Ministry of War – Mission Number 015

Mission Number: 015
Location: A Hutt Owned Nar Bo Sholla
Target:  Data Cylinders
Objective: Recover the Cylinders through any means necessary.
Agent Assigned: Fixer 63


The Agent’s ship broke out of the planet’s atmosphere and entered hyperspace before the body was discovered. The handsome woman in her late fifties was found in a secured, private room inside the dance club by the overnight cleaning service, the corded garrote still deeply embedded in her fleshy neck. Shortly after the authorities were contacted a small group wearing identical jumpsuits without insignia arrived to recover the corpse and secure the area. Within the hour a woman called only ‘Colonel’ who bore a striking resemblance to the deceased arrived and began issuing orders and collecting samples. She personally searched the body, checking pockets and demanding to know if a small clutch had been found nearby.


Cargo in transit. Requesting unload assistance. 

The message was sent hastily to the anonymous holo frequency as the small transport vessel lurched into hyperspace. Sixty-three sat brooding in the ship’s empty passenger area, her gloved hand placed protectively on the secure transport container destined for Imperial Intelligence. Killing the droid project’s manager had been unfortunate but necessary to mission success, the Agent reasoned, despite her belief that it was a waste of a potential resource. She reviewed the events of the last few hours in her mind, each time changing her action and predicting the outcome, no matter how many scenarios she devised, the likelihood of ensuring the Colonel’s compliance wasn’t achievable within the short time frame. ‘Colonel’ was an honorific, not an actual title, not anymore at least. The former Republic officer had been stripped of rank and discharged a few years ago, that much was known. Imperial Intelligence was unable to provide further details of the demotion or the Colonel’s activities until she resurfaced earlier this year. Clearly she still had a large number of important contacts as evidenced by her mere presence on Nar Bo Sholla overseeing the droid project. Something about this whole operation seemed… off. A Hutt designing a droid for the Republic overseen by a disgraced Republic officer in a mid-rim world, clear of Republic SIS or Senate oversight? The fact that the woman was left a strangled corpse inside a club, rather than a high value prisoner in an Imperial holding cell was regrettable.


Tapping her fingers against the secured container, Sixty-three was confident that the data cylinders she recovered along with the Colonel’s personal effects would give the Empire what it needed to wrest control of the Republic’s new prototype droid.


The Agent straightened her uniform, itching at the dried blood flakes peppering her skin under the mullinine jacket. The transport ship began its planetary descent toward the Imperial Intelligence base. ‘Keeper will be pleased’, Sixty-three thought with a self-satisfied smile. Perhaps this mission was not the overwhelming success of her last, with the Colonel and all of her experience destroyed… but she’d recovered enough to win an approving nod from her former Mentor. An Intelligence data recovery team met her on the landing pad, relieving her of the secured case. An unfamiliar Operative saluted her crisply, “Welcome back, Fixer. There’s hot caf in the mess. Keeper will meet with you once we’ve secured the intel.” He turned on his heel and followed the rest of his team into one of the base’s work centers. Taking a deep breath, the Agent felt the ache of exhaustion begin to creep over her. At nearly forty hours without sleep and the stims fading she was going to need caf, she thought.


Two hours and two mugs of caf later Fixer Sixty-three strode into the Keeper’s office wearing a smile under her mask. She saluted the man and awaited her mission debrief. Without a word, the Keeper opened the secured box she’d delivered earlier, removing a woman’s clutch purse, identification documentation and credit chit, a small hand mirror and hair brush. He looked to Sixty-three as he pushed them off to the side, retrieving the less mundane items, his eyes pathing methodically from the item revealed and then to the Fixer. A slim, metallic square was displayed, a side lever pushed and it opened to reveal what looked like fairly high quality cigarettes, the Keeper closed it with a loud click. It was impossible to read his face, but Sixty-three could have sworn she could see a flicker of annoyance. The cigarette case was set aside and the Keeper retrieved one of the mission’s prizes, a data cylinder, holding it up between the pair flanking his desk. “Blank.” He announced, placing it to the side with the other useless items and reaching in and drawing the final item, the other data cylinder. Fixer Sixty-three held her breath as he took an end in each hand before twisting the sections and removing the outer casing. He extended the cylinder toward the Fixer, twisting the bottom ring. To her horror a tube of red, waxy lip coloration rose from the base, doing little to conceal the confusion in her voice, Sixty-three blurted out “That’s not mine, Sir.”