In the Port hangar of the Master's will, Mon Mothma, senator of the new republic waited.

The aging Nebulon-B drifted towards the drokos sector, its minimal crew making sure it didn't explode in their hands. Paint peeled wherever paint was left, and most of the doors were jammed. It was, to be fair, a mess.

And technically, it is still an imperial craft, Mon Mothma had reasoned. A newly defected commander of the imperial remnant, Farhae Gree, had not made his intents yet public. Among his small fleet was the Master's will, and considering the nature of the mission, The Master's will's disguise under imperial radar was all the more essential.

"Craft T.I.F. Kalmar to dock in 120 seconds. Please clear hangar for decompression."

Mon Mothma left the Port hangar, moving to a small foyer that overlooked both bays. As she watched a new ship materialized, having just left hyperspace. It moved towards the hangar with little drift or haste, working similar to the man who captained it.

Damien watched the hangar approach with a trace of unease. Michaea was proving himself to be a decent pilot, yet no replacement for Yolanda. Every sudden crunch from the enghine bay, every sluggish turn made Damien wince; It brought home thoughts Damien didn't need. At least, not now.

There was a sound not unlike an electric whistle as the KaLMAR's legs touched the ground of the hangar- the ship shifted under Damien's feet. The rocking motion wasn't helping his sleep-deprived mind to think.

The man at the workstation next to him turned. "So, Captain. Do you actually know what you're doing? And mumbling doesn't count as a yes."

Damien pulled a datapad out of his station. "Jacob, there was a reason you had control of the ship most of yesterday. I do have a plan. Of sorts."

Jacob chuckled. "You do realise most captains spend their precious time off duty for sleep.

Damien raised a brow. "Please, Jacob, spare me your illogical customs.

Jacob looked him over with a slightly more serious expression. "Honestly, captain," he said. "This Mon Mothma may need to go over your plans with you. There will be revisions, they're pretty much guaranteed. And a lack of sleep might cause problems."

Damien was already moving to the lower levels. "Eh, true. We're not leaving straightaway though. Wherever Yolanda is, she can wait a day or so more. It won't kill her"

Damien moved through the airlock.

"I hope."

The door fizzed open, and in walked Damien WhiteFlare, captain of the KaLMAR.

Mon Mothma stood behind Commander Gree as he introduced himself to the captain. The man in charge of the ship looked to be about thirty, though he could well be younger. His eyes were bloodshot, though through tiredness, grief or less reputable causes she couldn't tell.

"Greetings, Captain." She remained motionless as he exited with a polite air that seemed alien to him, not unike a brick in a cloud.

"Mon Mothma, I would presume?"

"Indeed." She motioned for him to follow her through the corridoors. "When should we schedule a briefing?" I expect your crew will need rest."

Damien pulled out the datapad. In it was everything free, or cheap, on the local holonet the night before. "With all due respect, Mon Mothma, I think it would be best to get the formalities over and done with. The sooner we know what we have to do, the better."

"Understandable, Captain." Mon Mothma entered a Turbolift and motioned for Damien to do the same. As it rose, she began to explain:

"You know full well of the attack on the Redmarque, due to your monitoring. The Republic frequently sends heavily armed scout vehicles to assess the chances of liberating a system from Remnant control. If they come under any attack, their defenses are usually enough to repel any standard starfighters. In this case, the fighters were more advanced. A surviving X-Wing pilot was able to reconnosaince with the Republic, a damaged enemy fighter in tow, and battle footage. The findings from these items are, well, strange to say the least.

They entered the breifing room, and while Mon Mothma explained the threat of the new tie fighter model, Damien added everything he knew about imperial operations in the Drokos sector. The hologram moved between Starfighter blueprints, Mug shots of Imperial officers and News reports. And all the while the two thought.

"I've said all I know." Said Damien as he turned off his datapad. My terms are simple. Payment as if I were carrying standard cargo for the duration of the mission, and a promise."

"Yes?" Mon Mothma said, knowing what, or who he was thinking about.

"Find her, and get her out." Damien motioned to the woman who had shown up on the hologram. "And the others"

"Duly noted." Mon 'Mothma looked at what they had decided, pressing on the displays controls. "Of course, you may need some assistance for this mission. I know who can help."

She looked up. "They will get her out."