A good Captain could always tell when something was amiss. The way the chatter in the pits came across differently, or the way the briefing officer walked up, clipboard in hand. Rae Sloane was a good Captain, and she knew something was wrong.
“No report from the Rodians, ma’am,” came the report from the young officer, who seemed to shrink as he turned away from her glare.
No report, Sloane thought. So they were almost certainly dead. Dead at the hands of these fugitives from Formos. A nothing world. A backwards nonentity. Why had it attracted this crew? Why were they popping up just after the destruction of the Death Star? Something didn’t make any sense. But Sloane was beginning to be convinced – her picket had been breached by active agents of the Rebellion, and if she let them slip, it would be her career. Or worse.
“Lieutenant,” she said, already turning. “If these criminals are operating in this area, then they are connected in some way with the Hutts. Contact our agents and find out which they’re in bed with. Find out everything you can about this crew.” The young man saluted and turned to rely the orders to a pit crew.
“And Lieutenant – contact Rena Harvix on holo and transfer her to my room.” Sloane turned to leave the bridge. It was time to stop taking this matter casually.