Young Writers Society

"Well we may have to be patient and discover where they came from later." He said. He didn't particularly care. He could sneak back on the moon later, pirates or no pirates. He didn't feel like his mission was in jeopardy.

"We're returning," Tarkin said curtly. "Immediately, from a different angle, and we're resuming our investigation." He'd have to let Thalassa know they'd gotten sidetracked. And he would have to report the occurrence to the outpost so they could keep an eye out.

"You seem to forget the mission. We don't want to cause any more disturbance in this system. We have time. The Atoans aren't going anywhere." Tarkin's impatience was impressive.

Tarkin stopped by the pilot seat, hands on his hips, and lowered his head while he caught his breath. The Zabrak was right, of course. They had to wait it out. He was good at waiting--he'd spent days stalking prey in the Carrion before. Sometimes even weeks.

"Very well," he muttered. "Very well."

"It will leave time to plan." He did need time to think about the best way to contact these people. It would be a challenge to get them to speak to him, but he felt he could easily convince them one way or another.

Tarkin went back to pacing. "We should return to the moon so we can track them. If there's nothing there but people, what else would be profitable to them?" He'd seen the work of pirates before, during his days fighting for the Outland. He had a special hatred for their kind; his treatment of the pirate Q'ahnah still followed him like a bloody shadow.

"If you couldn't find the remaining Atoans, I doubt that rabble will." He one shoulder against the wall and watched him pace. "You're fretting over nothing." He could sense Tarkin's conflict. He reached out, carefully attempting to search his thoughts that he'd left unguarded in his distraction

Tarkin's mind was racing; mostly it was trying to dispel panic brought on by nausea and loss of control of the situation. As he fixated on biding his time, on waiting and tracking, memories of dark jungles and sleepless nights seeped in. Blood on his hands and face, an empty stomach, two sunken blue eyes set in a white-bearded face looking back at him.

Tarkin's shoulders slumped, and he relaxed. "We're going back," he said firmly. His voice was steady and quiet. "Unless you have a better plan?"

"If we plan to go back we would need reinforcements." He mused, as if he wasn't entirely focused on Tarkin's words. "And it seemed to me that you didn't want anyone else knowing you were there. This little ship will be easily destroyed by those pirates." Interesting, this man had so much more going on behind those icy eyes than he let on.

"We have two options. Go back to wherever you came from and gather reinforcements, or go back to wherever you came from and resupply with the plan to return when the pirates have most likely left. I'm sure the imperial outpost there can let us know of that information. Either way returning now is impossible. We will sabotage our own mission at best and be destroyed at worst."

He forced himself to stand still, planting his feet though he desperately wanted to work out this nervous energy by pacing. "And if they do find the Atoans before we do, they'll be lost to us. I'm not suggesting a full-scale attack, Zabrak. I'm suggesting we stay low and watch, and when the opportunity presents itself we swoop in and take the prize for ourselves." The strategy had worked many times on the Carrion, when he and his uncle had waited for larger predators to take out prey before stealing it. One had to be a scavenger as well as a hunter, out there.

"They won't find them." He said cooly. "They are hidden deep within the veil of the moon. Their very spirits are invisible. They've survived the purge of the empire, they'll survive a few scavengers. The have those with them who are powerful enough to protect them." He had sensed a very strong presence when he was there. "We have limited supplies and equipment. Returning to resupply would be wise."

Tarkin turned to look at Sirejj, studying him. The Zabrak seemed sincere and reserved. His reasoning made sense.

"Then we'll return home for the time being," he said reluctantly. "We'll regroup." His anger boiled up again; they could have taken those pirates. He remained outwardly calm, still as a statue, and returned to his seat. After this was resolved, he'd make a point of hunting them down and showing them just why Wilhuff Tarkin was not to be trifled with.

Sirejj could feel his anger. It ran deeper than simply being inconvenienced by the pirate attack, for he could not see it through to its roots. There was a bitterness he hid well, but this mission on Atoa had unbalanced him and tipped the vial, spilling out just a little of that deep-rooted hatred. The thing that made him formidable was his ability, for the most part, to maintain control of this powerful desire for revenge. Such could not be said for many great warriors who had fallen prey to their own bloodlust.

If Tarkin had been Force sensitive, he would have made an excellent Sith.

They came out of hyperspace two systems over, and Tarkin's hand hovered over the control panel. They could come back. Atoa wasn't going anywhere, and they'd left this mystery for eight years already. What was another week?

He punched in coordinates for Eriadu. "We should reach our destination in three hours," he told Sirejj as they leaped back into hyperspace. "Get comfortable."

Sirejj found a place to sit down and did so. He crossed his legs and set his staff in his lap, both hands on the handle of wood and bone. He settled into deep thought, sorting through the events of the day and studying the path before him. Tarkin would be a dangerous man to cross, so he must always be a step ahead. Despite the risks of dealing with him, there was something intriguing about this particular hunt. He could sense there was much to be uncovered.