Unseen Influence...

The small, gray Broadside -class cruiser slowly edged closer and closer to an unseen objective in the endless universe. It's engines cast an ultramarine glow on bits of space debris, twirling slowly in the weightlessness of the vacuum.
Jesha Ceras stood on the bridge of the Infinite, taking quick glances at the computer console, checking their coordinates.
"They should be here any minute, sir," the pilot said, sensing his captain's impatience.
"Yeah, well you know Bothans," Ceras said, tapping the gold ring on his thumb against a metal girder. "If there is any sign of Imperials, we ditch, you got it?"
"Understood, sir."
Ceras enjoyed the pilot he had been assigned. He could barely remember the name from when they had been introduced. Joris, he believed it was. The kid was excellent at the helm of even the most unmaneveurable piece of junk in the entire galaxy, and he was only seventeen. Joris was polite, and respected his superiors. That was more than he could say for the other cocky, hotshot pilots he had encountered in his long haul with the Genoharadan.
"I'm going to get some caf in the galley," Jesha told Joris. "Gimme a holler if anything shows up." He paused. "But you don't need to notify me if any Imps expose their plastoid heads. Just get us the hell out of here."
"Yep. I got ya." Joris said, settling back in his seat.
The galley was pretty much an improvised luxury aboard the old Imperial junk-heap. As soon as the Genoharadan had acquired the Infinite, they had squeezed the galley into the old armory.
Only a few hundred Broadside cruisers still resided under Imperial jurisdiction. The ones they had retired eventually found their way into the scrapyard. Not even low-budget crime organizations wanted them. If Ceras got it right, the Infinite was one of two Broadsides left in the Genoharadan navy. They were only years away from retirement as well. Poor Infinite would become unceremoniously finite.
Jesha poured out the old caf on the bottom of the pot. It had been sitting on the burner for the better part of three hours. Once he had prepared a second batch, he walked back to the command deck, clenching a hot mug.
Suddenly, the floor vibrated under his feet. Joris hollered.
"I'm know! I'm coming!"
Ceras ran to the command deck as fast as he could without spilling his hot beverage.
"They finally arrived Captain," Joris said, pointing out the wide viewport.
The huge Mon Cal star cruiser glided toward them, it's creamy-white paint scheme distinguishing it sharply against the black. A highly accented voice hailed them over the intercom.
This is the Freedom's Warrior. Please identify yourself.
"Just check their IR tags before we respond," Ceras bent down and spoke softly in Joris' ear. "We don't want to be caught in an Imp sting."
"Everything matches up with the info they gave us," Joris responded, looking up at Jesha. Jesha reached down and tapped the com.
"This is the Infinite. Hello Warrior, come in Warrior."
Right. Checking your IR tags now. There was a crackly pause on the speaker. Good. Prepare for docking sequence.
Jesha walked down the long hallways of the Freedom's Warrior, its red lights casting a dark glow on the passageways. A Rebel crewer bumped into his Bothan escort, and the alien's fur rippled in annoyance.
"In here," the Bothan said, gesturing to a small doorway. It was definitely a rarely-used conference room. Perfect for undercover dealings. Jesha walked in, and the Bothan left, closing the door behind him. Before him was a narrow, but long hallway. White lights lining the ceiling, starkly enhanced the walls' blaring white color. The hallway led into a small, blue room. In the middle, seated at a large, wood desk, sat Borsk Fey'lya. Two human bodyguards stood at his side. The Bothan ran his eyes up and down Jesha's figure, as if he was trying to size him up. Obviously dissatisfied with his assessment, he flared his nostrils.
Oh, no.
Ceras knew about Bothan arrogance, but this guy looked like a real case. He was about to be sold the most important intelligence the Rebel Alliance could recieve, and then take credit for it, and yet he openly appeared and acted aloof.
"Conduct a sweep," the Bothan leader ordered, and the bodyguards began sweeping the walls with rod-like devices.
"They're just debugging the room," he explained to Ceras, who nodded in return. Both waited for the guards to finish before any of them dared speak.
"Do you have the information with you?" Fey'lya asked, directing another disdainful look Jesha's way.
"Do you have the money on you?" Jesha shot back. The Bothan seemed to be taken back for a minute, as if he was surprised that anyone would dare question him.
"Of course," Fey'lya said, standing up and straightening his crimson straight-jacket with his furry hands. He took an electronic key from around his neck and pressed it on a small space on his desk. A small door opened, and the Bothan fished out a small credit chip.
"Fifteen million credits are in this chip. Just like agreed."
"Just as agreed," Jesha affirmed.
"Just for interest," Borsk began, gesturing to a chair. Jesha took the seat. "Why does your organization want to help the Rebellion in such a way, and furthermore, not take credit for this amazing intel?" The Bothan lit a deathstick and puffed it. He offered Ceras one.
"No thank you," he said, waving his hand. "Why? I'm, unfortunately, not at liberty to discuss those matters."
Once again, Fey'lya looked offended, and flared nostrils once more.
"The intel?" Borsk asked. "I've paid you, now where is it?"
Ceras grimaced, and pulled a small pendant from his pocket. Opening it, he retrieved a small chip, barely the size of a fingernail.
"This has all the information you need. The weapon's location, and the locations of its defences. Trooper rosters, naval strength, the amount of stormtrooper toe-nail clippings ejected into space each day; everything." Jesha emphasized the last part. "Just remember. You cannot disclose Genoharadan's involvement in your operation against this second Death Star. It could bring grave consequences."
"I understand."
"Good day," Ceras said, standing up. He offered the Bothan his hand. They shook, and Jesha left the room, the two bodyguards escorting him out.
"How did it go?" Joris asked, as soon as his captain came aboard.
"All went well," he said. "The information is now in Rebel hands. Hopefully, they will use it wisely."
"Are you sure they'll succeed?"
"They're the best candidates for the job. Much more organized and much larger than any of the other freedom fighters."
"Do you think they could form another Republic?" Joris asked, looking doubtful. Ceras took a long sigh. It was a thought he had pondered on for years. Only time could tell what the Rebellion could do.
"If they do, I'll be impressed. If they don't, it'll be our job to create one in their place." Joris nodded his head.
This is the Freedom's Warrior. Prepare to release.
"Preparing release," Joris responded, and put his hands on the control yoke. There was a slight vibration as the Infinite disattatched with the docking port. The young pilot twisted the ship away sharply.
"Hold on. Setting hyperspace coordinates to Nirauan." Ceras held onto a low metal girder as the viewport was filled with starlines. There was a sharp jolt, and they were underway.
The Genoharadan had done all it could do at the moment. They were no military; they had to leave the fighting up to the Rebellion. Ceras hoped that today would be the beginning of the end for the Empire. He knew it was a high hope, and even if the Death Star was destroyed, it would take much longer for the Empire to finally fall.
"I'm going to my bunk," Ceras said, patting Joris' shoulder. Pushing his ponderings to the back of his head, he lay back and fell asleep.