Walker Audenhoen continued to balk at the numerous scenarios his imagination had in store for him, his gaze absent through the transport’s canopy as life returned to normal following the deluge of forced rain upon the district.
“The man was like a father to me…” His adjutant whispered lightly through the cabin.
“Kinsey, the man was a like a father to most, me included.” Audenhoen replied, his gaze remaining on a single streak of moisture that refused to the let forced winds claim it on the opposing side of clear view.
Kinsey Miles blew out a breath, grief catching at his throat through the final exhale.
Audenhoen turned to him, “keep your composure Kinsey, we’re going to have to be thorough.”
“Us Sir?”
Audenhoen studied the younger man, cleanly shaven, not a hair removed from Imperial spec, “yes, us...because no one else will be.” Audenhoen turned to face the window once again as the speeder began to slow its velocity and descend somewhat. ‘Because we owe it to him.’ He thought to himself.
“Your methods were general practice through our courses Sir...I just wanted you to know that.” Kinsey decided to change the subject in accordance with his superior’s suggestion.
Audenhoen chuckled lightly as he returned his gaze to the young man, “those methods are rarely repetitive and generally composed through careful analyzation with boots on the ground, something the Old Man had recommended many many years ago.” Walker said fondly, funneling his own grief through personal memories of the man he was about to see in a worst-case scenario. “He was an inquisitive mind, even with a ship at his command.” He continued, hearing the gruff voice bark out unquestionable orders, despite their nature running, at times, counterintuitive to his own orders. He smiled at the memory.
The transport began to decelerate rapidly as it coursed onto the landing platform of Landshan Domestic’s seventeenth floor, a spacious platform that hosted only one other speeder. One that had seen much better days. Audenhoen did not wait for either the driver to assist or his adjutant to exit first as he flung the door open and stepped onto the firm duracreet, an acrid breeze blowing in from the Works causing him to wrinkle his nose. “Don’t forget the case……” He began turning toward the younger man.
“I wouldn’t Sir.” Kinsey replied, throwing a thick black strap over his white uniform jacket, Walker holding the door open for him to expel himself.
“Lead on Mr. Miles.” Audenhoen said with a simple waving gesture and an open palm toward the driver.
A large doorway stood open before them, wide enough for simple speeders to access the internal parking the structure provided its residents, and two attendants dressed in strikingly white uniforms waiting patiently.
“Ma’am, ISB Director Walker Audenhoen. You are presumably Ms. Thatchit?” Kinsey asked politely as they closed the distance, offered toward a Twi’lek with a pale yellow complexion, her head tails tied discreetly behind her neck.
‘Quite old.’ Walker told himself, noting the deep-set brow and complex wrinkles about her eyes. Eyes that were tear soaked and distant, streaks of fresh wetness upon her toughened leather-like cheeks.
“I am.” She replied in flawless basic, lacking any form of her natural accent. “This is Ms. Nohm Laat, my assistant.” She continued, extending a friendly palm toward the other woman who had come to greet them. A young Chalactan that refused to make eye contact. “Apologies, but Ms. Laat does not speak.” Ms. Thatchit added. With a nose wrinkle of her own and quick glare toward the Works she offered a hand forward and into the structure, away from the acrid stench of dangerous chemicals and decades of neglect.
“An inability to speak will not deter us from the line of questions we will need to ask Ms. Thatchit. If she is unable to vocalize adequate responses she can surely write them down.” Audenhoen offered as the two women proceeded the entourage into a clear turbolift just inside the massive doorway.
“I am sure we can come to some form of agreeable arrangement Director Audenhoen, and might I add, Master Coburn would have been pleased it were you.” The Twi’lek said as she depressed the button for the Ninety first floor.
“It is the least either of us could do for the man Ms.” Walker answered, preparing himself for the scene ahead with measured breaths and a simple wipe of the jumbled thoughts his emotions were assembling.
The door hissed open with a suddenness that embarrassed him, so finely entrenched in his own preparations he felt absent of time, space, or reality. ‘Pull yourself together man.’ Walker scolded himself as the two women walked a few adjacent steps to suite Nine thousand thirty four’s main door, standing on either side after the elder Twi’lek unlocked it.
“No one has been inside save yourself then?” Kinsey’s timing and execution were spot on.
“No Sirs, we discovered Master Coburn and promptly contacted your office per his own directive.
Walker turned to face the woman prior to entering the suite, “and you’ve contacted no one else I would determine?”
“That is also correct, again per Master Coburn’s own directive.”
Audenhoen stared directly through the reply, watching, and waiting for any tell the woman could possibly employ, but found only the sad eyes of a grieving friend, something he knew could be identified within his own features if anyone looked hard enough, “very well, thank you.” He finalized, turned, and entered the room.
Walker could hear his adjutant begin to ask the customary questions he himself would have, the body’s location, any notable odors or fragrances, any change with the old man’s routine, moods, or persona over the last few days, and felt satisfied with the young man’s approach. To the increasingly inaudible murmurs as the Twi’lek replied her answers, Audenhoen approached the deceased man lying on his back just beyond the foyer of the grand suite and gave himself a few seconds to grieve for the person he had admired beyond any other. He felt his heart leap in his chest and foggy haze steal his eyesight from him as he sniffled silently into an unblemished sleeve. Stealing himself with a return to form, he wiped the tears from his eyes and erected the walls necessary to do his job free from obstruction.
Barton Coburn lie on his back, unblinking eyes gazing directly at the ceiling above, wide as if frightened Walker thought to himself. The man’s old weathered hands collapsed together at his throat despite the impaling wounds adorning his left chest. Audenhoen retrieved a small service cam from his pocket and let it hover just over his right shoulder, primarily for the benefit of the small focused light it projected over the deceased man’s face. A small remote lay in the palm of his hand as he tore a film off one end, activating an adhesive and pressed it into his right thumb. With a few simple gestures he tested the reaction of the small hover cam and quickly turned his attention back to the clues left upon the deceased man’s face.
A blue tinge to his lips would not be uncommon through the rigors of death, but Coburn’s were almost purple, a black lacing that the light deciphered tinged at their edges. Walker removed a stylus from an inner pocket of his jacket, lifting Coburn’s upper lip slightly confirming his own assessment as the inner lining presented a pitch-black color with distinctive odor, ‘Rhuumek?’ He thought to himself, noting that most Intelligence operatives, including direct command, were immune to its affects through meticulous weaning. ‘Given the man’s dying actions, a simple chest wound is not what killed him.’ Audenhoen swiveled the stele with the pointed end downward and stabbed deep into the chest cavity, while quickly retrieving the tool and smearing a small droplet of deep crimson in his palm he covered it with the pad on his right thumb.
The small sphere chimed twice beside Audenhoen’s head before displaying a micro holo of the blood’s composition hovering right above Coburn’s lifeless eyes. ‘Rhuumek was only a concealer.’ Audenhoen gasped outright as the cause of death stared him directly in the face. ‘Heghlvald.’ Walker thought to himself, noting the lethality of the poison as well as its scarcity. ‘Someone he knew.’ He continued the mental investigation, ‘someone he knew and didn’t trust.’ Audenhoen amended the thought. “Ingested or delivered?” He voiced the query as he studied the contorted nature of the arms once again. Although certain that the killing agent was delivered orally, he needed to rule out any and all possibilities and cleaned the stele on the deceased man’s sleeve before dabbing at the slight trails of blood that had long since stopped oozing from the man’s heart. Through the same procedure he eliminated the stab wounds as cause of death, although they would have done just that if the toxin would not have completed its task.
Audenhoen stood erect, the small hovercam mimicking his movements without hesitation as it remained just over his right shoulder, tracking its small but brilliant light wherever he turned his gaze. Despite the luminescence the setting sun cast about the suite through overly large window panels, he did not deactivate the light, changing its settings to a low-resolution UV ray. A spotless kitchen glimmered reflective reds and oranges without trace or signature of blood, struggle, or other assistive clues. He did, however, note two empty mugs upon a banister separating the two rooms, both of their contents long since cold and eliciting no aroma at all. ‘He was entertaining someone.’ He thought to himself, noting the earlier reply from the Twi’lek regarding her discovery.
“Director?” Kinsey asked politely, Walker noting the data pad in the young man’s hand as he spun to face him. Taking the cue, he continued, “Ms. Thatchit remains adamant that the room has been undisturbed and was able to compile an alibi that spans almost weeks in duration.”
“What of the other?” Audenhoen responded.
“She drew this…” Kinsey reported, spinning the data pad around for Walker’s benefit.
A mass of spiraling lines were prominently displayed, spirals within spirals the closer he looked with open ended lines criss crossing the entire screen. As he focused on the spirals, he noted shapes within them the longer he stared, ‘possibly two figures?’ He thought to himself.
“I don’t know what help that mess is going to be…” Kinsey added his own commentary, it looks like something a child would scrawl.
“Perhaps…” Audenhoen hid his own suspicions masterfully as he pushed the pad back into Kinsey’s hand, straightened the man’s grip on its sides and stood back ten paces, finding two very noteworthy additions to his streaming thoughts. How decidedly similar the scribbles resembled a static laced recording, complete with wavering lines of resolution and the small droplet of blood on the young man’s sleeve. “I will admit that isn’t much to go on, please offer my thanks for their testimony. I do not think we will be here much longer.”
“Have this wrapped up already Sir?” Kinsey replied.
“To my liking? No. But there isn’t much else we can learn I am afraid.” Audenhoen responded with a polite smile and turned his attention back to the mugs as he listened intently to the young mans hastened departure.
Confident the man was outside any lines of sight or within earshot, Audenhoen concentrated fully on the mugs themselves. Returning to his earlier musings, he noted the trace contents of each was a dark fluid, even within the dark blue vessels, still lacking any identifying odors. Again, Walker cleaned the pointed end of the stele on the deceased man’s sleeve and promptly dipped it into the remnants of fluid. The accompanying holoimage closed the book on at least one perpetrator, although the evidence would be circumstantial at best. The trace elements of Sykka leaves could only have been left there for him to find.
‘Following all the conveniently displayed clues Audy…’ he said under his breath, simultaneous to expansive thoughts concerning her reasons why. He leaned down one last time to clean the stele before pocketing the small tool, pressing his thumb into his palm to assign the small hovering device one final task. With a dizzying whirl of concentric circles, he commanded the device to locate the suites central access port and display any security cams the old man may have employed. Several views were available as he scrolled through the data field suspended before his face, but he quickly dismissed the bulk of them, tasked with monitoring adjacent rooms. ‘No, this happened right here.’ He knew, centering his focus on the image of himself looking through an infinite loop. ‘Gotcha.’ He mouthed, tapping twice at his palm.
Audenhoen proceeded to reverse a large circle through his palm counterclockwise, watching as the last six minutes unfolded in reverse at three times the speed, pausing when the feed displayed nothing but rolling static. He continued to circle his palm with his thumb until the static ceased, bringing the old man into crystal clear focus as he filled two mugs with a dark liquid not centimeters from his present position. Audenhoen paused the feed, noting any peculiarities as he memorized the time stamp in the lower left-hand corner. There was no articulated sense of hurry that Audenhoen could see, no degree of concern or worry displayed on the man’s facial expressions or movements, in fact, the man looked overjoyed, although only those that knew him well would be able to detect the very subtle differences.
Audenhoen continued studying the recording as he watched Coburn’s head rise slightly from the mug he was sipping at, then turn toward the door. He noted the time stamp again that could have easily placed the woman at the old man’s front door, and then the feed laced into static that made anything impossible to decipher. Audenhoen did not move a muscle as he studied the feed watching with increasing interest for any subtle movements within the field of broken transmission, his mouth falling agape as he watched a mirror image on the scrawling’s on his adjutant’s data pad.
“Clever, that one…” Kinsey said over Audenhoen’s shoulder, the aire of politeness lost to a directness Walker had expected.
“He was more than just a mentor Miles…” Audenhoen said with a manufactured exasperation. “It doesn’t matter how much evidence you are complicit with covering up, not to me. You’ve taken something that cannot be replaced. My only question is what has she promised you?”
Kinsey Miles chortled a laugh as he dismissed any notion of revealing information, finding it easier through implementation than he had through practice. “You are under arrest...Sir...for the murder of former ISB Director Barton Coburn…”
The rest of Kinsey’s statement was lost to the pounding anger within the Director, its chords strumming to life through the deepest strings, his rage plucking the cables of his own resolve to create a horrific melody of mindless chaos. One that guided him through the narrow straights of reason and common sense, dispelling an adrenaline aggression that would need an outlet quickly. With a stunning turn, Kinsey reversed his grip on the blaster he held and fired two quick salvos into his own shoulder, tossing the weapon to Audenhoen before falling to the ground.
For the briefest of seconds, Audenhoen considered letting the weapon drop to the floor, understanding the depth of non-circumstantial proof of catching it in the air. He had less than a second to make one of the most important decisions he could imagine. Opting to find out exactly where this particular avenue would take him, Audenhoen pulled the blaster from the air with a skillful grab. “You stupid, stupid man.” Walker couldn’t resist as he delineated well outside of professionalism, making no further attempts to halt the racing adrenaline coursing through his veins. “Where precisely did you study my methods you stupid son of a bitch, because it most certainly wasn’t at Prefsbelt.” Audenhoen almost spat the words from his mouth only seconds before leveling the blasters warm muzzle to the young man’s forehead. All pretense of self-inflicted pain disappeared from Kinsey’s face through the dawning realization that murder was precisely what Director Walker Audenhoen would be guilty of. He could only watch as the steel blue eyes adopted a grayish hue and the man’s lips twist into a merciless grin.
Audenhoen fired three successive bolts into the young man’s head, enough concussive force within a single blast to forge a cauterized hole through his skull, before standing erect once more and tugging at the hem of his jacket.
“Director Audenhoen! Toss the weapon into the hallway or we will enter with lethal force!” A shouting voice demanded from outside the residence, Audenhoen irrationally wondering what Kinsey had done with the women’s bodies before assessing the situation ahead of him. He would acquiesce, of that there was no doubt, but the spot of blood on the young man’s left sleeve made no sense. He leaned over once again and traced a fingertip over the small patch of red, depressing it further into the man’s arm. The red spot smeared into multiple pin pricks as it soaked up a hidden wound beneath.
Audenhoen noted several, almost imperceptible, folds from the cuff to the elbow, the startling whiteness of the uniform jacket expertly hiding the irregularity with efficiency. To buy himself a few more seconds, Audenhoen lifted the blaster and fired a random shot into an adjacent wall outside the residence before pulling the sleeve back without mercy. He gasped involuntarily at the horrific mutilation of flesh on the man’s inner arm, twenty centimeters removed from his wrist. Without allowing a small measure of shock its due course, he spit into the wound, tugged at his inner shirt hem, and tore off a small piece. Audenhoen began by wiping the mix of liquids from the wound before tearing a second piece from the shirt and pressing firmly atop the score. He didn’t bother with any initial inspection as he leveled the blaster a final time at the adjacent wall and fired while blowing on the small piece of torn fabric and shoving it into his under garments. With a final thought, he stole the rolled up sleeve in his other hand and yanked a long section free, quickly stuffing the released material into his mouth, making sure to bite down hard and press his tongue into its surface. Just as quickly, he yanked the fabric free and carefully peeled the activator from his thumb, pressing the small circular disk into the roof of his mouth, and finally, tossed the blaster from the suite as it clanged hard just below the scored targets of his stalling tactic.
“I am unarmed.” Audenhoen almost gagged. The dryness of his mouth and the attention he was giving the readministered cam control turning the statement into a jumble of almost incomprehensible basic. “I am unarmed.” He stated again after a hard swallow, hearing the approach of whatever authorities had been summoned. Audenhoen fell to both knees, placing both hands behind his head as black clad death troopers from his own brigade filed into the foyer, one after another.
“Don’t move Sir.” The voice was clearly Sgt. Tompke, although the warbling modulation, designed to prevent such easy identification, carried a higher pitch and tone. Audenhoen felt time distance itself from place, each trooper filing past the Sergeant in a soundless sweep of the apartments behind him. Each E11D lowered slightly as they bobbed with the steps of those carrying them.
“I am alone.” Audenhoen stated, again his voice warped somewhat by his own insistence to give the activator more time to seat itself.
“And please, Sir, don’t talk.” Sgt. Tompke responded with what Audenhoen considered anxiety. ‘Thank you for that Sergeant…’ Walker thought to himself as he ticked the device with the tip of his tongue, testing the adhesives strength.
“Clear two.” Another trooper called out.
“Clear three.” Another said, each warbling voice a symptom of negligence Audenhoen thought to himself, a transition from the truth they had taken oaths to uphold and protect to the play things of those too hungry for power.
“All clear.” Audenhoen heard from a third trooper. ‘Out of time.’ He thought to himself as he slowly worked a dried tongue in slow clockwise circles, tasking the unseen cam device with its own directive to find cover and remain behind. He couldn’t see the device so he could only hope the gambit worked.
With a nod from the Sergeant, Audenhoen felt his arms being yanked with aggressive force as he was lifted to his feet.
“Lighten up Grees.” Tompke stated with a warbled reprimand.
“All respects Sir, we’re arresting this man over the dead body of our former Director.” Audenhoen hadn’t known ‘Grees’ but understood the aggressive behavior. ‘They are loyal.’ Walker thought to himself as he stared into Tompke’s helmet visor, the green slices bobbing up and down several times in a clear assessment of his own.
“Kaves, strip your armor but maintain your piece.” Tompke said after a few soundless seconds. ‘What?’ Audenhoen thought.
“Sir?” Must be ‘Kaves’ behind me with ‘Grees.’
“I will not repeat myself.” Tompke was losing patience, that much was easy to assess.
Audenhoen could hear the unfastening of clips, straps, and buckles as the man complied with the order. “Sir, you will do the same.” Tompke ordered his arresting charge.
“What?” Audenhoen was lost to reason.
“Sir, I will not have us evac the scene with ISB’s Director in manacles.” Tompke replied, Audenhoen responding with an approving shrug and dip of his chin, ‘the office is still important to him.’ He swirled the thought as he unbuttoned his outer jacket, suddenly quite alarmed that the patch of cloth with the imprinted wound may be discovered.
Audenhoen was grateful that he had the presence of mind to slip the evidence inside the inner band of his black leggings, fortune smiling forever brief on which they would remain. “Strap that armor on him.” Tompke stated as he began lowering the muzzle of his E-11D toward the floor, Audenhoen considering a run for it that was quickly dashed by the entrance of four more troopers. ‘Better to see where this truly goes…’ He told himself as he felt the tugging and tussling of the trooper’s quick response. With a slam to his shoulder plates, Audenhoen knew they had completed the task and stepped into the proffered boots with ease just before the helmet was placed over his head. ‘How do they see out of these things?’ The question felt oddly timed but genuine enough in the grand scheme of things.
The remainder of the time within the suite was spent almost inaudibly as the trooper had the presence of mind to deactivate the helmets audio pickup. The manacles placed around his wrists and the forceful nudge at his back began the next phase of his life, without the luxury of the tools he had always used to hone his craft. ‘But they can never take my mind from me.’ He told himself, wishing it were true. He followed the lead of Sgt. Tompke and measured his own pace to match as they marched haphazardly from the residence and into the vacant corridor beyond its doors, two black stretches of fabric relating the exact place Kinsey had rest his victims lying next to the doors frame, Audenhoen silently wondering just how long he maintained the ruse before dispatching the helpless women.
Tompke continued leading the silent parade into the turbolift and they were quickly upon the hangar doorway and out onto the landing platform where two LAAT/le’s waited patiently. As Audenhoen canted his head to eye the oddly configured boarding ramp he spotted ‘Grees’ adorned in his own uniform, almost laughing to himself at the insensibilities, or Imperial irregularities for that matter, of a top Counsil official expertly handling the tactical harness and stance required of the E-11D. With a last second push from ‘Grees,’ unseen by the Sergeant, Audenhoen stumbled awkwardly into the gunship’s interior hold, tripping on a hooked tie down and slamming into the opposing hull. “Thats for Coburn.” The incensed man uttered, the nattering chuckles from the entourage in obvious agreement.
Audenhoen didn’t bother bracing himself, carefully monitoring the rattling so it didn’t dislodge the control in his mouth, ‘let them have their way, I would do the same.’ He thought to himself and knew he would while maintaining what composure he could before letting the grief he had yet to process have its way with him. With some assistance, he rose to his feet, looking out the port side view to the final rays of Coruscant’s radiant sun, knowing he would have that view for the return trip to the ISB interrogation facility. Unexpectedly, the ship arced to reverse its course, leaving his view confined to the shadows and reflections of encroaching darkness as the last of the sun’s rays were nullified.
‘Judicial district?’ Audenhoen thought to himself, ‘detention center.’ He amended the thought as the short trip was already forcing the gunship lower in altitude. ‘There will not be a trial.’ He was certain. He couldn’t think of a more secluded, undermanned, or neglected facility to ride out his final days, ‘death would be mercy…’ The thought would not shake loose despite the mastery of reason and common sense that bore it.
“Why?” Was all Audenhoen could ask as he half turned the obstructive helmet toward Tompke.
“Orders, Sir.” Tompke responded with a timid reply, Audenhoen registering the deep regret within the man’s tone.
The vessel chugged viciously through its repulsor marshalled maneuvers before resting with a soft thud in almost complete darkness. Audenhoen turned around as the doorway opened behind him, arms protruding through the crook of his elbow assisting with the debark as blaring yellow warning lights blinded the pale green visor before him. An actuator sounded with the force of an ignited Ion engine as Audenhoen heard the giant mechanisms on the other side slowly lift a massive door to the jets of steams and odorless gasses that signified its level of disuse and diffusing the brilliant yellows into the darkness beyond its border.
There was no one waiting for them as they proceeded beyond the blackest of darkness itself to a soft blue light that lit a small steel staircase, each trooper assigned as escort slowing their own approach somewhat through a distinct level of unfamiliarity. Without prompt, a solid and heavy steel door opened atop the stair case without any notable activation nor through the act of any individual he could see. The forced cadence began to pick up its pace as Audenhoen was marshalled through the door and into a dimly lit hallway, wide enough only for the three wide conveyance of authority and detained. They reached another opening a few paces later which Audenhoen found himself shoved blindly into, crashing into a dusty durasteel wall, small patches of rust flaking as it trickled over the armor.
Seconds later, Audenhoen felt hands on him, unfastening, unbuckling, and removing straps, leaving him only his bodysuit as cover. As the helmet was lifted from his head, the smells overtook him immediately, musty, and decrepit, the distinct odor of death clinging to the air. Acrid traces of long since dried blood mingled between the tang of time worn metal and the bitterness of dried meat. The troopers set the lock on his manacles once again and purposefully pushed him to the ground. Audenhoen did not bother to turn around to the sounds of retreating footsteps, nor the padded fall of cloth that fell to the floor behind him, he only bowed his head with eyes closed, ready to allow the sorrow and grief their spot of attention.
None of the troopers uttered a word as Audenhoen heard the ray shield generator power up from the outside of the holding cell, then snap to a life of undetermined containment with a low warble and steady hum. No parting words from any of the men that had once served him as the retreating footsteps shuffled back the way they had come. Not even Tompke offered conciliatory regrets or vows of vindication and Audenhoen knew that his own loyalties to his office walked right out with the men that had neglected common sense, truth or even honor in the name of following orders. “I underestimated you Isard, truly.” Audenhoen whispered into the stale air only seconds before the tears began to run unfettered down his cheeks, the walls erected to prevent any emotional interlude crashing around him without the rooted footings of resolve that had also marched out of the hallway with his loyalty, and with them, any notion of Imperial devotion the man had left to give.