Mike muttered obscenely as the other members of Team Paris prepared their equipment for the trek to the French capital. For good measure, he threw in Italian, Gaelic, and Jamaican curses which he was fairly sure were understood through expression, if not vocabulary.
Mumbling and cursing, he hauled Vickie and Becki's bags to the cab, but lowered them carefully into the luggage space, careful not to damage anything inside. When he was out of earshot, he would mouth curses, but save his breath. At all times, he was careful to maintain the appearance of churlish disappointment.
When Vickie bapped him on the back of the head, he turned and shot her a withering glare of the sort not seen since Eugor Atner had come face to face with the killer of his lover, a year before. She recoiled, bringing her hands up in a defensive stance, before realising that Mike was belaboured with Brad and Josh's outsize cases.
Josh Nolan, keen to exploit his advantage over the Brit, was held at bay by the kind of dark look usually occasioned by the discovery of infidelity involving your wife and your brother.
Josh Cochran was calm and cool. He ignored the Brit's bitching, and instead focussed on the mission ahead.
Becki, with other things on her mind, avoided too much of the foul mood, by dint of clucking and fussing over the clothes herself and Vickie had packed for their road trip.
Brad spent the time remonstrating with Dunno, making sure the droid would keep the Batwing locked down tight, and safe from any of the Brit's revenges.
Eventually, with much 'A bientot', 'Adieu' 'Mehhh' and the odd malicious 'Have fun', the Paris group was gone in a cloud of dust and exhaust fumes. M. du Corbeau -Bertie- turned and looked at his sole remaining guest, who was, suddenly, grinning brightly.
"You are to stay and watch your ships?" he asked.
"Not quite, although there will be a friend of ours attending to them, if that's okay with you?"
"But of course," he replied. "Your friend will arrive soon?"
"Should already be here," Mike grinned. "Terra Four to Grace Three," he continued, activating his commlink. "Come in please."
"Reading you loud and clear, Terra Four. You realise I got up at a very unusual hour to be here now, don't you?"
"I owe you dinner. I know. It's going on Five's credit card, so that's okay."
"Am I safe to land?"
"But of course, Mademoiselle."
High above the two men -and a lamb- the clouds were split, and a craft unique to Terran airspace descended towards the ground. Three fins sprang from its spherical cockpit, giving the craft the air of a ball about to be caught in a hand. The three fins had given the craft its nickname: Trip.
The craft settled smoothly to the ground, in front of the Red Home. The engines shut down, and as the dust settled, the cockpit hatch sprang open. A lithe figure slipped easily through the hatch, and clambered through the framework of the fins, before dropping to the ground as Mike and Bertie approached.
"How was the flight?" Mike asked.
The figure waved its hand, before grappling with its helmet and eventually pulling it loose. It shook loose a mane of glossy blonde hair, before throwing its head backwards. Suddenly the it was a her. Very definitely.
"It was okay. Your ship is different to the Interceptor I normally fly, but I adapted quickly."
"It's meant to be different. This ship can outfly, outrun, outshoot anything else on this planet. And it's mine."
"Ours." The woman replied. "At least, until you pay me off the debt you owe me for helping repair it."
"Yes, well..." Mike murmured. "Where are my manners? No, don't answer that... M. du Corbeau, I'd like you to meet Noreh S'ytsirk. Noreh, this is M. Bertie du Corbeau. Bertie is Lord Thayer's uncle, while Noreh is one of one of your nephew's finest pilots."
The two shook hands, and smiled.
"Noreh, I'd like it if we could get to Paris, and you come back here with the Home. Bertie, if you wouldn't mind putting up Noreh for the duration of our stay?"
"Not at all, not at all." Bertie said, smiling. "My nephew's colleagues are always welcome here. Tell me my dear," he added, turning to Noreh. "Do you like animals?"
Half an hour later, Mike had packed his equipment securely and was waiting aboard the Red Home. He'd agonised over whether to bring his astromech on the mission, but had decided it would be of more use to Noreh. The droid was sulking in the corner of the cockpit when Noreh came in.
"Such a nice guy," she said with a smile. "And what an adorable little lamb!"
Mike grinned, but said nothing. He waved to M. du Corbeau, before easing forward on the power. He took great care with the take off, knowing full well that three valuable starfighters were temporarily stored in the hold. What would happen to Mike if Brad's ship got damaged, he didn't know, nor want to know.
On the ground, M. du Corbeau marvelled at the large craft's silent grace, before watching it slowly fade from view. He felt the heat as the engines kicked in, and watched in amazement as the trees on his land were tossed about momentarily by the invisible craft's rapid departure.
Some time later, the Home's computer indicated they were nearing Paris. Mike wondered briefly about the wisdom of bringing such a valuable asset over Paris airspace, but eventually decided that it was someone else's problem. Yielding the pilot's seat to Noreh, he bid her farewell, before snatching up his pack. His astromech studiously ignored him, causing Mike to grin as he walked out of the cockpit.
As Mike entered the cargo bay, he gave thanks once again for whatever divine providence had brought Kelly Antilles into his life. The alter-Vickie had developed a taste, and a skill, for sabacc that had won her all manner of potentially valuable equipment. When Mike had spotted the pared down zero-gee stormtrooper device among the clutter of her storage bay, he'd pleaded with his friend to let him have it. Kelly had agreed, on condition that he bought her tickets to the Face Loran marathon extravaganza. He'd been scalped, he knew, as the tickets were like gold dust, but zero-gee devices were impossible to find on the open market.
Anyway, the device didn't do much more than assure a -comparatively- slow descent to ground, but for the moment, that was all Mike needed. He strapped the device on, slapped the button to open the cargo door, checked to make sure they were over Paris, and stepped out into space.
Freefall is fun.
For the first hundred foot or so, anyway.
One potato.
Then you start to wonder about things.
Like whether your parachute/zero gee device/whatever, is actually going to work.
Two potato.
On the plus side, if it doesn't, well, you won't be worried for long.
Even Mike, with a permanently cheery outlook on life, didn't find that much comfort.
Three potato.
He stabbed at the activation button, and the generator thrummed into life. He breathed a sigh of relief, as well as adding a reminder to himself that field tests are better run in the lab, sometime.
Then he began to wonder how he was going to make it through the Parisian sky in the early morning, with no way of hiding that he was, essentially, a flying man.
He sighed, and reached for his bag of tricks.
"Là-bas! Là-bas! Une femme nue de vol!"
The cry, which at first made people in the quiet French neighbourhood looking up, quickly made them cast their eyes away from the falling man. Looking around, they failed to see the promised attraction. But when they looked up again to ask for more specific directions, the falling man was gone. With a typically Gallic shrug, and a trace of disappointment, the few witnesses returned to their everyday lives.
Mike hid in the end of an alleyway, stripping away the bare bones of the disguise that had aided him in his descent. The big moustache went back in its pouch. The false eyebrows returned to their slot. The outsize stomach was unbuckled, and once again became his pack. He sighed, contentedly, every James Bond film he'd ever seen soundly defeated in his mind.
He repacked everything, and headed out into Paris.
The remainder of Paris group left their new hotel, eager to establish their plan of attack for the coming mission.
"Let's find a café and work things out," Becki suggested.
"Yeah, this one looks good. Not too French," Brad remarked, pointing at an Irish theme bar called, improbably, O'Descartes.
"No, let's . . . go down here. . . ." Vickie said, pointing vaguely. Becki looked at her, curiously.
"Vickie? You okay?"
"Yeah. . . . I'm fine. Just. . . we need to go down here is all."
The others shrugged.
"Lead on."
The five team members settled down round a table and ordered drinks. As they waited, Josh C stared inquisitively at Vickie.
"What happened back there?" he asked.
"I don't know," she admitted. I just felt it was important we come to this bar. Here. Now."
"Your friend was right, monsieu,r" the waiter commented as he delivered the drinks. "This bar is renowned for having the best service, the finest drinks, and the cutest staff in all of gay Paris." Grinning, he walked off. Becki rolled her eyes, expressively.
"So, what do we do from here?" she asked.
"Well, I don't think I'll be much use to the group," Brad said, his voice low. "What with one thing and another, I might be best off going alone."
Josh Nolan grinned at his countryman.
"Much as I want to take the piss," he commented. "I have to say that he's right. Me too, in fact. We should both work alone, separate from you guys."
The waiter passed by with more drinks as Josh Cochran raised his eyebrows.
"Fine group we turned out to be," he said, his voice light. "Actually, if it's all the same to everyone else, I think we could do a lot more work by splitting up, like the Rogues on Coruscant. Maybe two or three of us cluster, but certainly some of us should go alone."
Vickie opened her mouth to reply, but shut it again. She looked around, her expression curious. So focussed were the group on their Jedi captain, they failed to notice the waiter pulling a chair up to their table.
"And what of me, mes amis? What task do you assign me?"
They turned, and Josh Nolan stared at the newcomer.
"No offence, mate, but I think-"
He was interrupted by Vickie jumping to her feet, spilling coffee all over herself and Becki.
"Mike!" she exclaimed. The others looked at her in shock, before turning and looking at the waiter again. It was the grin that gave it away, the two halves of the young man's face split like halves of a watermelon. He laughed, long and loud, before eventually sobering enough to talk.
"Oh, like I was gonna miss out on Paris. Please," he laughed. "And it was worth it. Every second of intrusion lessons from Face and the other Wraiths, every second of hiding behind this horrible, itchy makeup, every second of walking around in too-tight waiter's trousers, every second of being leered at by the local girls-" he paused. "Well, I didn't mind that so much. But it was all worth it, to see the looks on your faces."
"How. . . What. . . Why. . . How. . ." Josh Cochran managed.
"Oh, I got a lift," Mike said, simply. "So what's going on?"
"You didn't leave the ships?" Brad asked, his concern evident.
"No, I didn't," Mike replied, suddenly serious. "I called one of the Graces over. She's keeping an eye on them for us."
"Noreh?" Cochran asked, distantly.
"Yeah," Mike replied. "I trust her. So, seriously, you three are going to do your thing," he continued, pointing at the other men. "What about you ladies?" he asked.
"Shopping, now, I think," Becki replied. "We'll keep an eye open while we're doing it, and it's good cover."
"Good covering, too," Vickie added. "Especially since we now have coffee all over our only set of non-tourist clothes." With this, she glared balefully at Mike, but her friend simply laughed it off.
"Well, then," he decided. "While you're doing your stuff, I'll chase across the Parisian rooftops in a black cape, pursued by angry men with pitchforks and flaming torches. With that kind of distraction, you guys should have no trouble finding our quarry."
The others glared at him.
"Okay. I'll find a bar and start dropping 500 Franc notes. This is on expenses, right?"
"Don't push your luck," Vickie replied.