The Trial of Jen'vey (OPEN)

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Jubar Bavvet
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The Trial of Jen'vey (OPEN)

Post by Jubar Bavvet » 2014-05-05 23:18


Pakkt Jen’vey had been expecting this transfer for quite some time. That was because he was such a public figure, both in NR and NIF space, that having him simply disappear would not be satisfying for the public, and because putting him on trial publicly where everybody could see would make the Federation look to be “the better man” by ensuring that even a monster such as this Bothan would receive a fair trial.

But that was all façade. Political maneuverings. The real reason he was being transferred was so that he could be tried in a federal court, and federal courts had more tools to try terrorists than military commissions did.

That’s what I am now, he thought, looking at the door as it slid open and the security droids stepped into apply their binders. Terrorist. The word had a strange ring to it. It echoed in his mind, searching for something to attach itself to. It found nothing. It did not cling to his sense of identity. He knew what he’d done was right. It was just. It was fair.

The New Imperial Federation was being led by a monster, and the people of the Federation had not only helped put him there, they had cheered at his glory, marveled at his wisdom as he ruthlessly slaughtered millions.

And when I fought back against the monster and his little monsterlings, his subordinates, his loyal and bloodthirsty constituents, they called me the terrorist. They called me the monster.

For Jen’vey, this only reinforced his sense of purpose. To be hated so passionately and without thought by one’s enemies was to be proven unequivocally correct. He had made the people of the NIF livid because what he had essentially done was commit an act so heinous that, on an unconscious level, they realized that they were seeing themselves in him.

My actions merely held up the mirror, he thought. It was they who looked in. It was they who stared into the abyss, and found it staring back.

“Pakkt Jen’vey,” said the Warden, flanked by three Associate Wardens, four Zeeo security droids, three armored guards and a prison psychologist. The guards weren’t here because they thought he was dangerous. They had been his reluctant bodyguards whenever he went to shower, whenever he slept—for he was on suicide watch.

“Yes, Warden,” said Jen’vey.

“I’m officially beginning your transfer. Of course, you were informed of this last week.”

The Bothan nodded. “I was.”

“Good, then you know the procedure. Same as when you were brought in months back. No sudden moves. Do what the guards say, when they say it. You will make yourself ready for search at each security checkpoint on the way out, and be taken on a shuttle to the place of your trial.”

Jen’vey nodded. He noticed that the Warden was using vague nouns and descriptions—“taken on a shuttle” and some “place” where a trial would happen. They had kept him sequestered much of the time, trying to confuse his sense of day and night, sometimes making him skip two or three meals, and forbidding the guards from telling him anything about the outside world. Now they wouldn’t even let him know the name of the shuttle taking him out of this place or his final destination.

“Do you understand, Pakkt?” asked the Warden, after rattling on another series of commands.

Pakkt. They referred to him by his first name, of course, and wouldn’t dare call him “Admiral” at this point. It was one more way to deprive him. All titles stripped. All knowledge of the outside world kept from him. The condition of his family and the others of the Assembly…unknown. It was meant to diminish him. Break him. And while he prided himself in the fact that he hadn’t broken down, Jen’vey could see how years spent in solitary confinement could whittle away the spirit, until nothing was left but a stump, a scarce revenant of the person you used to be.

“Yes, Warden,” he finally said. “I understand?”

As they led him how of his cell, Jen’vey understood that that’s what they wanted for him. A lifetime of solitary confinement, punctuated only by moments of being shuffled from shower to shower under the watchful gaze of guards. Execution? Not likely. Torture, perhaps. Almost certainly. But not execution. They would deprive him and hurt him until his natural death, hounding him the whole way, wanting more information on the Bothan Spynet, the Assembly, the Everything.

And they would never be satisfied. One day, he knew, he would not have the strength to keep on resisting them. Someday, perhaps not too long from now, he would start blabbing, if only because somebody would finally be listening to him. But no matter how much ever gave them, no matter how hard he tried to convince them that they had sapped him of all his knowledge, they wouldn’t relent.

This was his fate. He had resigned himself to it and there was a certain peace in that. He still held himself high, kept his shoulders squared and maintained good military posture. That would be difficult to lose—even NIF’s best torturers would have a hard time taking that away, because that was muscle memory, a lifetime of programming, not likely to be undone any time soon.

Full body inspection and several checkpoints later, he was placed aboard a nondescript Lambda-class shuttle was to be his chariot away from here.

Once on board, he sat in the back, behind a cage, his binders still on. Jen’vey stared at the nearest window, which gave the barest glimpse of space. He’d once roamed those sea of stars. He’d pushed and prodded, stoked the fires of dissent, fires that he knew must still be raging, even if he wasn’t a part of that.

That’s a consolation. It means it was worth it.

Indeed, he believed he had evidence of that fire. One of his guards had let something slip a few days ago just outside his cell, something about Denon. That was an important world, an ecumenopolis and trade hub between the Hydian Way and the Corellian Run. If his action had in some way spurred Emperor Kane to make a direct play against Denon…

Then the lesson is still being learned. As Pakkt Jen’vey had once said to his Rear Admiral, some people play to win, others play to instruct. Jen’vey belonged to the latter category. If a person simply won, then the victory tended to be short-lived. But if one could teach their enemy in some way, then the lesson rankled them for all time. It became a splinter in their mind, constantly reminding them of how foolish they had been, how undeniably wrong they had been proven to be. And that accomplished one of two things: either the enemy realized their error and saw the light, becoming likeminded and thus an ally (a much more long-term strategy), or they were made so furious at having been bested that they dwelled on the defeat and started making horrendous, emotional mistakes.

At some point, a man sat down in front of Jen’vey. A human, who happened to be his court-appointed lawyer, which he would’ve thought was funny if he was a man who tolerated such banalities as humor.

“Pakkt Jen’vey, my name is Jessun Crol,” the man said. “I’ll be representing you. Now then, Pakkt, do you know where you’re going?”

“To stand trial in federal court,” the Bothan said, still staring out the window.

“That’s right. And do you know why you’ll be tried in federal instead of military?”

“It serves many purposes. More publicity this way. They get to parade me around a bit more, let the people see the defeated despot, the monster who did the most unconscionable things and who will now receive swift justice. It lets the NIF government keep up the charade that they can execute trials with efficacy and skill. There’s also the social stigma—prosecuting terrorists before military commissions makes them look like warriors rather than criminals. But, more than anything else, federal courts have more tools to prosecute.”

“Very well said. At least you know what kind of footing you’re on.”

Jen’vey snorted softly. “It’s all just politics, Defender Crol.”

Crol sighed heavily. “I take it you’ll be pleading guilty?”

“I’m guilty of no crime. Ar’krai is a legally recognized state of conflict among my people. I was fulfilling a perfectly legal action of war, commanding the Theater of War at the time, with a directive from the New Republic Senate that left enough wiggle room for interpretation. And the number of people I’ve killed is but a fraction of what the Empire—both old and new—is guilty of annihilating. So if I’m guilty, Defender Crol,” he said, looking at the man, “then so are you.”

“That’s not gonna cut it,” Crol said flatly. “It’s either guilty or not guilty. They won’t even hear an insanity plea, which is about the only way the stuff you just said could’ve been construed as a defense.”

“They won’t hear a thing I say.”

“I’m not gonna lie and say it looks good for you, but I will say that your stay in prison can be made a smidgen more comfortable if you agree to cooperate.”

“They won’t listen,” Jen’vey reiterated.

“You’re no Jedi, so don’t try reading the minds of the judges. That’s my job,” Crol chuckled. “And I’m here to tell you, such a hair-splitting argument as the one you just spoke won’t work. Not now. Not ever. Not after the crimes you stand accused of. It’s guilty or innocent, and I don’t think I have to tell you that pleading guilty at least gets you—”

“Do you know the difference between tactics and strategy, Defender Crol?” Jen’vey interrupted.


“Tactics and strategy. Do you understand the difference?”

“What’s that got to do with—?”

“Tactics are individual plays, attacks made in order to achieve the ultimate goal. Strategy is the overarching plan that those tactics serve. One births the other. But which one comes first, the tactics or the strategy? Fools will begin tactics, and hope that that somehow births a victory on its own. Those who are a bit wiser will seek to identify an exact desired outcome: a goal. They will then identify the greatest strategy to achieve that goal, and sort of reverse-engineer it in order to see what tactics their strategy must consist of. It’s imperative to not just look at your enemy’s tactics and plan for the next one. Rather, use the tactic to divine the overall goal. And it works both ways. In short, one should study the tactics in order to understand the strategy, and then study the strategy to predict the tactics.”

Crol shook his head. “We don’t have much time here, Pakkt. I’ve been assigned to you, I’m the most senior public defender in the federal court system today, and I take that very seriously. This kind of talk is doing nothing but wasting valuable time. Time that should be spent developing a suitable plea. Now, I’ve been talking to the judges on the panel, and they’ve agreed to some leniency if you’re willing to divulge the names of those Bothans who helped—”

“Reading minds,” Jen’vey said.

“What? Sorry?”

“You wanted to know what relevance my words have.” He finally turned to look at Crol. “You said I was no Jedi, intimating that I was trying to ‘read minds.’ I just need you to understand, Defender Crol, that one needn’t be a Jedi to be a mind-reader.” Jen’vey turned back to the window, and continued staring.

* * *


“You’re nominating me to a special council overseeing a criminal trial,” Jubar clarified to the ISIS representative as he handed the man a glass of water and took his seat across the table from him. “I should think that you would be treating me with a modicum of respect by giving me more time to prepare before barging in here like this.”

“Well, let’s get one thing straight, Senator Bavvet,” said Grenshi. “The only reason you received the nomination to the Council at all was because it was you and the RA party you lead that pushed for the Bothan to be tried by federal court, and the only reason you won that fight was because your people created a bit of a scandal on the HoloNet news sites.” He snorted and leaned back in his chair. “Your push for treating our prisoners with ‘humanity and compassion’ after they’ve committed atrocities may have frightened the Chancellor and Supreme Chancellor into making the more PC move, but one step out of line and the Emperor himself will rescind the order to give Jen’vey a fair trail and hang you.”

“Figuratively speaking, of course?”

Grenshi smirked. “If you like.”

“But that is your plan, isn’t it? You and the rest of the SIOC want to put me on this little oversight committee so that if it fails, if it goes up in flames, if there is any evidence of mishandling behind the scenes, any at all, it all falls on me and my party.”

Grenshi’s smirk turned into a full-blown smile. He wasn’t going to fall for that bait. He was a semi-retired ISIS man, who now made a living as a liaison between ISIS and the Senate, frequently working for the Senate Intelligence Oversight Committee (SIOC). A gray-haired, balding man of sixty, he had a long and storied history—even if most of that history couldn’t be told for at least another twenty years when such stories would be declassified. “I was told your mentor was a pompous ass, Senator. I reckon I shouldn’t be too surprised to find the protégé follow suit.”

“That’s aggressive talk for a liaison. Isn’t it your job to bridge the gaps in communication, not drive a greater divide between the two parts?”

Grenshi leaned forward and put his glass on the table between them. “Let’s cut the sithspit, Senator. We both know your nomination comes as no surprise. And don’t think I don’t know your motives.”

“And what are my motives? Enlighten me.”

“You’ve been wanting a nomination to SIOC ever since you were nominated as Senator over Cademimu sector,” Grenshi said. “On several occasions, your assistant Hanna Sweruy has made overtures to existing members of SIOC, specifically Klakgnu and Balon, the two who are considering stepping down from the committee soon.” He fixed Jubar with a withering glare. “You want their seats, and you’re hoping this will be your opportunity to get in through the back door. Why? What does an upjumped senator with debilitating health from a backwater sector want with control over the Senate Intelligence Oversight Committee?”

Jubar considered him for a moment. Then he shrugged. “Very well, let’s play this game. Let’s assume for a moment that all of what you just said is true. Can we also stop pretending that you took the job at SIOC for reasons that weren’t totally altruistic?”

“What’re you talking—?”

“Come now, Grenshi. I may be an upjumped senator with a backwater sector under my belt, but being in such a slimy part of the Galaxy has taught me a thing or two about handling people. Lesson number one: Everyone has ulterior motives. Even you,” he added with a congenial smile. “You’re an old ISIS man. You came out of retirement to take the post on SIOC, not so you could help both sides understand, but to lubricate the gears in ISIS’s favor, to let them spin faster, loosen the Senate’s chains on ISIS, so to speak. Make them beholden to no one.”

“Ridiculous. Is this how you treat your guest? By slinging mud?”

“Is this how you treat your host?” Jubar countered.

“I came here to remind you of your place, and of your duty to your nation and your people.”

“So…you essentially came here to make sure that when the time comes, and Jen’vey begins to speak his defense, that I don’t find the rest of the committee when the courts ask them for permission to silence him. I mean, that’s why you’re really here, isn’t it? I mean let’s cut the sithspit, as you said, and get down to brass tacks. You came here to make sure that if Jen’vey starts revealing unpleasant secrets about NIF—or more importantly, ISIS tactics—in open court, that I facilitate in any way that I can to make sure he’s silenced.”

“He was a part of the Bothan Spynet, one of the most sophisticated networks in the galaxy’s history. What he knows…might know…could cause a very damaging scandal.”

“Like what, Grenshi?”

Grenshi gave him a look that said he wasn’t that stupid. The ISIS man sighed heavily, then stood up and buttoned his jacket. “Thank you for the water, Senator. I’ll expect you to report to the Nemesis forthwith.”

“They’re actually holding the trial there?”

“Yes. Though, the public won’t know where it is, it’s still going to be broadcast from a secret room within the ship.”

Jubar pursed his lips and nodded. “Interesting decision. Federal judges but a military setting, with senators acting behind the scenes in an oversight committee. I’ll warrant nothing like this has happened in a very long time. No wonder they called you in specifically for this, Grenshi. A liaison of your…special talents, I’m sure ISIS will find all sorts of use for you.”

Grenshi sneered. “You act as if you’re so bulletproof, Senator. So smug on the HoloNet when you mock your political rivals and profess undying devotion to the NIF. Yet even as you profess such love, you’re doing everything you can to undermine its control. Calling for a vote of no-confidence in the Emperor, rendezvousing with Leia Organa-Solo, making friends with Mon Mothma before she died, siding with a city of droids and machines on Patch-4 who profess to have a soul…one must wonder whose side you’re on, exactly.”

Jubar just smiled and inclined his head. “My droid will show you out.”

“You mean the remodeled assassin droid? No, thank you. I believe I’d feel safer reporting a botched attack to Darth Vader. Good day, Senator.”

After he was gone and the door had whispered behind him, Jubar keyed in a request to his personal pilot to get the Voice of Reason ready for launch. Then Jubar shut his eyes and began to breathe deeply. He ran through Iron Breath, a key exercise in Isk Maega. After he was finished, he gave himself an injection and took some of the pills to deal with his Naranger’s disease. Slowly, he felt equilibrium reassert itself.

Then, to ease some of the tension he felt building in his muscles, Jubar stood up and walked into the next room, where he had a small gym set up with a few punching bags, some treadmills, and, of course, H3-7K. “You ready, Thirty-Seven?” he asked the assassin droid.

“Of course, Master,” it said. “Shall we continue with Teras Kasi, or move on to your next lesson in the A’den Fighting System?”

“How about a blend of the two?”

“TK and AFS?” it asked doubtfully. “That will be a difficult workout.”

“I’m tired of playing soft. I’ve been playing with kid gloves for years,” he said. “My enemies are becoming manifold, with a variety of talents. It’s no longer sufficient just to talk to them all. Sometimes—”

“You have to kill them, yes.”

Jubar snorted. “I was going to say you have to have a decent physique so as to appear more imposing, but I suppose there are many schools of thought.” He patted the droid on its arm. “So, get your gear, and let’s get to training.”

“All right, Master. How does the human expression go? It’s your funeral?”

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Re: The Trial of Jen'vey (OPEN)

Post by jacenwesiri » 2014-05-28 03:57

“You presume far too much about Jedi. Or was it far too little? Sometimes, it is hard to tell the difference.” Jacen said, or more accurately a force projection of him from some distance away made the statement. The force projection seemed like a glowing pale image, similar enough to a hologram to be mistaken by a casual observer, but to someone with a more attuned eye, some things about it appeared wrong.

“And don’t worry, Jessun Crol was it? I figured you would be most interested to know that some of your client’s associates attempted to rescue him, to put it charitably.” The last four words were chosen very carefully, enough that both Jen’vey and Jessun Crol probably picked up on very quickly. The obvious alternative to rescuing him would be to make him disappear, as dead men can tell precious few secrets. Of course, Jen’vey might also come to the conclusion that Jacen was trying to make him think that way, by observing the tactics to try to discern the strategy. This, of course, missed the point of the strategy, small things that were meant to have a psychological effect on him. Merely knowing that he may have been deemed a liability that needed correcting could have a powerful enough effect, or perhaps just a subtle thought that could worm its way into the back of his mind.

After a short pause, admittedly for dramatic effect, Jacen spoke a few more words. “Mr. Crol, it appears that somehow, the flight path of the shuttle had been leaked, and there was a force that was sent to ambush you.” Jacen said, choosing his words very carefully. There was a force, just not anymore. It was a funny thing at how easy it was to set the trap for them. “I’ve made the decision to not risk leaving the shuttle unattended for the rest of trip. The Icarus is nearby, and the shuttle is being diverted there. The Icarus will then safely bring both of you to Bilbringi for the trial. I have made arrangements for hopefully more comfortable accommodations until we can complete the transit.” Jacen said, doing his best to include that detail that wasn’t actually correct. Jacen was actually on board the Amelia, but it was easy enough to give the impression otherwise, that he was on the temporary command ship of the 5th, from before the Amelia was completed. With the rest of his statements being intentionally vague about tactics or anything of the like, he opted to throw out a false verbal cue to Jen’vey. After all, what better way to help things along then to try playing mind games with him? Tactics to find the strategy, to find the tactics again?

“I see.” Jassun Crol said, momentarily taken back. Jacen didn’t need to mention the possibility of what would probably have happened to him had the attempt succeeded. Jacen, while far away, wasn’t powerless along many of his specialties, and was subtly altering emotions that were perceived by both Crol and Jen’vey, to that end, the only one that mattered really. He was skilled enough at manipulating minds to make hands holding the strings to be practically undetectable to any aside from a skilled Jedi, who might know something of that. Sith Sorcery was most effective for such things. Jacen continued with more or less small talk, as the shuttle began to the telltale signs of dropping out of hyperspace, on cue.

The Icarus was a Nebula Star Destroyer, and at the time of her capture from the New Republic over Sullust, she could easily be described as the pride of the New Republic Navy. Until quite recently, they were the best the NR had, built with the latest technology and built with few, if any, expenses spared, a rarity among the new class ships. However, stepping out from the Lambda class, the similarities to the original configuration were apparent, but it also demonstrated many of the changes from when the NIF reconfigured it over time since it was added to the then 4th fleet, before getting moved to 5th. However, inside the massive cavernous hanger, large enough for several starfighter squadrons and support craft being handled, though now with considerably less activity as it underwent a perhaps less glorious activity than battle. While some star fighter squadrons were set out, ready to go, much of the space was undertaken by something that would be considered somewhat disturbing. While there was a detail standing at attention to greet the arrival of their fleet commander, who also was a member of IMEXCO, there were far more holding a good many prisoners, many of which were in NR uniforms. The prisoners were getting gradually called before what appeared to be a drum head commission.

“Of course, I couldn’t have done this without you, Admiral Jen’vey. I really have to thank you, because without all that information you provided, this operation might never have happened. Of course, now that I know every secret of value that you once possessed, any further use for you is…questionable.”

“And yet you waste your time with me now?” Jen’vey said wryly, catching onto the weakness in Jacen’s argument.

“Wasting my time with you? You think so narrowly. Perhaps there’s another possibility? One that’s more fitting to my reputation? But enough about me, there’s far more important things to discuss, like what’s going to happen to them?” Jacen said, the tone in his voice flowing marvelously, enough to add so many connotations to them, and at the same time, adding confusion. Everything Jacen said so far couldn’t be confirmed. Take some truths, some lies, many somewhere in between, a few wild fantasies with no basis in reality, and a seemingly logical theory or two. Beat them. Throw them in a blender. Shove into a mold. Shove into a preheated oven, and bake for an hour. Let rest, then remove from mold. Coat with gonache, and then serve. Bon Appétit. The resulting concoction just might resemble some of Jacen’s comments to Jen’vey. “Given what they were attempting to do when we dealt with them, the most fitting crime to charge is piracy, wouldn’t you agree, Admiral?” Most naval officers especially hated piracy, which would make the charge sting all the more. Piracy was not what they were doing, but it was probably the most useful option. The NR couldn’t really object, without coming out and admitting what they were doing, which could be easily twisted into an endorsement of Jen’vey, something that they would be loath to do. It was perhaps sad, but the expectation was that the NR would find it easier to let their loyal minions take the fall for this, and quietly disappear, than risk a scandal over Jen’vey. The NIF, in contrast, having perceived a lack in the value of the prisoners for a prisoner exchange, was quickly moving to deal with them in other ways. The theoretical sentence could be the death penalty, but in the off chance that the NR would want to bargain over them, it was off the table. Jacen expected them to be used as little more than slave labor on one of the NIF worlds that still followed the practice of slavery, but there were other possibilities, and Jacen didn’t really care one way of the other. Calling him Admiral in public was useful in its own way. Jen’vey was a monster, a useful monster at times to those who theoretically held his leash, but a monster all the same. Referring to him by the title called into question those who theoretically held his leash, casting aspersions onto those who claimed they were taking the moral high ground because it was the right thing to do.
"Don't worry guys, it's cool. We've got this, I'm Master Yi!" -- a questionable Yi player, who ended the game 2-16. We lost.

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Re: The Trial of Jen'vey (OPEN)

Post by jacenwesiri » 2014-08-05 18:06

Pakkt thought for a moment that he saw some prisoners he recognized, though for some, it was only vaguely. But that couldn't be right, could it? The odds of such specific officers being dispatched, after all this time. Supposing that such associates had survived the war up to this point, but he had no reason to know they hadn't. Something was going through his mind, what was it? Something vaguely came to mind about jedi mind tricks and illusions....

“Very perceptive.” came a disembodied voice ringing through his head. “I am allowing you to see what is, or perhaps you can tell me that it isn't. But riddle me this: You recognized them, no? So tell me, did I know what to show by what I pulled from your mind? Or perhaps they actually staged a rescue attempt, and I'm showing you the captives my intuition told me you would know? Or perhaps I did capture them, and ripped the secrets from their minds, and I'm merely showing you the ones you recognize? But, I can do better than that, I assure you.” the voice said, before systematically reciting all of his command codes, along with very relevant information pertaining to each one. At times, the voice would include a rather succinct explanation of many things he did. Pakkt hadn't detected a single error in any of it, but instead the voice seemed to start to fade.

Pakkt opened his eyes, to find he was still on the shuttle. Was it all a dream? He could see Jessun Crol continuing to speak, but the words weren't really registering in his mind. As though through a dream, he heard the words coming from Crol, “What? Sorry?” Glancing at Crol's Chrono, it read a time that was consistent with him having never left the shuttle, and had been talking to Crol the entire time. Ironically perhaps, that was true.

“You wanted to know what relevance my words have.” He said finally turned to look at Crol. “You said I was no Jedi, intimating that I was trying to ‘read minds.’ I just need you to understand, Defender Crol, that one needn’t be a Jedi to be a mind-reader.” Jen’vey turned back to the window, and continued staring. Slowly, it was coming back to him. He looked in at his reflection in the window, he looked far less shaken than he was feeling. A few words seemed to faintly echo through his mind. I know. Deep down, he felt as though he knew it to be true. It wasn't the most specific of things said, but he felt it didn't have to be. He felt it could probably be held equally true against everything Pakkt himself knew, which not that he knew, was probably false. The impressions can be everything.

“Then may I ask? What does it take to read minds?” Jesson Crol asked.

“Sir, may I have a moment?” one of the crew from the shuttle said, interrupting the flow of the conversation. Jessun Crol nodded and walked back.

“So, they came for me.” Pakkt said. Crol didn't seem to respond. Pakkt didn't really have anything better to do, but wait. Not like he had a choice. Crol and the crewman were speaking softly, but Pakkt Jen'vey's hearing was enough to pick up a few details here and there. From only the few words, somehow he knew what it was. The NIF had intercepted a force coming to rescue him, he didn't give credence to the other possibility that had been presented. His mind set to work, on this. Realistically, in order to do that, they would have needed an interdictor at the least, but that alone wouldn't be enough. Most of the small interdictors that they could move without their absence being noticed weren't typically stocked for long voyages, especially ones that could take months. So realistically, that would necessitate adding a supply ship of some kind. It wouldn't have to be something like a Hajen class, but a freighter might be able to do it. A small freighter probably wouldn't be enough, because it could have been a few months, so if he had to guess, he'd say it was something like an Action Class. At this point it gets interesting, most of the small interdictors couldn't put up much of a fight, as they were too small for both the gravity well generators and enough arms and armor to be a threat. Knowing that the shuttle would be escorted, at the very least they would have needed a third ship that would be capable of dealing with the expected meager escort. (The route would be classified, and would not be decided too far in advance for security reasons.) That left at least three 'ships', because he knew that realistically, only one of them might be an actual capital ship. Of course, that didn't leave out the possibility of an escort or two being thrown in the mix.

After Jessun Crol walked back, a simple question was asked. “How did you know?”
"Don't worry guys, it's cool. We've got this, I'm Master Yi!" -- a questionable Yi player, who ended the game 2-16. We lost.

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