The Test

There’s a commotion outside of Cato’s rooms. It’s too early for him to be awake, but there’s the noise all the same. It’s not nearly loud enough to wake the entire floor, but the proximity to his door would certainly be enough to wake the man himself. There’s little by way of shouting -- none in fact -- and no crashing about either.

What there is to be had, however, is a few grunts and thuds. The former are from two distinct individuals -- one male, one female -- and the latter comprise of a few types. There’s the thudding of blows landing upon armor and flesh. There’s the thud of shoulders and other bodily parts hitting into walls: the loudest of which is a slam into Cato’s door (and could very well be the precise cacophony that wakes him from his slumber) followed by a tumbling sort of thud to the floor and a low, groaning sort of grunt.

No alarm has been set off. No shouts for the household guard. Which means this is either of absolutely no concern (beyond the interruption of sleep) or of a great concern. There’s little to be had in between.

The commotion was enough to bring Cato out of his rest and with the last thud which emanates from outside, he moves towards the door and calmly opens it. Currently he is dressed in just sleeping pants, still in the white color and nothing else. His posture is one where his hand rests behind his back, most likely holding a blaster, but otherwise he keeps a disposition of stately calm.

Letting his eyes survey that scene outside of his door he immediately asks to the open space, “What is the meaning of this?”

As the door opens, Cato is sole witness to the final steps of the elaborate dance of close-quarters combat. It’s quickly evident, as well, that this is the real thing and not some ill-conceived sparring session. The low morning light from a broad window overlooking the park glints off of knives as they tilt and flash, seeking whatever opening they should be so fortunate to find.

One of the combatants is Sian. Her dark hair is loosened from its braid, though a few weaves are still present; rent undone by the fight. Her attire is not terribly unlike Cato’s in that it is intended for sleep: a sleeveless gray top and a pair of loose black pants. Her feet are bare. There’s an angry red line on her left arm, blood smeared and drying across the dusky flesh.

The other individual, however, is in all black and masked. Human, presumably, by their size and build. Male, perhaps, though shorter and more sleight of frame than Cato. And be they human or near enough: they bleed red, for there’s a large tear in their right pant leg, showing a pale thigh with a rather deep wound on it.

Sian was nicked. Her opponent was stabbed.

The arrival of Cato causes the unknown assailant to turn toward him and Sian uses this opening to her advantage. She leaps onto his back and before he can react, she’s cut his throat. He drops quickly and she lands upon her knees, with a thud on his back.

“My apologies, master. I had hoped to take him alive.” But with the threat to Cato directly, she clearly had no longer had a choice.

Cato’s expression is unphased, he being accustomed to attempts on his life and having had to defend himself from them previously. As the last one falls, not terribly far from his feet he offers the slightest of nods towards Sian, stepping his foot back calmly to prevent blood from touching it.

“I see, and taking them alive to provide answers? Hmm. Well, since they are not alive to provide the answers, then you will need to find them yourself,” Cato responds coldly. He glances at the chrono nearby and then back towards Sian. “You have until noon today to discover the origin of these assassins.”  There is no ‘or else’ given, the implications of it are clear enough.

Sian is silent, observing Cato from her crouched position. She cleans her blade off on the unknown assailant’s shirt before standing. Sheathing the knife, she takes a step back and clasps her hands behind her back. Her features remain smooth and her dark gaze dips to regard the body growing cold at their feet.

“Yes, master,” she answers quietly. “I will send word ahead to the cafe for your breakfast.” She touches the earpiece she wears, putting in the call even as she kneels by the body and begins patting the man down to take inventory of what he’s carrying.

Cato simply sniffs and turns, making his way back into his room and letting the door slide shut behind him.

The figure is indeed a human, male and relatively built for the function that apparently he was being tasked, an assailant. Between the two figures there is little to be found. A pair of blades on each, obviously the clothes they wear, but little else in detail except for each holding a small data chip that seems to be used in communication devices, yet neither of them are carrying one.

Any other might complain. ‘Well what a fine day’ or even the more straight-forward ‘This is some bullshit.’ But this is the sort of life that Sian was raised and trained for. It’s actually more comfortable for her than the day-to-day of acting as Cato’s assistant that she has been engaging in.

Grabbing the data chips, she checks her shoulder and deems the wound nothing to be concerned about. A quick call is placed to janitorial services to have the bodies disposed of before she returns to her own quarters to change. Another call is placed to make sure her ship is ready - just in case. In the shower, she pops the data chip into a reader to study it while she cleans up.

The datachip is slow to process, taking several moments for decryption to run through it and at a few junctures it nearly self deletes, but then it processes through and a series of numbers spit out that would coincide with coordinate placements. Fortunately in this case, the coordinates seem to refer to the planet itself meaning off world transit would not be necessary. There is a list of four coordinate locations that match on both devices once they are processed. Two within the city itself, one out in the country and the fourth being an island location off the coast. Considering the time limits provided to Sian, it may not be possible for her to visit all 4 of them.

Well, that’s one upside. She won’t have to both petition for more time and an extension of her leash. Sian runs searches on all four: bringing them up in a mapping system to isolate them to specific locations. Both visual and any data downloads she can get (such as business or home details, if any, for the in-city locations).

“Have a speeder ready for me,” she puts in the call to one of the Auxilius concierges. “And coffee.” There won’t be time to eat. For the moment, she’s largely planning on checking the city locations and then one of the external; depending on what the data dives bring back.

The speeder bike, prepared for her arrival, sits outside of the building utilized for the residence on the ground floor. The two city based locations are on opposite sides, the first being a museum of some sort, one that Cato himself has visited for various social meetings and gatherings. The second is a location in the warehouse district, most likely run down and dingy. The two completely disparate areas offering a differing choice of destination.

Assuming the museum to have been a potential target location -- or at least observation -- Sian opts to head to the warehouse. On her way, she double-checks through Cato’s schedule, verifying whether or not he’s been to the location in recent days. It’s followed with a check of who owns it… and, if she can gain access (or sweet talk any of their assistants) to the schedules of Cato’s rivals: she’ll see if any of them have been in the area recently.

Turn over enough stones, you’ll find something. And she’s on a tight schedule.

During the transit to the Warehouse very little is revealed in information that she seeks out, rather it seems to be owned by a management consortium that has no direct attachments to Cato’s rivals. The only real piece of information regarding the warehouse that may be of some interest is that the ownership of it has transitioned multiple times in the past years with the most recent acquisition being approximately one month ago to the current ownership group.

Upon arriving at the location, Sian would find that the building seems to be relatively abandoned save for the automated droids that are doing maintenance lifting and transporting as well as the security protocol droids that are on the premises. The main offices of the warehouse are located on the third, which is the top floor of the facility and appear to be empty given the lack of movement that can be seen in them. There are gaps within the rather lazy programming of the droids that allow for passage between if it is sought after but a service unit stands at the entry point as well to offer service to visitors.

The lack of outright security is both a concern and a relief. Either way, Sian draws up the hood and mask that will obscure her features after parking at a neighboring building. She makes a mental note to try to procure any visitor logs later, but for now? She’s going to sneak in past the worker drones and head to the third floor. All the better to observe and collect intel when you aren’t dealing with some overly helpful protocol droid not only pestering you, but broadcasting your every move.

The ascent to the third floor is not overly difficult, the security within the building is even worst than without. The third floor which overlooks the main area via scaffolding walkways along the perimeter gives a view down to the completely empty facility. Despite the working droids outside and the appearances this warehouse is completely abandoned. At the northern end lies a door which leads into the office areas, the entire location eerily quiet save for the occasional clunk of metal foot falls on security patrols.

The empty warehouse is leading Sian to think she may have come to the right place. It screams ‘front.’ She pulls out her tablet and sends off a request to one of her Regency contacts to dig further into the current management company… as well as whomever owns it, in turn.

From there, avoiding the sparse patrols, she starts methodically searching the third floor. It’s the exact sort of place that gets used for temporary storage or server placement, after all. Only once she confirms it’s all clear will she leave and look further into the coordinates outside the city.

The clues begin to lay out a trail for Sian, one that may not make immediate sense as they unravel. There are indeed server sources and data lines that all seem to point in differing directions. Transit lines for products that don’t even exist and routing destinations that go in paths that logistically do not make sense. They pass over two of the other locations that the coordinates indicated, but the third location, the other one in the city is absent of any of these paths. It is as if X does not mark the spot.

Having the connecting trails is at least something. If worse comes to worse, Sian can take that back to Cato. It won’t be the best answer, but it’d be -an- answer. It’s the piece that doesn’t connect that he’d end up asking about. The one she initially discarded as observational.

Something she silently kicks herself in the ass for on the ride out.

It did look that way, after all. She does similar when she has a target: scout out their common places, make a map of the best ambush spots. Where he has most of his meetings? Or at least a decent number of them? It could be either. Keeping an eye on the time, she makes a side trip just long enough to change into her more suitable (at least for the location) ‘assistant’ attire. Which is largely only different in style as it’s still the all-black. Nicer slacks, top, and coat. Nothing obscuring her face, but still hidden gear beneath the coat and in other places.

Because at least at the museum, Cato Auxilius’ assistant showing up won’t set off any alarms.

A museum should be busy, especially at this point of the day but it is barely occupied, in fact a large number of hallways are ‘closed to the public’ which is certainly an obscurity. It reveals a path of sorts, the open hallways leading in a loop around the facility but the closed off hallways pathing towards the hall of ancient relics from a space faring species long extinct.

It doesn’t take long before Sian begins heading through the closed off sections towards the hall of relics. It’d be easy enough to make an excuse for being there. One largely backed by a generous donation from the Auxilius family - she should have enough in her own operational account for that.

As she nears the hall, she keeps one hand on her blaster under her coat. Just in case.

The hall of the antiquities is nearly empty save for a lone figure, dressed in black from neck to feet. The shadowy wardrobe clings to the body and it is facing away from the entrance initially, studying an antique bladed weapon. Then he speaks and turns at the same time.

“It took you longer than I expected,” Cato says levelly. “Much longer.”

Initially, Sian adjusts her grip on the blaster as she sees the figure; lining up a shot. However, when he speaks, she turns on the safety and quickly tucks it away.

There’s silence for a long moment as she stares at the man, lips pressed into a thin line. When she does speak, it’s after straightening: shoulders squared. “What if I hadn’t stopped them this morning?”

“I was aware the attack was coming, both would have been shot upon entering my chambers,” Cato responds levelly. “And of course, you would have been… dismissed for failure. So it is fortunate moreso for you than for myself that did not occur.”  He slides away from the sword he was looking at and begins to breathe in through his nose. “There are elements within the Regency that believe human species are the superior to the rest of the Galaxy, that only our ability to bring order can save others from themselves.”

“I wouldn’t call it elements when it’s all-but advertised. Even the races that aren’t… quite human can’t succeed past a certain point in the Regency.” Sian smooths her coat and clasps her hands behind her back, settling into something of a parade rest.

If she’s annoyed that she nearly found herself dismissed, she doesn’t show it.

“Humans have a greater sense of camaraderie than other species. We can be trusted to care for one another. The Regency wants a galaxy that operates in cohesion. They need to know they can trust the people running things to have the best interests of everyone at heart.”

“Hmm,” Cato observes quietly and moves around the small artifact room letting the light hit him at various points as he does illuminating the small silver stitching of his black garbed robes. “If that is the case, then why do these same elements of the Regency that believe they are correct hesitate to take action? If their cause is true, just, and noble should that not be enough to support the actions necessary?”

He then turns to look at Sian directly, “The Regency is more than a group, it is a cause. And like any cause it is either correct and just, or it is not. That is what the fates of the galaxy are left to decide. I, for one, would like to stack the fates in our favor so that this righteous crusade can be undertaken and succeeded in. Soon there are to be gatherings, planning of what to do next. Our position will be to approach things subtly and encourage the same. But during this…”

Cato trails off and smiles, “During this you and I will be upon our own task. Look around this room. There are those who came before, who have done much and conquered even greater. There is history in these stars, Sian. We are going to uncover that history and utilize it to bring order to the galaxy.”

As Cato speaks, Sian is quiet. She listens, lips pursed. There’s no answer to the initial questions: she takes them as rhetorical. When he mentions the room they’re in, she does finally look away to regard the items around them.

“If it’s in the past,” she says, carefully, “was it not overcome? Bested by something newer, improved?” There is a sidelong glance back to him. “The Agent, Kalden, seems to think you can improve your station through whatever he is planning. He’s Intel, so he’ll be certain to ensure we at least hear him out.”

“Hearing him out, that is a task I would set you upon. For now, in this place, I must study… For you see, if it is something that was overcome it may be due to a correctable flaw, to an inherit miscalculation that could be corrected. Either way, to master the present we must look to the past.”

Turning, Cato begins to resume his paced walking through the museum and towards the archives.