Isard's Grip - Chapter 1; part 2
Aug. 8th, 2005 04:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
athersgeoFor the prologue and part 1 of Isard's grip, check the handy link on the right hand side of the page *points*
This is unbeta'ed. If you spot any glarring errors, feel free to yelp. Any comments, complaints or suggestions gratefully received.
Myron was watching the SOCO conduct her investigation of the murder scene when his comm. link buzzed.
Pulling it from his pocket, he answered, "Nemath here."
"Sir, I regret to inform you that there is another crime scene you need to attend." The voice of Peeceenine, the Coruscanti Militia's control droid sounded tinny through the comm. link's speaker, but still conveyed the sense of the droid wringing his hands.
"Another one?" Myron queried. "Why me?"
"You are assigned to the Kavila case," Peeceeenine answered. "It is connected."
Myron frowned. "How do you know it's connected?"
"The victim is listed as the other occupant of the apartment you are in."
Myron listened as the droid relayed the location and details of the new crime scene with growing dismay. It seemed that a Rodian male, Doda Kavila (was he Greeta's brother or life partner?), had walked into a tapcaf one block from Greeta's apartment, stood in the middle of the restaurant and pulled out a vibroblade with one blood-stained hand and a blaster with the other. With the former, he'd held stunned diners at bay while screaming out the words: "She made me do it. I killed her but it wasn't her and she made me do it." Then he'd used the blaster and shot himself.
After acknowledging the call, Myron clicked his comm. link off and looked across at Caz. "I've got to go," he said. "I think we may know who the perp was."
Caz nodded. "I've got things here."
After a quick nod to the SOCO, who barely looked up from her work, Myron turned and headed for the tapcaf. Sure, they knew who the perp was, but by shooting himself, there was probably going to be no way of ever knowing just why Doda killed Greeta, and just what did his cryptic screams mean?
~*~
Nawara tapped a talon-like fingernail to his lower lip as he punched up Hobbie's comm. address. Something about Tycho's tiredness bothered him. He'd seen the other man under a variety of circumstances, from the heat of starfighter battle to the heat of courtroom battle. And even when things looked their worst for him, Nawara couldn't remember a single occasion when Tycho had looked anything less than calm. Oh, there'd been weariness, to be sure, but nothing like this.
And the more Nawara thought about it, the less he liked the flimsy excuse Tycho had come up with. Nerves. If Tycho was nervous about leading the squadron, Nawara was a Gamorean.
"Lieutenant Ven!" Hobbie's voice drew Nawara's thoughts back to the here and now with a jerk, and he realised the call had connected. "Can I help you?"
"Captain Celchu's asked me to ask you to a meeting at 0900 tomorrow."
Hobbie nodded. "Any idea what it's about?"
"New pilots," Nawara replied succinctly.
Hobbie winced. "I didn't think Rogue Squadron's roster was that bad."
"It's not," Nawara replied. "We've got three candidates for one position."
Hobbie smiled. "Better that than one pilot for three spots."
Nawara nodded. "You helped to train all three; you've probably got insights into them that don't come from the personnel files."
It was Hobbie's turn to nod. "Understood. See you tomorrow."
As the comm. went dark, Nawara sat back in his seat and frowned. Hobbie had known Tycho for a long time. Surely he'd be able to get to the bottom of whatever was bothering the Alderaanian pilot?
~*~
Tycho stared as Isard began to pace the length of his office. She was dead. She couldn't possibly be here. This had to be some kind of insane hallucination.
"A hallucination, Captain? I'm insulted," Isard snapped. "Oh, I assure you, I am quite, quite real." She half turned towards him. "And I am not pleased. How dare you try to escape me with this fictional construct." She waved a dismissive hand at the office. "You surely didn't really believe that I would allow one of my toys to escape?"
A lead weight settled into the pit of Tycho's stomach. He had escaped. Hadn't he? Didn't he recall Akritar? Finding himself there. Sithspit. Finding himself. He had solid memories from that point onwards, but no memory of getting to Akritar, or even of leaving Lusankya.
A slow, malicious smile crossed Isard's face. "Yes; you understand now."
Suddenly Tycho was lying on his back, strapped to a med-couch, staring up at that blindingly white ceiling and listening to the sharp tap of someone's footsteps as they paced. Fear and confusion made Tycho struggle against the restraints. He couldn't be here! He shouldn't be here. He'd escaped.
His view of the ceiling blurred and Isard loomed over him. "My! That was a particularly resilient psychosis. Fascinatingly drawn – perhaps you should consider a career in holomovies, Captain Celchu." Isard smiled. "Of course, that can only happen if I let you go and I feel particularly disinclined towards that course of action." She nodded to someone just outside of Tycho's field of vision. "He's ready for the next dose."
The technician appeared, injector ready.
"One way, or the other," Isard commented. "You will be mine completely. It might be best if you stop struggling."
This is unbeta'ed. If you spot any glarring errors, feel free to yelp. Any comments, complaints or suggestions gratefully received.
Myron was watching the SOCO conduct her investigation of the murder scene when his comm. link buzzed.
Pulling it from his pocket, he answered, "Nemath here."
"Sir, I regret to inform you that there is another crime scene you need to attend." The voice of Peeceenine, the Coruscanti Militia's control droid sounded tinny through the comm. link's speaker, but still conveyed the sense of the droid wringing his hands.
"Another one?" Myron queried. "Why me?"
"You are assigned to the Kavila case," Peeceeenine answered. "It is connected."
Myron frowned. "How do you know it's connected?"
"The victim is listed as the other occupant of the apartment you are in."
Myron listened as the droid relayed the location and details of the new crime scene with growing dismay. It seemed that a Rodian male, Doda Kavila (was he Greeta's brother or life partner?), had walked into a tapcaf one block from Greeta's apartment, stood in the middle of the restaurant and pulled out a vibroblade with one blood-stained hand and a blaster with the other. With the former, he'd held stunned diners at bay while screaming out the words: "She made me do it. I killed her but it wasn't her and she made me do it." Then he'd used the blaster and shot himself.
After acknowledging the call, Myron clicked his comm. link off and looked across at Caz. "I've got to go," he said. "I think we may know who the perp was."
Caz nodded. "I've got things here."
After a quick nod to the SOCO, who barely looked up from her work, Myron turned and headed for the tapcaf. Sure, they knew who the perp was, but by shooting himself, there was probably going to be no way of ever knowing just why Doda killed Greeta, and just what did his cryptic screams mean?
Nawara tapped a talon-like fingernail to his lower lip as he punched up Hobbie's comm. address. Something about Tycho's tiredness bothered him. He'd seen the other man under a variety of circumstances, from the heat of starfighter battle to the heat of courtroom battle. And even when things looked their worst for him, Nawara couldn't remember a single occasion when Tycho had looked anything less than calm. Oh, there'd been weariness, to be sure, but nothing like this.
And the more Nawara thought about it, the less he liked the flimsy excuse Tycho had come up with. Nerves. If Tycho was nervous about leading the squadron, Nawara was a Gamorean.
"Lieutenant Ven!" Hobbie's voice drew Nawara's thoughts back to the here and now with a jerk, and he realised the call had connected. "Can I help you?"
"Captain Celchu's asked me to ask you to a meeting at 0900 tomorrow."
Hobbie nodded. "Any idea what it's about?"
"New pilots," Nawara replied succinctly.
Hobbie winced. "I didn't think Rogue Squadron's roster was that bad."
"It's not," Nawara replied. "We've got three candidates for one position."
Hobbie smiled. "Better that than one pilot for three spots."
Nawara nodded. "You helped to train all three; you've probably got insights into them that don't come from the personnel files."
It was Hobbie's turn to nod. "Understood. See you tomorrow."
As the comm. went dark, Nawara sat back in his seat and frowned. Hobbie had known Tycho for a long time. Surely he'd be able to get to the bottom of whatever was bothering the Alderaanian pilot?
Tycho stared as Isard began to pace the length of his office. She was dead. She couldn't possibly be here. This had to be some kind of insane hallucination.
"A hallucination, Captain? I'm insulted," Isard snapped. "Oh, I assure you, I am quite, quite real." She half turned towards him. "And I am not pleased. How dare you try to escape me with this fictional construct." She waved a dismissive hand at the office. "You surely didn't really believe that I would allow one of my toys to escape?"
A lead weight settled into the pit of Tycho's stomach. He had escaped. Hadn't he? Didn't he recall Akritar? Finding himself there. Sithspit. Finding himself. He had solid memories from that point onwards, but no memory of getting to Akritar, or even of leaving Lusankya.
A slow, malicious smile crossed Isard's face. "Yes; you understand now."
Suddenly Tycho was lying on his back, strapped to a med-couch, staring up at that blindingly white ceiling and listening to the sharp tap of someone's footsteps as they paced. Fear and confusion made Tycho struggle against the restraints. He couldn't be here! He shouldn't be here. He'd escaped.
His view of the ceiling blurred and Isard loomed over him. "My! That was a particularly resilient psychosis. Fascinatingly drawn – perhaps you should consider a career in holomovies, Captain Celchu." Isard smiled. "Of course, that can only happen if I let you go and I feel particularly disinclined towards that course of action." She nodded to someone just outside of Tycho's field of vision. "He's ready for the next dose."
The technician appeared, injector ready.
"One way, or the other," Isard commented. "You will be mine completely. It might be best if you stop struggling."
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-08 03:54 pm (UTC)It looks like you originally meant to use "allow" here, and I think that would work better. And I think Akri'tar has an apostrophe. Could be wrong. I might just have internalized Lucas's love of the '.
But holy crap, what a mindfuck this is turning into! Love it :) Is she real? Is Tycho back on Lusankya? Fantastic.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-08 04:10 pm (UTC)I'm pretty sure you're right about Akritar, but I'm going to stick with that spelling until I get home and can look it up in the books (and I do rather like Lucas's use of ' in place names :) Gives them an other-galaxy feel to them *grin*)
Thank you, though :) Your questions will be answered soon. I'm thinking that this is going to be five chapters long in total - and now that I've got inspired, chapter two might actually go up, in one batch, possibly later on tonight :)