#sergeant blue

They made their way to the control center in the frozen bunker, “Colonel Vannis?” Cleaner asked.

“Colonel Vannis is not here at present. I’m Commander Tritan,” said a sandy-haired officer, "Ah, you're here, Agent. About time Intelligence honored my request," he said, addressing Lokin. "What request?" Cleaner asked over Lokin's amused chuckle. Tritan's attention shifted to Cleaner. "For Intelligence support of our position here, of course," he said, returning to Lokin. Obviously his idea of 'Agent' did not include a masked Twi'lek wearing women's hose on his head. "Frankly, I hoped for more regular aid but I suppose your alien associates will help you blend in with the local pirates. They're a varied lot." Lokin, still amused, cleared his throat, "I expect you want Agent Cleaner One. I'm Fixer Fifteen." Cleaner wished he had a cigarette right now, just to annoy Commander Tritan. He settled for yanking down his scarf. "No one requests a cleaner agent, what are you on about?" he asked. Kark all, even indoors was cold. Dribbling meltwater from the walls refroze in the corners, sealing all kinds of floor crud in lumpy ice. His breath puffed in the air. He'd been in warmer freezers. The Commander shifted his weight, "The operation here requires up-to-date information on Republic placement and troop movements. I've repeatedly asked for Intelligence to provide this information or operatives to collect it. When I heard an Intelligence Agent arrived I assumed it was in answer to my requests." "No," Cleaner said. Great. Inter-bureaucratic crossfire was the last thing he needed. "Well," Commander Tritan said, squaring his shoulders while the rates behind him pretended they weren't listening, "since you're here, I need reconnaissance done on the snowfield. Our repeater towers are suspiciously-" Cleaner broke in, "I'm here to pick up a transfer. That's it. If she's not here I want a comm to the CEDF." A smirk crossed the commander's face, "If I might finish. Our comm towers are suffering suspiciously precise damage, limiting range and power. At present, we are unable to reach our allies in the CEDF. However, if you were to investigate the sabotage and eliminate the source, I would be in a position to aid you." Kaliyo leaned toward him, her vocabulator turned low, "Notice how damage turned into sabotage?" she whispered in Huttese. Cleaner's only answer was a curl of his lekku. He addressed the commander, "Your repeater towers aren't my problem." "Then I'm afraid I cannot accommodate your request at this time," Tritan said. Cleaners' lekku went from curl to straight and rigid though he confined the accompanying irritated shiver to the lower third. "What are the coordinates for the base?" he asked. The commander took half a step back, "I don't recommend-" "Coordinates, a speeder, and an accurate map to the CEF," Cleaner demanded. "Cold-modified speeders are at a premium," the commander insisted, "I can't spare more than one." He crossed his arms. This discussion was over. Of all the karking-- "One speeder, Coordinates, map, and a parka rated for at least 200 degrees Kelvin," Cleaner demanded. The smirk reappeared, "Our speeders seat no more than two." Cleaner ground his teeth. "Speeder. Parka. Coordinates. Map. You two will have to stay here." "Aw. I was looking forward to freezing," Kaliyo said. "You can wait outside if you want," Cleaner grumbled. Lokin chimed in. "Fixer 43 and I can use the time to concentrate on our project." Great, more bonding over schematics for his favorite fixer and least-favorite doctor. He turned to Lokin, "I need some solid progress on that," he said. "We have some very promising avenues at the moment," Lokin assured him. Cleaner frowned. Sounded like Fixer-speak for not having a fucking clue. "Fantastic. Who do I see for my gear?" he asked, attention back on the commander. The chalky officer looked like he just kissed a sourfruit, "Captain Yudrass," he replied. One of the background officers disengaged from his instruments, "May I be of assistance?" he asked. Chiss. His Basic oddly accented as though he hadn't quite thrown off his native pronunciation. Not unattractive if he didn't already have the galaxy's hottest fixer waiting back at the ship. Now that he noticed it, there were a lot of Chiss here. Side effect of the CEDF, maybe.

Commander Tritan's sour expression didn't change, "Yes. This Agent requires a speeder and other equipment. Take care of it," he ordered. "Of course, sir," Captain Yudrass replied, "This way, please." He indicated a second, ice-filled passage. Cleaner followed. The entire exchange smelled bad. Bureaucratic crossfire with a little chain-of-command rivalry on the side. Maybe a dash of anti-alien bias as well. Lovely. The one time he got a real briefing and ended up going for a stroll in an unmarked minefield anyway. "You having trouble with the motor pool?" he asked. Nice and innocuous, leave the guy an opening. "Our resources at this base are limited," Captain Yudrass admitted, "But do not be concerned. I am certain I have the equipment you require.” He hesitated, “Standard Imperial equipment does not suit your species,” Yudrass said, almost an apology, “and Hoth’s environment is unforgiving. With an hour’s time, I can provide gear with proper fit and better reliability than,” Yudrass’s gaze swept Cleaner’s dodgy headgear, “your present items.”

Cleaner suspected a catch of some kind hidden in the offer, but even so it sounded better than repurposed parka arms, “Yeah?” he asked.

“Oh yes,” Yudrass assured him, “Hoth reminds me of Csilla in many ways. One of the reasons Chiss are more integrated here than on other Imperial worlds is our expertise with this environment.”

Commander Tritan didn’t seem to appreciate his expertise. Commander Tritan also impressed him as an ass. Yudrass seemed to share his opinion, if he was more circumspect about expressing it. “That’d be nice,” he accepted. Probably meant he was on the hook for a good word in Yudrass’s record. Small price to pay for not losing lekku to frostbite.

A quick stop by the base quartermaster--also a Chiss and a cute one at that, with freckles--for measurements and other assorted, non-modified gear, and Captain Yudrass led the way to the speeder pool. The service desk was unmanned. “Sergeant?” he called.

Cleaner heard a clatter in the repair bay beyond and a melodious curse in language he didn’t understand, complicated and full of vowels. It was familiar, though Cleaner couldn’t quite place where he’d heard it before. Captain Yudrass answered in kind, his words long and ornate, like graceful architecture that served its function while being pleasing to the eye. An answer from the bay beyond. It might have been a rebuke, written in calligraphy and delivered on antique flimsiplast. The voice uttering it was almost familiar, too.

“Sergeant Thent,” Yudrass said as another Chiss emerged from the back room, “I need to requisition one of the modified speeders--”

“Blue?” Cleaner blurted out in Huttese. His annoying minder from Nar Shaddaa was much the worse for wear, having lost one red eye somewhere along the line. Probably to The Flame’s crazies. Cybernetics replaced it, their active red glow not quite matching the remaining biological one.