugged the datapad into the wall projector interface, and allowed it to run through its programming. He plopped down in his chair, leading back in it. The thought of a nap briefly crossed his mind.
As always as it was with these orders, it opened with the Imperial Cog and the boldfaced font:</font>
IMPERIAL INTELLIGENCE
Intelligence and Security Branch of the New Order
<font color="#999999">Bren gave a slight yawn, “If only I had a quarter credit for each time I saw that…” he silently mused. The opening faded away after the standard three seconds, leading him into the mission profile. A blue-green sphere covered by random white streaks zoomed in, most likely the planet the mission was to take place on. It completed one revolution before shrinking into the corner of the screen. Bren changed from a lounging position in his chair to almost sitting on his desk.Intelligence and Security Branch of the New Order
The mission briefing and objectives rapid scrolled itself across the screen, in tiny white typeface. The planet displayed was Agamar. It was only famous for a pilot that went to the Rebellion, Bren wouldn’t be bothered to remember his name. Since the end of the Galactic Civil War, Agamar’s economy remained fair strong under its own rule. This impressed Bren, many worlds had not such success at self-governing. It did say as he continued in the last standard decade, due to a wave of weak leaders, that there was an economic recession occurring and several organizations bent on over throwing the planetary political system.
Bren’s primary objective was to observe the government and these coup organizations, and notify the Imperial Navy when Agamar was prime for the picking. A time frame of two days was given to Bren to request the necessary equipment and be off planet. With this, Bren ended the briefing and quickly uploaded the various requisition data-forms that would supply him with what he needed.
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With twelve hours to spare, Bren gathered his belongings and exited his apartment. With a flight bag full of the necessities, he was prepared for the journey to Agamar, and a prolonged stay. The requisition forms were processed relatively fast; Intelligence’s demands were processed faster than any other department in the Empire. An apartment had been reserved on Agamar, with all his requisitioned equipment all ready in place, so he wouldn’t need to smuggle anything in, along with last minute details and orders. The ship Intelligence had reserved him with was a long out-dated Corellian Engineering Corps YT Series twelve-fifty. This slug of a freighter was the best of its kind in the waning days of the Old Republic, if that’s any gauge to its antique status.
He found her fully fueled and the nav computer with the coordinates all ready preset for him. He reviewed the jump coordinates, noting the randomness of the first six sets, and then a straight shoot to Agamar from a vector on the other side of the planet than the one if it were straight from Muunilist; standard Intel procedure. He gave a slight grin as he edited one set, cutting several hours of the trip, but maintaining the same general pattern. Bren’s superior would have his head if they found out what he did, but no one in financing would complain if he arrived ahead of schedule, meaning he’d be under budget. Some one, somewhere would thank him for it.
He sat down in the pilot’s seat and started up the aging YT freighter. With a dull whine, and a slight stifle, the control panel lit up and the engine sat in idle. Bren quickly skimmed the controls, trying to refresh his Cardian Academy training. Although it was CEC freighter by name, and an YT series by design, these controls looked nothing like those found in the thirteen hundred or twenty-four hundred models. The steering and acceleration controls were similar, but Bren could not remember were all the other vital knobs and buttons were located. Good thing was a long flight; it would give him plenty of time to read the manual and re-educate himself.
Easing the accelerator forward, the engines roared, pulling the ship smoothly out of the hanger. An alarm went off as soon as he pitched the ship up to drive it into Muunilist’s orbit. No doubt it was signaling that the landing gear was still down. Bren slowed the ships accent, so as not to rip off his landing gears. He searched the controls frantically for the switch to retract them. Finally it dawned on him, the switch was under the warning light. He let a nervous laugh slip out as he flipped the switch bring the landing gears in. Increasing his speed once more, he reached orbit after twenty-five minutes of accent.
Checking in with Muunilist Space Traffic Control, Bren pulled his ship out of orbit and prepared her for hyperspace. Once the light flicked off that indicated he was a safe distance from the planet’s natural gravity well, he let the nav computer run the coordinates one more time. Once he was satisfied with all the read out, he pulled back the sublight accelerator, and engaged the hyperdrive. Bren sat back in the pilot’s chair and watched the star lines stretch into the simu-tunnels of hyperspace.</font>
