The Nebulae/The Entrepreneur.

[NeuroMortis]

Events immediately preceding this thread can be found here (http://www.swforums.net/forum/showthread.php?threadid=18779), and should be considered.

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The Nebulae.

Jetsetters. Elitists. Artists. Lords of both Kingdoms and Crime. Politicians. Magnates.

A microcosm of entities bent upon one purpose:

Basking in the glory of selfish ambitions.

And as a matter of course, holding true to form, the Nebulae found just as many wanna-bes as genuine articles—if genuine could be ascribed to any within the establishment, which occupied the top two floors of the third tallest building in the city proper.

When entertainers thrived, here agents would peddle their flesh. When empires crumbled, here might be found the origins of their sabotage. The infrastructure of the establishment might very well have been its own country, operating with impunity underneath the law: all activities within took place under the auspices of civility—to all the world, the Nebulae was the object of cutting-edge excitement, of dreams awaiting fulfillment, of paparazzi and pomp. And its patrons took advantage of the societal rich-man’s-land façade to the utmost.

The lower floor consisted of the entertainment facilities. All aspects of the myriad arts were touted here, from the performance halls to the dance club to the casino—moderated, of course, and well enforced to promote the catchy credo ‘Ecstasy Through Moderation,’ as opposed to drunken or stimulated debauchery.

On the surface, it all looked pretty amazing.

The upper floor catered to the refined.

Patrons occupied tables, sealed meeting rooms and banquet halls in order of size or import. All areas of gathering were engineered such that no patron was robbed of a spectacular view of the city, the preparation area for foodstuffs located centrally. The Plexisteel ceiling and walls gave the impression of an open-air outing—one-way glass obscuring the activities from the outside.

In short, the Nebulae existed on Coruscant as an oasis at the heart of the great city, reserved for those to whom money was no object.

Those to whom power was the currency in trade.

[Wine Marisinthe]

<center><u>Four Hours Before</u></center>

Eyes sting, shaking, and every fibre of my being bends to my desire to murder the man before me.

He stands nearly two full feet taller than me, his frame enhanced by the sheer force of will behind his unmitigated hatred--his presence poisons the air, and I

push

the stench of death from my senses.

Head wet, hair plastered across the brow, tacky with the copious bleeding all head wounds produce—I find footing even as my left eye shuts, burning from the intrusion of tears and blood.

He presses.

The vibrato pulse of his sabre splits the air hot at my left ear as my body takes over under the

sway

of the training:

Back arching, I throw shoulderblades to the ground at the loss of feet from the floor; constrict the stomach and kip, coming back to standing—

twofivesevenmovesahead

—behind the natural course of his arms in their momentum—I hook a cocked wrist into the area just below his nose at the nerve cluster there, torquing as my own momentum settles, dropping behind his leading knee and

throw

my weight into buckling him, still

pressing

into the nexus of nerve endings in his face.

His momentum has come too far to reverse; it’s all he can do to maintain control of his sabre as he buckles over me—

But he plays what could only be his final trump, and as he falls he

guides

the sabre up and back along the length of his arm, steeling himself already for the pain of its loss as it severs to find my neck behind and take my head—

But I’m not there.

As his arm leaves his body, he realizes too late how I’ve tricked him, rolling forward to safety but

leaving

the impression of my weight against his body, misleading him into believing I’m still pressed close, intimate—

And then I am as I descend upon him.

-------------------------------------

Wine Marisinthe moves gracefully even as she limps from the elevator, leaving patrons agape at the evidence of the Sith's passing--the clotting blood upon her brow, the tatters of her serving uniform, the wickedugly cauterization of her expensive skirt into her left thigh, shallow but hardly a 'scratch'...

She smiles a patented Hostess Grin at the Security Officer who gawps comically as she passes through the reservations area from the garage. He leaps to his feet, at which she shakes her head, waving a tired hand for him to sit.

"Whatthe?!?" comes his eloquent assessment of the situation. She’s only been here four hours of the two days the Boss has allotted for her to come on staff "on the hush-hush," presumably meaning her job is not actually to serve the guests, but something neither he nor the rest of the Security Staff need know about. He hadn't even seen her leave..."What the hell happened to you?!?"

She presses a finger, nail torn off at the cuticle, to her lips. She then notices the nail. Her jaw sets momentarily, and something

flickers

through eyes that normally could be described as "bedroom windows."

And then back to the Hostess Smile; the lift to the upper quarters opens and she boards. And as the doors slide closed, she speaks softly as a lover to an object of affection:

"Where I come from, the customer isn’t always right."


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<center><u>A Few Minutes Before Now</u></center>

The bar left behind, the night air mothers my wounds.

I can’t help a grin—people like you, Nak, bring out the life again.

Station 12, the Osprey, the Nightmark—all the magnificence of this Coruscantan skyline aglow in the chill of night—why the hell regret anything?

I roll, switching hands, onto my back atop the K4 transport. It's starting to get slippery, the mist slowly blossoming into the light rain characteristic of the season.

I rejoice in the cold.

We weave amongst the traffic and spires like a gnat through the spider’s web without slowing—I’ll bail in another 30 seconds. More than enough time.

Time.

Enough.

No, I won’t cut my hair. The ends snap-sting my cheeks as speed increases, then dances soft as we slow, reminding me I’m alive.

I am alive, Tzerace.

Whatever the journey holds, I’m alive.

I know, I’m disappointing you right now. I went off the end. Circumstance knocked down the house of cards and I failed.

But damnit, I can feel again. Who cares if it’s bad, or good—

For so long now I’ve gone through the motions—pretending, looking for approval. You knew. You had to have known. I’m good, but you…

Deceleration at the Obsid-Braxis junction. I bail as we make the turn, catch the skybridge and slip off the slick side onto the maintenance catwalk, curl under and hand-over to the 34th floor parapet of the Tennhauser. By the time I reach it my hands are numb--I don't mind a bit.

You did this on purpose, didn’t you…

External elevator lifts me to floor 78 and stops. Good enough.

I’ve only been outside 14 minutes and I don’t want to go back in.

But I do.

Can’t escape from one’s fate.

And I laugh, because my fate includes wearing another one of these absolutely hysterical serving “uniforms.”

Maybe I can trash this one, too…

I catch myself in the mirror--bedraggled, hair-clothing plastered damp clinging...

And grinning like I haven't in a along time.

-------

[NeuroMortis]

The Present.

Reynatti reclined behind his table like a drunken whore awaiting attention.

That is, he would have seemed that way, had not the Kel Dorian possessed a hideously scarred face utterly devoid of human expression—and the fact that he weighed nearly 400 pounds of solid muscle did little to help the image.

And had not Nakadai been anticipating the usual wayward amorphile at his table—that of the aforementioned drunken debutante—the thought never would have crossed his mind.

But it did, so he smirked, which he knew the unexpected guest would find disdainful, which made him grin fully—and instead of requesting the removal of the occupant, he brushed the light sheen of rain from a jacket that could pay for a run to Kessel and back, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

Reynatti, cryptic as a rock with a mouth, murmured incoherently in his native tongue.

“K’tchetka gosso, Ngzadzi…”

Sniffing, running a hand through hair just dampened by the beginnings of a storm, Nakadai kept the grin.

“ Gzina gosso, Rngati. You lost, or you have one too many spikers?”

The beast shuddered—his equivalent of either laughter or pure malice.

A tug at Nakadai’s left earlobe—he turned to find a grin much more suggestive than his own. Tara. She winked.

“You having any fun tonight?”

Customary offer for anything he could possibly want from her, flashing pearlescent teeth chewing neon gum. She blew just large enough of a bubble to pierce with her tongue, which collected the remnants deftly, carefully, skillfully—

He gestured grandly to the hulking squatter at his table, still smiling.

“As a matter of fact, I believe I’m going to have more fun than I’ve ever had.”

She raised an eyebrow in the same fashion he had, chewing again, nodding.

“Your usual?”

It had passed subtly, gently, without hint of pretense.

He never ordered the same thing.

The Usual would see this being escorted from the premises within moments—gently, without fanfare, via the security elevator hidden close by.

A Double would see this being escorted from the premises within moments—gently, without fanfare, and upon entering the elevator he would experience his innards voiding from every orifice available before the body was completely ionized.

He shook his head.

“I’ll have a Gaussian. And a Virdozimir for my cosmetologist friend.”

She nodded, never skipping a beat, and turned to go.

“Oh, and Tara?”

She leaned back, turning in such a way as to provide the best angle of everything.

“I’m expecting company. Nice people.”

Nice people.

Meaning,

More important than anyone else in the building.

She winked, snapped her gum as he added as a near afterthought:

“And let me know when the wine arrives.”

[NeuroMortis]

The server gone, Nakadai cheerfully resigned himself to sitting in the ‘visitor’s cush’, the side of the table reserved for his guests.

This side without the hidden summoning button by the right heel and, worse, the lever secreted in the lower left corner of the footspace which would trigger a beam from underneath the visitor’s seat that could, effectively, disembowel any untoward occupant.

He wasn’t particularly worried about his guest—only hoped that he wasn’t clumsy, or given to shifting his oversized feet about out of habit…

Reynatti spoke again in his own tongue, which Nakadai understood well enough:

“Whenever you grin that way I receive the impression you’re bedding down with temptations.”

His tone was tired, slow, and matter of fact. Nakadai gave a perfunctory shrug.

“I always grin this way.” The picture of amicable insouciance. He leaned back, both arms along the back of the cush. “What can I say? I’m a happy guy, I grin all the time.”

“Precisely why I make the observation…” the old but by no means decrepit warrior sighed.

The girl Tara arrived with the drinks; Nakadai took the Virdozimir—the Kel Dorian equivalent of exquisite Scotch whiskey—and slid it to his guest with a practiced flick of the wrist. Taking his own vessel, he held it aloft.

“To the open expression of success—may our smiles hide nothing but tongues.”

Another sigh. The warrior took up his glass.

“Nothing wrong with a little tongue.” Parting shot over the shoulder, Tara retreated to other duties.

Nakadai thought the older man might be appreciating the view of her exit—something he himself enjoyed without reservation, as he was certain he was meant to—but it was so damn difficult to read these guys when they just sat still…

The beast drank, raising the glass almost delicately to the slash of his mouth, and savored the contents: his presence was obviously business, but he was no fool. Business could wait, and would wait—

Virdozimir took precedence over mere business.

[Garet Andrys]

"I'm underdressed."

Irony, spoken to no-one in particular, and heard by no-one at all... as far as he could tell. Garet grimaced and tensed uncomfortably, looking past the veneer of finery and seeing the business of excess beneath.

This was a temple of indulgence, and the rich worshipped here regularly.

All thoughts of getting lost in drink were now banished (a moment of regret, then gone) as Garet fingered the sleeve of his jacket -- a common workman's jacket, dirt more evident than ever in this remarkably clean place -- self-consciously.

Standing out is never desirable. Especially around the rich and powerful.

He did not remember this building. It was either relatively new, or he'd forgotten a lot since his last visit, or he was blind the last time he was here and had overlooked it completely.

He shivered briefly as he got used to the slightly-colder-than-average temperature in the main room. The Enviro units were top-notch, to be able to offset the body heat of so many people. He wondered why the temperature was set so low... then he saw the costumes some of the women wore, and decided he'd figured it out.

He looked down at the shadow who'd travelled with him and blinked a few times, trying to get used to the fact that his eyes wanted to slide away from it. Him. It.

Whatever.

"We're here," he said finally. "I wonder what we're supposed to do next."

Someone would tell them eventually... either the staff would be expecting them, and someone would lead them on to answers (or at least, to more information), or the staff would not be expecting them, and someone would ask them to leave.

Or this is some kind of elaborate set-up. Which is ridiculous... anyone who would go to this much trouble to set me up would be able to deal with me much more directly and efficently.

He was fully adjusted to the temperature now. Standing in the lobby of the Nebulae, watching the beautiful people pursue mindless diversion, he waited.

[NeuroMortis]

Nakadai downed the Gaussian, rapping the table with his free hand. The hand opened, palm down; a finger idly traced the lacquered surface of the table.

“You’re not particularly given to social calls, Rey.”

He’d waited long enough for the Virdozomir to be given its due. The larger creature gazed through the pleasant gauze of the liquor with black, glassy eyes.

“The shell game you’re playing, Ngzadzi…” He merely shook his head.

Nakadai laughed aloud.

“You came all the way here to talk about my gambling techniques? I’m flattered! I didn’t realized I’d grown to such renowned prop—“

A formidable fist struck the table—followed by the gentle placement of the glass that had held the Virdozomir. He spoke softly.

“Are you so ignorant, Ngzadzi? Has wealth corrupted you so?”

Here, he leaned forward close enough that Nakadai caught the scent of the liquor on his breath

“Have you fallen so far you’ve lost your perspective?”

Tongue in cheek, the smaller man kept eye contact.

“…what do you think, Rey?” Pointedly inquisitive entreaty—albeit respectful. They simply stared at one another as time, as history, stretched between the two. Experience at war with idealism, old scars newly opened, new wounds freshly healed—time passed as one questioned the other, neither side speaking yet both quite clearly communicating…

[Wine Marisinthe]

“Get a room.”

I time it so Nak’s got just enough of a glimpse as I pass with the tray of empties to know it registers but he can’t respond.

I catch him off guard.

Love it.

[NeuroMortis]

Wine.

The new server passed, laden with glasses, and was already out of sight.

The tension broke—at least on Nakadai’s behalf. He averted his eyes, looking off in the direction the girl had gone, biting his tongue. She was good. He had mixed feelings about that. So he went after Reynatti.

“You and I both know what needs to be done No one will bend on either side. One calls it ‘compromise,’ the other calls it ‘demeaning.’ You know, you know there won’t be a ‘truce’ or a ‘coming to terms’ even on a temporary basis—no one is going to tell anyone the best way to go about their business . Might as well tell a Sarlaac to chew its food properly or it could choke…”

Reynatti remained unmoving, scrutinizing. Nakadai returned his attention.

“No, I’m not orthodox. Orthodox has failed. Tradition has failed.” It was Nakadai’s turn to lean in. “ Every attempt to construct order has only served to better educate chaos. I’m not buying into it—the box is too small and has been for a long time, with too many people trying to fit inside it. Not me. Not this guy. I know what I have to do, and I do what I know. I’m not concerned with factions, alliances or any of the other political handjobbing designed to keep the thinkers preoccupied and the idiots beating on eachother until the only ones left are the ones who made the game up in the first place.”

Reynatti shuddered.

It must have been laughter.

“Ngzadzi—would that your smile could hide that tongue.” He leaned back. “Talk is free. Posturing, however, is expensive. You can play this game, your game, for only so long. Only so long until the powers you eschew find you out.”

He sighed.

“Your idealism is passionate as ever. I am glad to see that, in your debauchery, you haven’t succumbed to utter cynicism.”

Nakadai’s smirk widened but something, something in his eyes, flashed.

“ Debauchery? You don’t get it, do you?” His finger stabbed at the table for emphasis—lightly, but emphasizing each point. “ This means nothing. All of this, nothing. It is a means to an end that allows me to get to where I really need to go. This will all be gone in a matter of moments, fading away, ozone—and it won’t make any difference. I will take what is offered to me, use it, and discard it, no attachments, no debts, everyone’s happy.”

“And where do you ‘ need to go’, Ngzadzi?” As the words left those alien lips Nakadai cursed himself. “Is it the destination, or—“

“—or the journey yeah yeah,” The younger man waved him off. “Another morsel from the philosophical grab bag. Look, I’ve got guests arriving. I appreciate the concern, but I really have to—“

The immense figure stood, quite nimbly extracting himself from the booth despite his size.

“ Guests. Business prospects, accomplices, debtors or marks?”

Nakadai nodded, grinning.

“Yes.”

Reynatti adjusted his belt.

“Going to Koda, are you?”

And Nakadai utterly froze, a burst of adrenaline shocking his system.

The older man shuddered.

Most definitely a laugh.

“What’s that smile hiding, Ngzadzi?” He finished with the belt, glancing about the establishment. “You see, my boy, you are not so far out of the box as you believe. And while I consider you inflicted with youthful piss and flush, I do understand how vital it is that you continue your course. But, Ngzadzi—“

And here he spoke in Nakadai’s own tongue.

“—you must learn to be even more subtle, more crafty than you already are. If you make allies with enemies, if you pitch your toss with the hated and feared—this is wise. Even the hated hate, and the feared are fearful—your alliances are not based upon perception of moral fibre, but upon character.”

He allowed this to sink in.

“You’re going to Koda to try the hand you’ve drawn…you’ll succeed, or die. There will be no bluffing. There will be no mere failure. Those who ally with you will ally for their own motivations—know this. You must base your judgement not upon their ambitions, but upon their character. And my only word I leave with you, Ngzadzi, is this: your character, at this time, must darken. Not in terms of morality, but in opacity. You are transparent in all the wrong places.”

Nakadai had no words. The smile was gone. He merely stared at his mentor, nonplussed, for the first time in a great while.

“And, Ngzadzi—“ Reynatti finished, the old warrior turning to go. “ You have less than ten minutes to change.”

With that, he left.

[Garet Andrys]

The bachannal on the ground floor was making Garet uncomfortable.

He was repressed. He never denied that -- it was a survival trait. His homeworld did not lend itself toward displays of exhibitionism or uninhibited behavior... caution and forethought were the paths to survival.

But these do not need to concern themselves with survival. Here, survival is a trivial concern at best.

Well, perhaps not. Garet suspected the fight for survival, in this place, simply happened on a different plateau.

Someone was watching him. Two someone's actually. They looked like guards, one on each end of the room, and they were communicating with each other through commlinks as they made their way to his location.

I guess no-one told them we were coming. Blast it all...

Speaking softly to the shadow, lips barely moving, he said "we're going to have company. I don't know what they want, but they're armed." He glanced 'casually' at one of them, threading his way through a crowd of rich, drunk revelers.

"Very well armed. Unfortunately."

And blatantly carrying weapons that are profoundly illegal on this planet. At least, they were the last time I was here. Who owns this building, anyway?

[Wine Marisinthe]

Under the breath:

"Annnnnd there they are."

Difficult to ascertain which of them will notice first. There are several servers milling about the crowd, intermingling and cajoling, working it for copious credits and invitations to prospects of more personally lucrative endeavours.

But, as a beacon draws the viewer from chaos to order...there.

Concluding matters at the table of a pair of quite inebriated businessmen, she smiles brightly while playing them expertly—and as she leaves the ogling table the newcomers might notice her expression shift softly from perky to apathetically aloof during the few feet of her approach.

As a jaded predator eyes a beast of comparable size—not giving ground, nor taking it—she takes an objective summary of the obvious characteristics of the newcomers.

An impossible resemblance to the woman at the bar they’d just—

The two heavies have halted, taking in the server, who doesn't acknowledge them in the least.

And they back off.

“This way,” Patented Hostess Grin transforming her expression into the poster face of All Things Warm and Cuddly she turns, gliding smoothly and gracefully into the crowded maze of booths…

Of course it’s her.

Over the shoulder:

“Mind the step.”

They ascend four stairs, strolling past tinted windows gazing down upon the affluent area bordering the city’s business/pleasure district.

Blithe leading through more diverse conversation, more exotic gatherings—the local starhumpers left behind. Now, interstellar businessmen cajole expensive escorts, planetary emissaries engage in high stakes conversation, and the elite of Coruscant simply lay low from the prying eyes of media and fame, shedding identity for a few blessed moments.

Mercurial flow through the space without a moment of hesitation, awkwardness or jostle, despite the occasional obstacle of chair or hands or inebriated would-be-someone. Some hail her; she ignores them, deaf and blind, all the while the faintest of smirks curling the lips under bluesparkle eyes…

Fluid halt and turn; a gesture of open arm inviting them forward:

Within the high backed booth sits the man from earlier in the evening, one hand tracing an eyebrow as he gazes down upon the vista below.

“ Please feel comfortable in taking a seat,” her voice soft blood from painless wound.

“My name is Wine. Should you have needs this evening, I will endeavour to meet them—“

Gives Garet a look that in the nanosecond of it’s entirety reveals her communicative skills run far deeper than words, a look which disturbs and entices, and without missing a beat:

“—to the utmost ability of the establishment.”


---------

[Garet Andrys]

He didn't notice her at first. He did notice the security guards stop, do a quick comm-check, then back off. Then he saw who they were looking at.

She looked familiar, but it wasn't until she spoke that it clicked.

The pretty one.

From the bar. Drowning ghosts.

Garet had a sudden flash of memory... The Suit, grinning, winking at her.

"This way," she says. She is pretty, and she exudes charm, and grace, and other qualities not fit for public discussion amongst proper company. Garet was almost certain it was forced... well, not exactly forced. A facade. Easily worn, easily discarded.

No coincidences.

He wondered what she was doing at that bar. Waiting for him to arrive? Why? He shook his head slightly... that made little sense. He'd arrived planetside not an hour before, and had picked that bar completely at random

so he thought

and, as he'd already reminded himself, there was no point in staging such an elaborate "show" simply to hire him. More likely that he wandered into a story already in progress, and The Suit decided to improvise.

He followed her up four stairs, hoping the shadow could keep up. It was all he could do to keep up himself. She didn't walk like a hostess... she walked like someone who found the role restrictive.

But she was good at it. So it was, he decided, an act.

The pretty girl with the not-beaten-down-enough-to-be-a-lifer gait led them to the second floor, all the while playing the role of the merry hostess, smiling, beaming, radiating gaiety and congeniality. She didn't tell them where they were going, Garet didn't ask.

She slowed, stepped to one side, and with a flourish ushers them into a booth -- where The Suit already sits, preoccupied.


“Please feel comfortable in taking a seat,” her voice like soft blood from a painless wound. “My name is Wine. Should you have needs this evening, I will endeavour to meet them—“ she gives Garet a look that in the nanosecond of it’s entirety reveals her communicative skills run far deeper than words, a look which disturbs and entices, and without missing a beat “—to the utmost ability of the establishment.”

Reading between the lines was a game Garet played well. There was a lot crammed in there, most of it important. One of the most important things she didn't say was I am the most dangerous person in this building.

He'd already figured that out. On one level, at least, he was absolutely certain that was true.

He slid into the booth, sitting, facing The Suit with an expression of studied (but polite) neutrality. This might very well be the other most dangerous person in the building, on an entirely different level.

This made him distinctly uncomfortable.

Oh well. I'm here.

"I have a few questions," he said finally. "But, depending on how you want to run this, I'm willing to hold off. Until you're finished."

[Sladggrlok]

Sladg had tailed along behind Garet, as they had agreed earlier, comfortable in knowing that almost no one in the room would see him.

It was rewarding to be able to watch without being seen, it made many things possible that ordinarily weren't.

He remained silent, goggles firmly in place as the dark-hair narrowly averted trouble for he and Garet.

It was not too surprising to see her here, somehow.

Garet didn't seem surprised at all.
But, he was a human Understander. The interactions between humans was plain to his eyes, and so he would have no trouble expecting such a thing.

The girl moved quickly, forcing Sladg to break into an easy trot so that his short legs could match the stride of the humans.
But in the low gravity that most species prefered, he could do it forever without getting tired. He basically lept up the stairs, as it was faster than taking them one at a time.

He considered the difference between the Dark-Hair here, and the way she had been before. Here she moved surely, without hesitation, like a powerful businessman in his own office.

She cast many subtle looks at people, particularly at Garet when she spoke as they reached the table where the puzzle of Nakadai sat.

As she passed away again, Sladg inhaled, and caught a whiff of her, and tiny trace of old blood hung on her, mostly hidden beneath other scent.
He remembered the torn fingernail.

This Wine was also a puzzle.

Nakadai had yet to speak, but Garet had spoken.

Sladg now hopped up into the booth, standing comfortably on the seat, and pulled off his gog's, laying them on the table.

He leaned into the soft cushion behind him, his dense fur splaying out onto the rich fabric like an ink blot.

He blinked his red eyes at Nakadai, cast a brief look at Garet, gave a small bow in Nakadai's direction, and then spoke.

"Mr. Nakadai, You have my interest."

[NeuroMortis]

Nakadai stood, nodding at the statements made, smoothing his jacket, grinning as he proffered a hand to the seated gentlemen.

“Glad you could stop by…although I expect the prospect of hanging out to see what our friend had to say as he spilled his guts might have been equally tempting.”

He knows he shouldn’t wait for the reaction and doesn’t.

Nodding once to Wine, the server delivered an ingratiating smile and departed.

Retaking his seat, he assesses his guests before speaking.

A moment.

Then:

“That guy was something else, wasn’t he? Amazing.”

A shake of the head.

“Do you ever stop to think, ‘How odd it is, that such diversity can co-exist in one space without continual bloodshed of immense proportions?’ Why genocide isn’t simply the norm, races instantly warring and crushing other races the moment of discovery…Sure, there's the exception to the norm, but for the most part the more intelligent beings strive to draw whatever benefits they can from the anomalous...there’s always a period of grace, in which both sides strive to learn something to their gain before cutting the legs out from one another..."

And odd dichotomy of amusement and genuine interest in their reactions hung gossamer woven into his words, as though lifting the lid from a time capsule to peer inside at the “valuables” therein…

“Of course, some races are more impetuous, eager to exert authoritative measures on any they deem ‘unfit’ or ‘unworthy.’ Yet others are completely left alone for no reason at all, like their activities benefit no one, yet they're kept around just in case they might be needed at some point for something someone needs later on...

Take the Outer Fringe planet Koda, for instance. Until a short time ago, the whole place was filled with nothing but Kryd slaves and Residian workers—lobster people and wacked out Kessel export junkies. Not an advanced species by any means. Anyone go in and wipe them out? No. Perfectly good planet, virtually brimming with natural resources. Anyone’s game...left in the hands of a mining colonization and their own devices…

Except most of them disappeared.”

The smile of That’s the punch line!

A beat. Then:

"Hey, Ragne, good to see ya."

And a an obvious security guard passed, executing a perfect a double take. He grinned, holding out a beefy hand.

"Heya Nak! You just get in?"

Nakadai nodded, shaking the man's hand.

The guard noted Garet, then Sladg--and barely failed hiding yet another double take at the “sight” of the Defel. He regarded Nak with poorly hidden concern.

"You in town for business, or...?"

The younger man laughed.

"They're my guests, Ragne. Meet Mr. Chaucer and Mr. Kipling.”

All attentions drawn forward.

The guard nodded, wary but placated under duress.

"Nice to meet you both."

A moment.

The guard stares at the guests.

The guests stare at the guard.

Nak stares at the guests, then the guard.

Palpable awkwardness…

Tension increase.

One of Nak’s eyebrows twitches.

And a familiar woman’s voice crackles softly over a concealed Commlink on the guard’s person:

“Ragne, there’s some kind of critter in the lockroom—can you kill it?”

Intensity derails.

And the guard, Ragne, smiles suddenly.

“I, uh, should go see what the hell she’s talking about. Good to see you, Nak.”

Nakadai nodded, sniffing and blotting a drop of moisture from the table with the little finger on his left hand.

“You too.”

And the guard is gone.

A shaking of the head and Nakadai reclined, arms along the length of the back of the couch.

“ Acquisition,” he began, winking at Garet. “It means different things to different people. To some, the word reeks of personal wealth, of riches beyond compare. To others, it exudes power; the connotations of the word include fame, status,—“

A glance at the Defel.

“—corporate takeovers and the foundation of great enterprises.”

A new server arrived, placing three drinks upon the table—she made brief eye contact with Nakadai and departed.

And almost as if on cue:

“Still others hear acquisition whispered to the senses as possession—the harnessing of forces one does not own, nor cannot fully control.”

He took up a glass, holding it there, examining the contents.

“Whether it means the attainment of knowledge, or the conquest of worlds—it is something which everyone seeks.”

The glass lowered, held from the top between fingers of one hand, swirling gently as he rotated it, staring over it to his guests.

“And at the present, the current situation promises satisfaction, whatever the interpretation of the word—but it will take a combination of factors to harvest it. Those factors, needless to say, are the abilities of people. And as incredible fortune would have it—another word with entirely different meanings to each of you—the two of you are not only more than qualified in your unique abilities,” he paused, assessing them, nodding.

“You’re not afraid to use them.”

His free hand gestured in offering to the other drinks.

“Don't worry, they're good. No obligations here. It's a business proposition, nothing more. You are free to go any time you like. But please,"

Endearing. A host to his guests, without condescension.

"Be my guests. Relax."

That grin.

"They're on me."

He raised his glass.

"To acquisition.”

[Garet Andrys]

Garet took a glass, and raised it to meet The Suit's. He tried to remember anything at all about a planet called Koda... nothing came to mind.

He began to relax, ever so slightly. This was a familiar scene... though admittedly, the Prospective Employer was played with considerably more flair than usual, and his enthusiasm was compelling. Garet was willing to listen to what he had to say.

Of course, to date he has said much and very little at the same time.

Summary: Something on Koda has disappeared. People want things, but don't always know what they are. You two seem well suited to doing something we need done.

The three main points did not connect in an obvious manner... which meant that The Suit wasn't finished talking.

"What was it that disappeared? The mining colony?"

[Sladggrlok]

Sladg watched Nakadai with great interest, though his dark face displayed little to a human.

Had this been another of his kind speaking, they would have noticed an alert stance of his ears, a forward placement of the hands on the table, and a slight shifting of weight forward to indicate engagement in the situation.

However, Sladg remained impassive, though his ears did swing forward somewhat out of pure reflex.

Nakadai's argument thus far was obtuse, from the perspective of the Defel, though it did have it's salient points.

He was not sure about acquistion. He acquired simply as something to do. He was a Seeker after all.

The issue of Koda was more interesting.
He had heard of it, naturally.
A world of possibility, but it had proven to be of little consequence, with no great mineral wealth, no resident intelligent life, and a very large slave population.
Most of the big mining concerns had essentially pulled out, abandoning their slave workers to fend for themselves, he seemed to recall.

An unpleasant situation.

But, listening to Nakadai had revealed something.
He was a Storyteller.

The type was rare among the Defel, but specially respected for their ability to appear as things other than themselves.

Nakadai seemed to be the human equivalent.The few moments he had spent with the guard showed this.
Nakadai had drawn him in smoothly.
Just as he had drawn in Garet and himself, perhaps.

And Garet seemed to know this, and cut through the story to reach the heart of the matter.

Stories were good, and had their place.
But business matters were something else again.

Sladg nodded his agreement with Garet's question, and then carefully lapped up some of his drink.

The glass hadn't been designed for someone with a muzzle, obviously, but his nimble tongue sufficed to pull a fair amount out without making a mess, though the plunk plunk plunk was distinctly out of place. Had Sladggrlok had any sense of when to be embarrassed, he might have been.

[NeuroMortis]

The liquor went down smooth, light as Ambrosia, leaving a momentarily lucid euphoria as it coursed through the body.


"What was it that disappeared? The mining colony?"

Nakadai nodded, mid-drink, then replaced the glass upon the table, folding his hands.

“Let me ask you a question,”

He eyed an uneven spot on one of his cuticles, and measuredly pushed it back.

“Why are you here? Entertainment would be the simplest answer. The satisfaction of curiosity, sure. Boredom. This burg is so full of everyone doing the same thing that it’s sometimes hard to remember why the hell we’re even hanging around. Feel free to be utterly candid in your response, even if it’s to say you’re pissed at me for stringing you along.’

That insouciant grin. Then:

“Don’t worry—there is a point to all of this. Sort of a quid pro quo thing—I need to know if you’re really the people I'd like to work with to help me pull something off of this magnitude."

[Sladggrlok]

Sladg appraised Nakadai and his grooming carefully.

Why was he here?
To conduct business.
The same as the Storyteller.

"Nakadai, i am here for the same reason as you.
I came to Coruscant to look for business partners.
I too, seek an advantage. I will "cut the legs out of from under" those who make a challenge to me, but i have little interest in those who do not, or who have nothing to offer."

A dim movement across his face, what might have been the raising of hackles, that passed, and was gone.

"So far i have had little success, for as you say, too many do the same thing here, and few are willing to risk much. I have determined that he" a slight gesture to Garet, who he left nameless, for it was not his place to introduce, "has something to offer, and he has determined that i have something to offer him.

You tell a very good story.

But, what of substance do you have beneath it?"

[Garet Andrys]

Garet shrugged and took his time to reply.

"I arrived on Coruscant..." he looked up and over The Suit's shoulder at the comm unit on the wall. "A little over an hour ago."

He looked at the people sitting in the booths across from their own, and wondered which of them were actually plainclothes security, ready to usher them out of the room.

"I haven't been to Coruscant in a little over fifteen years. About twenty minutes ago, a man I've never seen in my life," he indicates The Suit with a wave of his hand, "seeks me out -- in a very public manner -- and invites me to an interview."

He takes another drink.

"I believe you'll agree with me when I classify this as a rather... unusual method of recruitment. And I think you'll understand my sense of obligation to respond when power is displayed so freely in what is apparently a needlessly wasteful manner."

He stressed the word "apparently," and hoped The Suit would pick up on it.

"None of that," he continued, "has any bearing as to whether I would be committed to your endeavor -- since as of yet, I have no idea what that endeavor is."

[NeuroMortis]

“Intelligent answers, intelligent questions.”

He gazed from one to the other.

"Spoken like true businessmen out to protect their interests. I can respect that.”

He leans forward again. For the first time, his tone drops into a timbre of intimacy, of conversation reserved for directed earshot.

“I’ve made my living off doing nothing but taking advantage of opportunities which arise before the public really understands they exist. The only way to do this is by careful observation. The catalyst for opportunity is change. As such, I don’t look for specifics. Too limiting. I simply look for changes.”

A look of commiseration, to assure they’re following.

“36 hours ago, a change occurred in the Venator sector, something I’ve actually been keeping an eye on for…well, for quite some time. This change…this change occurred in an area which attracted the attentions of a rather exapansive hunk of metal carrying a persuasive number of people in uniforms and battle armor, if you catch my drift.”

A couple passing, laughing loudly, the man gripping the posterior of the woman firmly, white knuckled, and she’s burying her face into his neck in her hysterics…

“…like I said, not too many years back the populace of this little lay-by rock diminished drastically virtually overnight—I say virtually because no one really knows how long it took before anyone anywhere realized the place had been vacated. Surveys indicated that violent storm activity had swept over the planet. Surveys also indicated residual traces of meteoric profusion punching several holes in the atmosphere. Surveys indicated hostility to life and, as such, too big a risk to deem it inhabitable.

Too bad there’s abundant plant and wildlife there.

Way I see it, there are a great many possibilities as to where the lowlifes went, whether on their own or escorted by benefactors generous enough to pity the entire race of mutated, drug addicted freaks. Because everyone figured that, the sector being somewhat under the dominant sway of the kindest faction ever to grace the galaxies, it was only a matter of time before they reached out charitably and took them under their wing.”

Another drink.

“So, with the recent change taking place in the general vicinity of said uninhabitable planetoid, a friendly little faction of this wonderful charity sent some do-gooders out to see if they could benefit in any way. And they were so excited by what they found, they couldn’t wait to land.”

A broad grin.

“My sources say they were so excited they plumb forgot to fire the retros on the way down.”

[Garet Andrys]

Garet struggled for a moment to sort out The Suit's words.

"And what was this change... the one you were waiting for?"

[NeuroMortis]

Nakadai regards Garet, finishing his drink.

"An increase in the range of measurable organic energy," the glass touches the table.

He spins it.

"An increase of roughly twelve thousand percent."

[Garet Andrys]

Twelve thousand percent.

An increase in the range of measureable organic energy of staggering proportions.

Of twelve thousand percent.

"Organic" energy was a relatively loose term, but all living things were energy producing factories. Something happened on that planet that produced a surge of energy equivalent to twelve thousand times the amount of energy that every creature on that planet, combined, produced.

Twelve thousand percent.

Garet wasn't sure what interested him more -- that something on that small, insignificant mining planet was able to bring down an Imperial Cruiser, using energy independent of any measurable form of technology, or that it did so in a way that would surely attract attention.

The Imperials wouldn't chalk up the loss of an Imperial Cruiser to "forgetfulness," The Suit's wit notwithstanding. So unless whatever was able to direct a twelve thousand percent spike in a planet's organic energy towards a spacecraft was unbelievably stupid, the intent of the attack was not to hide something, but to send a message.

What was the message? What was so special about Koda?

Garet shook his head in amazement.

"You seem to have captured my interest," he said dryly.

He looked at the Shadow briefly, but Slagd remained stoic in his featurelessness.

"So," he said, studying The Suit carefully, "you were expecting this event? Or something on that scale? You did say you'd been keeping an eye on it for some time."

He tried to picture, in his mind, what the combined organic energy from 12,000 life-bearing planets would look like, arcing through space towards a comparitively fragile scrap of metal floatin in space.

That much energy could probably destroy a planet. Overkill on a cruiser. An organic Death Star...

That wasn't a pleasant thought.

"Tell me... other than a desire to know what the hell is going on -- which is a natural thing to want to know, but seems a bit lacking as rationale for a business venture -- what is your 'business' interest in this matter?

"And how do my friend and I fit into this? I still don't know exactly what it is you want us to do, but based on what you've told me so far this doesn't seem like the kind of job where you walk into a bar and find the first two people who look like they can keep their mouths shut. This is way too big for that. So either, out of the entire planet of Coruscant, we came up as the most qualified people for the job, or the most qualified people for the job are unavialable."

Or they were available, and never came back.

Garet reached for his glass. Again. His head was spinning, but it wasn't from the drink.

Twelve thousand percent.

Twelve thousand.

[Wine Marisinthe]

…the frell are they all COMING from?

Readjustment of skirt, straddling “Ragne” in the narrow lockroom.

You were no Sith, shapeshifter, but what your kind lacks in ability you make up for in advantage of deceit—

Moment of concentration—the area beyond the door, the closest booths, the passing servants…

—and, unfortunately, numbers.

It’s a simple matter to seal the lockroom—

Equally problematic and liberating that I can’t rely on Nak’s crew anymore…

Slipping back into the revelers. Stares. Glares. Hormones. Secrets. Heat.

…but some of you might have done your homework…

Laughter. Singing. Table thumping. Music.

…come on…

Bulwarks manning station two not in position.

…Nak…

Couple passes; obligatory sell-the-Wampa-ice-cream-grin. Their expressions rank me

He likes, she hates

Through station three. Julius smiles first at my chest before meeting my eyes. Reassuring.

“Where’s Evert?”

Julius shrugs, grinning. I return the favor, along with

“You need to pull your head out .”

Julius straightens up.

“I need to pull my head out.”

Up four steps. Get back to Nak…


…and I have a bad feeling about this.

[Garet Andrys]

As soon as Garet asked his question, he decided something was wrong.

The hostesses had been coming and going past their booth with a certain amount of regularity -- this was to be expected. Their job consisted of a very specific routine: check on the customers, return to the kitchen, check on more customers, return to the kitchen. Depending on the style of the particular hostess, some spent more time with the customers than others, but after a few hours of work that time would remain roughly the same for each of the customers she dealt with. Garet had managed to get a feel for this pattern within the first few minutes of the conversation simply by observing the hostesses as they interacted with nearby booths.

The other traffic, however -- the comings and goings of people who were ostensably customers -- was also reaching a level of regularity that was making him very uncomfortable. There was no reason for a patron to have to keep to any kind of schedule... you sat at your table until you wanted to do something else, and then you did it. So when he noticed the people strolling by their booth at fairly even intervals, Garet decided that something was afoot. They were being spied on, at the very least... and he didn't think the spies were The Suit's people.

Were they only spying, or were their intentions more direct? Garet didn't know. He looked at The Suit -- he seemed oblivious to the danger. That meant nothing, of course. The Suit was obviously very good and letting people see only what he wanted them to see. The Shadow seemed equally oblivious, but that was equally useless speculation. For all he knew, Sladg could smell the danger, and was simply trying to figure out a polite way of warning everyone else.

He shifted slightly in his seat, wondering how best to move if trouble started. Sladg was blocking his way to the aisle, but that wouldn't necessarily be the case when trouble started. He glanced over the balcony momentarily, and dismissed the notion. He wasn't a Jedi, and was too good a shot to miss the ground if he tried to jump.

He pushed against the side of the table gently. It didn't move... bolted to the ground, of course. He wasn't surprised, but it was disappointing nonetheless. An overturned table usually served well as both momentary distraction and makeshift shield.

The only weapon he had was the VK hidden in his jacket sleeve -- it would have been too much trouble to smuggle anything larger through customs, considering the length of time he'd planned on staying planetside.

The VK will do its job... I just need to figure out how to live long enough to give it a chance.

[Sladggrlok]

Had Sladg been a human, he would have been frowning very deeply.

As he was not, his ears merely flicked a few times, while he stood listening to the exchange between Garet and Nakadai.

The trouble with storytellers is that they tell stories.
They don't speak in straight lines.

Had Nakadai been a Defel storyteller, Sladg would have been able to decipher the hidden meaning of the words through the ritual of movement and posture.

Here, he had no such tools, for while he could hear minute changes in tone, see subtle changes in tension, he didn't know that they meant.

He had to rely on facts, what he knew about humans, and Garet.

The Venator sector was generally controlled by Imperials. A concern for Sladg, as it was near to the space he would be shipping Ardanium through, and the Imperials would desire the ore and metal greatly... making them potential customers or a potential threat.

However, Nakadai had refered to them in good terms, as kind and charitable.

Nakadai was not a fool, nor had anything happened there, nothing that would cause the Imperials to lose control, for Sladg was reasonably well informed. And the Empire was not kind or charitable. Sladg knew this firsthand.

So, Nakadai was purposefully saying the opposite of what was true... perhaps to emphasize it's importance?

Sladg carefully took in Nakadai's posture and tone of voice, while considering what he said.

Eventually, it came down to something had happened to/on Koda, and the Empire had sent a ship, which had crashed. Or something very like that. He could not yet hope to sort out the details from the story, only catch the beginning of it's curves.

Now this business of an energy increase, that Sladg could grasp.

Twelve Thousand times the amount of energy put out by all of the life on the planet was significant.

Nearly astronomical in the literal sense.

Whoever could direct that kind of energy would be very very dangerous.

And, they had issued a challenge to the remnant of the Empire.

This, if he had derived the right things from the Storyteller's talk, was very plain to see.

Garet was interested, but wary, by his questioning.

Indeed, it was unclear how Nakadai or anyone else stood to benefit, except by controlling the energy, or those who did.

It was easier for Sladg to see how he and Garet fit into the picture.

Garet was an Understander. He saw clearly, and would choose well, and would do well regardless of the situation, most likely.

Sladggrlok himself was a Seeker, and could be counted on to investigate, to move forward, to uncover. He was also uniquely suited as a race to such things, at least around non-Defel.

Nakadai either sensed or guessed these things, though it seemed likely that it was no accident that he had found them. Even if Garet had been on the planet for only a few hours. Perhaps one of his former employers had suggested him.

For the moment, as he was interested in the answers to the questions, he remained silent, though he nodded vigorously (so that the Humans would be able to see it) in agreement with Garet as he asked his questions.

He was watching Nakadai consider the answers when a change in Garet caught his attention and Sladg moved his attention back to him.

Garet's eyes flicked around the room, following people as they passed by, considering.
His baseline tension increased slightly, and then certain muscles loosened, particularly his arms.
He shifted and bumped the table, and the skin around his eyes crinkled slightly.

He seemed to be preparing for a fight.

Sladg met his new friend's eyes, and puzzled out how to see if Garet was indeed preparing for a fight without directly asking, and revealing his thoughts to the world in general.

He moved forward slightly, and for the first time made gestures with his hands as he spoke.

"I will move to the other side"
-lightening fast slash of a clawed finger, in an arc that took in the room, and ended pointing at the other side of the table-
"and give you room to be more comfortable."

He met Garet's eyes, and made a short nod.
Then the outstretched hand thumped down onto the table swiftly, and Sladg executed a graceful vault (snatching his goggles on the way up) that left him several feet over the table, upside down for a moment (his glowing eyes the only point of reference has his shadowy form twisted in movement), and ended with him dropping softly to his feet in an easy crouch, facing Garet across the table.

More eye contact, and slight tilt of the head, muzzle pointed slightly towards the room in general.

"This is better for you and I, yes?"

[Garet Andrys]

Garet nodded back at Sladg, smiling for the second time tonight.

"Much better, thank you." He looked at The Suit and added "hope you don't mind. Just want to be able to stretch my legs, if necessary."

He said it casually, all the while looking out at the other booths.

[NeuroMortis]

He'd known it was only a matter of time.

And in his business, the term multitasking referred to more than a mere juggling act between fulfilling priorities.

Even now, even as the Defel played musical couches his mind pored over the failsafes.

Unbelievably, the core of his security force had been compromised. Chaucer and Kipling, indeed--and Ragne even hadn't batted an eye.

So Nak had, in the raising of an eyebrow.

And the instant response:

"…kind of critter in the lockroom-can you kill it?"

Queen to king's knight.

Check?

Ragne was deep-he'd been entrenched in the Nebulae since its inception. Whomever had gotten to him-if it was indeed him-went deeper than loyalty or morality, had peeled back the man's psyche to sway him.

Which Nak decided was improbable.

His thoughts had strayed to Reynatti-

(…opacity…you have exactly ten minutes to change…)

--and realized the old man was not only right, but that his entire conversation was nothing more than the old Kel Dorian's way of screaming in his ear, hoping he'd finally wake up:

He was about to go down.

Why did he mention Koda, then? Why give-

…

Frelling hell.

It was right there in front of him.

Not Reynatti.

He'd told one other person, less than a day ago-

As the guard departed, Nakadai couldn't help shaking his head, leaning back into the couch, spreading his arms to force more oxygen into lungs that really wanted to implode but remembered who was in control. He wanted to laugh out loud, and fought the impulse to ram his head on the table for his stupidity.

Sonofahhhhhwell.

Ok.

In those moments, the real multitasking began.

Time to take a risk.

And the mind of a businessman went to work.

Chances are, whomever had gotten in was somewhat familiar with him.

He began talking of acquisitions, buying time-all the while playing toward the payoff, drawing it out, knowing they already knew his intentions of at least capitalizing on the Kodan phenom. He hoped to obfuscate the periphery of his proposition while still relaying the core message.

He would not mention the Empire.

He would mention no names, other than what had already been, he now assumed, discovered.

And so he talked, knowing his audience:

The Defel would have to think hard about his wordplay; it was true enough, but unspecific- which would not only buy more time, but would, once the creature 'got it,' ensure his vested interest. And his interest would provide an asset to the venture unmatched, either in savvy of commerce or surety in profitability. When a Defel agreed to a contract, it was irrevocable-so long as the transaction delivered every iota of what had been promised.

One does not lie to a Defel.

Neither does one simply lay out the cards.

To a Defel, good business would be protected business--if nothing were at stake, what could it offer?

The other, Andrys--his credentials preceded his appearance at the table, the underplayed tensile steel of his will and cognitive prowess utterly masked in downplayed, nearly begrudging social interaction. It was nearly difficult to remember the VK wielding ferality displayed only half an hour before-but traces of it remained in a glance or shifting of weight in the same way underwater predators left the surface slightly shimmering after snatching prey from beneath…

Here was a man indomitable.

And Nakadai, the businessman, expected absolutely no less from a potential partner.

And the third party--

Well, what more could be said?

Now, the element of time.

He'd gotten to the root of it quickly enough without playing the trump.

(…opacity…you need to darken…)

They were hooked.

Anyone listening would be as well, but he didn't plan on sticking around to let them in on it.

And now, time had run out.

As the Defel executed the nifty flip over the table and landed beside, Nak removed his heel from the pressure plate beneath and hooked it back slightly, depressing the nub there and locking off the possibility of seeing intestines on display for the second time in one evening.

He glanced at the Defel, grinning, and replied to Garet:

"Not a problem at all. In fact, as soon as our server returns with the check, I was about to suggest we all stretch our legs."

[Garet Andrys]

Garet nodded.

"Yes... the server. She does know we're on the same tab, yes? I mean, she'd figure it out sooner or later, but I'd hate to have her think I was skipping out on the bill."

And I'd hate for her to kill me. That would be very inconvenient.

The back-in-forth traffic in front of the booth was increasing in frequency, which led him to believe that whatever was going to happen, would happen soon.

He "accidentally" hit the edge of the table with his elbow, and spilled drink onto the table and into his lap.

"Clumsy."

He slid out of the booth into the aisle, grabbed a napkin, and began to "clean" the table and bench. He now had a good view of both ends of the aisle. His back was exposed to the other booths, but he'd have to trust Slagd and The Suit to alert him to any trouble from that direction.

Nakadai. Might as well use his name. We're in it now. Whether we've officially agreed to it or not, we're in this deep.

"Sorry about that, Mister Nakadai. I guess I've had a little too much drink."

As he bent into the bench, still "cleaning," he slid the hilt of the VK into the palm of his hand. When he sat back down -- on the end towards the aisle, not the balcony -- that hand rested palm-down on the table. The VK was completely obscured, but easily accessible and activated, if necessary.

When.

When necessary.

[Sladggrlok]

Sladg nodded in agreement with Garet, and with Nakadai.
His intent had been recieved.

The Storyteller seemed to know the danger as well.
Very good.

He watched Garet knock his drink, and move out of the booth, wiping at the table and cushion, his eyes moving quickly about the room after breifly looking at the Defel.

Sladg took the moment to look at Garet, and then break into what would sound to another Defel like extremely forced laughter.

To the rest of the room, it merely sounded like someone beating a bag full of hunting animals.

The yipping and barking noises bounced throughout the space, peircing in their intensity.

He let his tongue wag out oddly while he laughed.

As he laughed, he measured the reactions of the occupants of the room. Many turned towards the table. Nearly all of the humans displayed an increase in tension, their necks contracting, and the head moving back and down, in the classic human startle response, including some security personnel.
Nearly all displayed some standard human surprise motions.

Nearly all.

There were some few that did not... one server, a light-hair female, who looked, and tensed but differently, as her muscles responded in a way that was not quite human.

Another security person responded in a similar manner.

Once Sladg knew what to look for, he burst into another round of yapping and howling, feeling it a bit more this time as he watched a few people spill their drinks at the second eruption of noise.

A third at the bar, probably, who studiosly kept his back turned (there was a mirror in front of him, though he was too distant for Sladg to see what the "human's" eyes were doing).

And possibly a fourth sitting two booths down, who peered out, and stared at Garet's bent form.

He let the laugh subside, and gave a feral grin at the humans around the table. To a Defel baring of teeth meant something rather different, but Sladg understood the human gesture, and decided to try it out, even if they couldn't see it all that well.

"I am sorry. I have only had three or four reasons to laugh since i have come to Coruscant. Most of my time here has been spent in business meetings that didn't go well. But four is a great deal out of so many meetings, is it not?"

He spotted the slight raise of Garet's wrist, and remembered the knife he had taken from flop-ears.

If the not-quite-normal-humans were the enemy, then Garet thought the danger was very near, to have a weapon so ready.

Sladg turned his long head towards Nakadai, as he slipped on his goggles.

"Mr. Nakadai, if we were to enter into an agreement with you, would you provide a route and transportation?"

A simple and pertinent question, with multiple meanings.

Sladg, now bereft of visual markings, dropped into a slight crouch, like a runner, hands resting lightly on the table.

He would have to be careful. It would be easy to overrun himself in this low gravity.

[Wine Marisinthe]

What in the name of Ossuss-

Bizarre series of animal exclamations-and then I stop as the lift doors slip back to reveal a cadre of men in security garb directly before me, all moving as one to the VIP booths.

They're orderly, silent, bent to their purpose-the guests assume they're en route to handle the unruly creature making the ruckus.

Except they were on their way before sound split the air.

From the left café hall come four more-the abandonee's of posts two and three, presumably.

There's Julius. He's adjusting his helmet and he

doesn't understand

looks ready to join in whatever fray might greet them with all he's got.

I fall two steps behind. I look concerned.

Another server joins me. She doesn't look concerned at all. Nor does she say a single word.

Now we're along the final aisle and

we stop.

But I keep going.

"Pardon me," I make my way between. One frowns. Another tenses. Julius startles, then reaches for me-

"Wait, there's-"

But I'm out of his reach, removing the chequebook from the waistband.

Now I'm collateral damage.

There they are, surprised and not surprised at all to see me.

"Sirs, will you be needing anything else this evening?"

They won't hesitate to blow through me to get at them, if that's the objective.

But now I've bought a few more seconds to get us all on the same page, in the form of

"Ma'am?"

Julius, reaching to touch my shoulder.

He does.

His palm is moist, hot.

Shaking.

I meet his gaze. So surprised.

"Hey," charm and warmth. Inviting. Gosh my teeth are white. "Aren't you supposed to be guarding something?"

He's torn: I 'scold', he's guilty. He wants this to be over so he can get me drunk and make love and forget about what he's about to do.

I'm torn. He's naïve, I know he's just a kid. I want him to get out of here before he's torn to pieces.

He swallows.

"Can I talk to you? Over here?"

I laugh aloud.

"I'm on duty. Later."

A man stands from his place at the bar unbuttoning his jacket.

Young debutante daubs at the corners of her mouth two booths down, drops the napkin in her lap, bends under table to

lock and load

retrieve it.

Julius balks.

"No, really. I have to ask you to come with me."

Poor little boy.

I shake my head softly. Down the row, the guards are through with indecision.

There!

And far down the corridor a man speaks into his collar-the same gentleman I saw disemboweled by a disturbed man earlier in the evening.

It would seem the waters run deep this evening.

I find the young guard's eyes for the last time. He's sincerely concerned.

He ought to be.

I tell him so.

"And really...I'm on duty."

[NeuroMortis]

Un....be....lievable...

He spoke low, fluid, smiling.

"Along the western wall to the bar. Door behind. Roof."

Standing.

"Well, gentlemen, I need to use the facil--"

And throwing himself against the wall, the burst sizzled past to burn a hole in the large bay window behind.

The man at the bar was through waiting.

And, as a result, so were the guards.

[Sladggrlok]

The man at the bar turned and stepped away from the bar, catching Sladg's eye, as he spoke into his collar. Now that the 'human' was facing him, Sladg could see that he wore the same face as the man that the shgrral had killed in the bar.

And then he could see the group of perhaps ten 'guards' approaching...
and the dark-hair pushing through them like a Defel through a herd of food animals.

She and one of the guards (a human, this one) stood near the table, while the clump of guards was perhaps seven body lengths away.

She was smooth in her motions, fully in control, and acting as if there is nothing wrong. Relaxed in all the right places. She was not startled at his touch, did not react to his urgency.
Sladg decided Wine was not normal.

He, however, was wet, and Sladg could smell him. He trembled and looked around as he tried to convince her to leave.
He was not a danger.

Not yet, anyway.

Nakadai spoke, just as he had before, except this time, he had actually said something.

Along the western wall to the bar. Door behind. Roof.

And then- blaster fire.

Not a challenged uttered, not a word spoken, not even a direct acknowledgement of their existence.

It was utterly without scruples.

And it made Sladg rather angry.

The howl of air screaming out of the hole in the window into the thin air of upper Coruscant did little to cover the deep roar of challenge that emerged from Sladg's compact frame.

Nak was gone, Garet was already moving, and Julius, the poor fool, was trying to cover the dark-hair, Wine, who really didn't seem to need it. The guards were advancing down the narrow isle, but Sladg saw no more of them as he left the table in a smooth arc, his powerful muscles propelling him towards the wall on the right of the man.

He twisted in mid flight as the being with the blaster adjusted and fired.

But Sladg had impacted on the wall...
and then pushed off.

The blaster bolt struck where he should have been...
but Sladg struck where the man was.

Sladggrlok slammed into his chest, hands first.

The 'man' went down under the impact, and Sladg could hear, as well as feel, the bones in the creature snap under the force of their impact with the floor.

At the end of the drop he pounded the top of his thick skull into the creatures face, driving it hard into the floor.

And then, as the creature attempted to bring it's blaster into play once again, Sladg's sharp predator back feet were on the creatures stomach, and they were pushing in, and then kicking back and with a ripping sound the creature's guts flew back in an impressively wide arc.

The blaster fired, putting a burn on the wall, but Sladg was gone, on the top of the bar, slipping slightly on it's polished surface because of the gore on his toes.

He dropped into a crouch, peering back at the table between the shoulders of two tastefully dressed older humans (who were too stunned by the appearnce of the small bloody footed Defel to move), in order to determine what had happened to his new friends, and preparing for the wave of guards that would surely come around the large center divider to block their escape.

[Garet Andrys]

Garet dove onto the floor, rolling up into a crouch, moving just past the pretty one and some kid far too young to be in this business. He eyed the security guards, raising their weapons... and a two booths down a well-dressed blonde peered around a bench, holding a blaster.

He threw. The VK flew through the air, buzzing angrily, and bit deep into her arm. She screamed

in a voice that was not precisely human

and twitched, undamaged arm clawing for the blade, blaster dropping from her hand.

Not waiting, Garet dove forward, hit the ground, and reached for the blaster.

There.

His hand closed around the handle. He rolled right, firing at the woman (still clawing for the blade in her arm), hitting her in the chest. He scrambled into the booth, pushing the still-smoking corpse out of the way.

He grabbed the VK, gave it a short tug, and slid the blade out of her arm.

The aisle filled with streaks of light and burning ozone.

[Wine Marisinthe]

It's time.

No emotion, only peace

A man out of her sight draws his bead and

"Well gentlemen, I need to use the facil--"

push

I know the feeling; an invisible fist striking the sternum, forcing the air from the lungs, a tingling through the ribs. Nak hits the wall and the burst misses the mark to scorch and fuse the glass behind, allowing the chill from on high.

The men awaiting signal, have it.

And the barrels come up.

And the young Julius stares at my neck as I'm looking at Nak, probably wondering how I got that scar, and

No passion, only serenity

I spin, low, hooking my lead leg behind to sweep him from his feet. He pinwheels into the booth adjacent Nak's, landing in the lap of some stogie sucking clueless.

The guy with the VK moves faster than he did in the bar; in the time it takes me to come full circle he's already launched his blade, negotiating the faux whore in the sequins. He follows up, snagging her heater for his own.

Now it's just me in the aisle.

And now come the bursts.

No chaos--

And as my mind clears, my body does its thing.

Again with the stones. Again. Again with the stones. Run the stones. Emptiness. Run the stones. Clarity. Run the stones.

Keep them suspended, run them. Concentrate on nothing, they are nothing, they are you. Part of you, concentrate, run the stones. Up and up, high and up, run the stones.

The rest is not you, do not let it in. The stones are yours, keep astride the stones. Run them. Keep them up. Run the stones.

Pushing off, one foot atop the doorknob on the right. One upon the seat back on the left. World circles as I launch, spotting off the ChemNoz spigot above

In Case of Fire, funny

and holding this vertical axis as my reference I leap, splitting their focus.

No longer are they sure.

No longer will they work as one; the variable has shifted improperly, tactics overruling expectation.

I spin into them where they cannot draw a bead, into the heart of them where men fear to fight--I reach them there, up close, inside the length of arms, and there

--only harmony

my body does its thing, purchasing time at their expense.


-------

[NeuroMortis]

--ities.

He met the wall first with his shoulders, then the back of his head; not hard enough to daze him, but sufficient enough to knock the smile from his face.

For a moment.

Into the seat, then low. A fleeting glimpse of Garet, a flash of Wine--where was the Defel?

Something stuck him--warm. Wet.

Disgusting.

A look about answered his previous.

Despite the new condition of his jacket, that was when the grin returned.

Scoring of the wall, ozone, a high shriek as something behind the wall ruptured.

Taking his cue from the Defel squatting atop the bar--he must have looked insane to his own species, as Nakadai caught the slavering, nodding grin from the creatures muzzle quite clearly, denoting what must have been many gestures of repetition--Nakadai went in low, leaping from the booth, skidding in the brackish refuse of a would-be assassin, sliding directly to the bar and vaulting over.

Not too graceful, but effective.

Now to find the panic hatch...

[Garet Andrys]

One... two... three...

He popped up over the back of the booth and squeezed the trigger twice.

He slouched back behind the booth divider as some of the guards returned fire. Not all of them; the others were trying to draw a bead on the pretty one.

An excercise in futility.

He felt the booth shudder, and inched over to the left as part of it was blown to bits.

Running out of cover. Need a distraction.

No distraction presented itself.

Cursing, he rolled into the aisle again, firing. One guard was thrown backwards. A flick of the wrist, and the VK hummed through the air for the second time, slicing into another's leg -- a good shot at that distance

and with my off-hand, no less

but not an incapacitating one. The guard fell to one knee.

Garet dove into the next booth. The wounded guard pulled the trigger.

A ball of white-hot plasma tore into his side, and Garet gagged in pain as some of the flesh on his right side burned away from the rest of his body. He fell onto the booth bench, almost letting go of the blaster and barely remembering to pull his legs up to get them out of the aisle. The stench of his own burning flesh filled his nostrils, and his head was spinning.

It hurt like hell.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to turn around on the bench, head facing the aisle. He hissed, sucking air through his teeth -- the plasma was still burning into his flesh, and would continue to do so, slowly, until it could be treated.

The top of the barrier disintegrated from blaster fire. Garet pushed against the back of the booth, forcing his head and gun-arm out into the aise. He fired three times in quick succession, dropping two.

More of the booth disintegrated, and Garet rolled onto the floor under the table. He landed on his side, a spasm of pain causing him to drop the blaster. He groaned and shook his head, trying to stay focused.

Focus. You're not dead yet. Keep it that way.

He grabbed the blaster and crawled further under the table as more of the booth was blown away, right down to the bench.

[Sladggrlok]

Sladg watched closely as the Dark-hair dropped the young guard expertly, and then sailed off just before the hail of blasterfire came down the narrow aisle between the wall and the booths, riddling the wall with holes and blast marks.

Garet had moved toward the guards, and had thrown the knife, before Sladg lost sight of him. He had heard someone die, though, before all the blaster fire, and it hadn't been Garet... so he assumed it was the 'woman' a few booths down.

Nakadai caught his attention next, as he came hurtling across the room, just barely avoiding getting fried by blaster fire, and burned by the cloud of steam that emerged from a hole in the wall. The enemy didn't appear to be terribly concerned about killing everyone in the room, judging from the amount of fire they let loose.

Sladg let loose a short laugh when he saw the condition of Nakadai's jacket, but regained his focus quickly.

The people at the bar were starting to get frightened (his own presence not helping matters any), and a dull roar had sprung up in the room.
Sladg blocked it out.

The guards hadn't started coming around the corner yet, apparently occupied with Wine and Garet, so Sladg set off to get there before they did.

He ran down the top of the bar, leaving a bloody trail behind him, then dived off when he reached the end. He landed in a low crouch on all fours, just as one of the guards jogged around the corner. He didn't see the short shadow on his right, and Sladg took advantage of this by striking the man cleanly in the side of his knee with the edge of his hand.

There was a sickening crunch as the leg buckled in an unnatural way, and the man went down, screeching.
Sladg leapt on his chest, and turning to face the rest of the guards, tore his throat out with a back foot as the creature brought his blaster to bear. The blaster went wide, and fired into another creature that had broken off from the group to attack Sladg.
The bolt struck him in the face, and he went down, rather headless.

Sladg had a nice view of Wine dealing out an astonishing amount of damage to the crowd.

He watched her spin smartly, her foot smashing the leg out from underneath a guard, then the foot snapped back and crushed the knee of another, as her motion lowered her head just in time for one to shoot a friend in the face when her body vacated the space that had been targeted.

He grunted in approval.

There were perhaps three left who weren't engaging (futilely) with Wine, but were firing down the aisle, slowly advancing.

A blaster bolt went into the crowd around Wine, narrowly missing her as her body contorted impossibly while she yanked free the VK which had appeared in guard's leg, and then used it to cut a man's hand off. It instead killed one the guards advancing down the aisle.

Sladg followed it back across the room to discover another clump of guards emerging from a door in the corner, hidden from the otherside of the room.

He cleared the space in a single low leap, never rising above the knee level of the guards.
Regardless, the leader saw him and swung his blaster down and fired, burning a trail of fur off Sladg's back.

Sladg replied by launching himself upward, the top of his skull impacting the man's chin.

His head snapped back with a crunch, and he dropped.

The impact tore Sladg's goggles from his face, however.

His eyes glowed redly in the dim room, and the next guard in line made to fire into them, but his friends body had fallen into him, and his shot went wide, and Sladg took the opportunity to open the man's torso with a short upward slash. He went down as well, gushing fluids profusely.

The next guard dropped back, to avoid the falling bodies, and Sladg snagged the heavy door with his hand, and hurled it shut.

It didn't want to remain closed, however, and he was soon contesting in a battle of strength with several guards to keep it that way.

[Wine Marisinthe]

Archway.

No doors, no cover, and I'm standing in the middle of the open as the people begin to understand that this is not part of the festivities.

The final guard in the clot joins the rest and I spin, looking through to the lower level, trying to find the one far off, the one who gave the order.

Nowhere.

Fine.

The other direction affords a view of a dark smudge walling off a door trying to shove him free.

And a stunned, agape Julius staring at me, slouching slack-jawed in the booth I left him in.

And-

Bloody frelling hell.

I'm already there.

"Mister Andrys. Can you hear me? I need you to listen to me-close your eyes. Clear your head...Mister Andrys, slow down."

The wound isn't bad--it shouldn't kill him.

But it most likely hurts rather badly.

So I'll try to take his mind off it, because that's all I have time to do. If we were in another place, if my head wasn't so rotted up with the remains of the alcohol, and if I didn't feel so damnably giddy and childish and free which is bad I might actually be able to mend him, but I'm not so I can't so shut up--

"Julius! The door, by the bar!"

He doesn't move.

I point in the Defel's direction.

"Around there! The bar!"

He tries to say something that sounds like an apology.

I'm not gentle with him. The Defel has probably about had it with the solo act.

"GO!"

...

He goes.




------------

[Garet Andrys]

Slow down.

A hard thing to do. Garet was trying fight off the pain in order to crawl over to a pile of bodies, to look for a first aid kit. The process of overcoming pain through sheer force of will involved pushing yourself and not letting up, no matter how much you wanted to and how much it hurt. Slowing down ran counter to that tactic, and if it had been anyone else he would have snarled, told them to mind their own business, and inched out into the aisle.

But Jedi do everything ass-backwards.

He closed his eyes. "Emptying his mind" was impossible in this situation, so he settled for squaring two, then squaring four, then squaring 16, and so on.

She moved her hand down to the wound, and touched it -- rather, she placed her fingers inside the wound, which was excruciatingly painful. Garet's face split into a mask of agony, and it took everything he had to keep concentrating on numbers.

256, 65,536, and... ok, row one, 393,216, row two, 196,608, row three, 327,680, row four, uh, same thing, row five, 393,216... add 393,216 plus 11,966,080 plus 32,768,000 plus 327,680,000 plus 3,932,160,000... so that's 4,294,667,296, oh, damn it all, that's not right, hold on a second --

And then the pain faded to a dull throb, and Garet opened his eyes.

"Thanks."

He looked at his side. It wasn't healed, but the pain was manageable -- for a while, at least.

He stood, using the remains of the booth to steady himself, and looked around the room. The first wave of assailants appeared to be dead... but there was, apparently, a second wave on the way.

"Mr. Nakadai mentioned another exit. To the roof."

He moved around the corner where Wine had sent Julian after Slagd, checking the charge on his blaster.

"Now seems like a pretty good time."

[NeuroMortis]

The tripswitch was located in a lockbox behind the sluiceway from the sink. Nakadai had found that within moments, but now wrestled with the key; it had been scored through one area by the bolt which had narrowly missed him but burned along, wouldn't you know it, the pocket which held his keycards, ha-ha-ha.

Now, as the sounds of chaos echoed throughout the place, and the repetition of objects striking some other object which was most likely a door, Nak crouched under the counter backwards, trying to slide the damaged card through he keyslot.

And becoming frustrated.

"Ok, alright. Take a deep breath. It could be worse."

At which point, the alarms sounded throughout the bar.

And from above, coolant sprayed from the ChemNozzles.

Someone, apparently, had thought it a good idea to trip the fire alarm.

So, giggling to himself, he tried again-

And felt the plaintive weight of a carbine muzzle nestling lovingly into his chin.

Ah.

Crap.

The bartender.

His friend.

Crap.

He leaned out, slowly.

"Lloyd...Lloyd, you don't want to do this. Look, we--ok, fine. I can give you twice what they've offered. No one has to know. You don't want to fry me."

The bald, dapper gentleman eyed him coolly, crouching low and out of sight of the goings-on elsewhere. He pondered a moment, eyes narrowed...

"No, I don't." he smiled softly. "I want you to use the blaster instead of that stupid card of yours, you paranoid bastard."

A moment. Coolant ran off the edges of the counter and the man's bald pate to his nose.

Nakadai grinned.

Lloyd flipped the gun around, which Nak accepted.

"…but, now that you mention it, they offered me quite a bit, you know…"

And Lloyd's grin rivaled Nak's.

[Sladggrlok]

GO!

Can't believe i'm doing this.
This is crazy.
Crazy.
Julius picked his way down the aisle littered with corpses as quickly as he could, their charred stink filling his nostrils. He wanted to retch, but he fought the urge down.

I can't believe SHE did THIS.

A twisted pile of broken bodies and severed limbs was all that remained of the clump of 'guards' that Wine had engaged. Guards that should have been protecting the people in the Nebulae, not shooting them carelessly.
Shooting their corpses over and over to clear all the cover in the aisle, til halves of bodies were all that remained.

Julius gagged.

Keep it together, Jules. Keep it together. You're better than this.

The upper level of the Nebulae seemed eerily quiet now(aside from the roar of wind and the hiss of steam), because most of its occupants were dead.
The lower level, on the other hand, was losing it.
Bad.
A few people had been wounded or killed outright. One of the serving girls looked like she was gonna lose an arm for good, where she had caught a stray bolt in the bicep.
He could see the crowd doing two things from his vantage point: Either running away in fear, or taking the opportunity to smash the place up.

Some of the girls working were in pretty bad spots.

Anger flared up in Julius at what had been done to those around him.

And for what? Nakadai, some booze-hound, and a talking shadow?

First, though, he had to deal with the rest of these imposters.

He saw the little red-eyed shadow losing ground to an unknown number of men behind a door. One had just got an arm out, blaster in hand, to remove the barriar.

<center>***</center>

Sladg was losing this war.
He was strong, stronger than nearly any human, but leverage was something he lacked.
His bare feet slid slowly back across the plush carpet, his clenched toes ripping the fabric as he lost ground to the group of beings on the other side of the door.

A hand appeared through the growing crack, and a voice said: "Got you now you little de-"

The sizzle of blaster-fire cut him off, and he ended the sentence with a cry.

Sladg turned to see the young guard, Julius, standing a short distance off, blaster leveled at the door.

The two exchanged looks, and then Sladg relaxed.

The door swung open.

A small clump of men emerged, looking triumphant.
For about one second.
Then Julius took them out with surgical precision: The first in the face, the second in the chest, the third in the gut, and the fourth and final in the side of the head as he stepped through the door, looking confused.

Sladg stepped over the smoking, twitching bodies and gave a short bow of thanks to the young soldier.

Garet appeared around the corner, his side burned, ragged and bloodied, but the blaster in his hands was steady, and his face was taught and alert. He appraised the situation and Julius, and the blaster lowered very slightly.

Julius looked at the two of them, from one to the other, and back. His body was tense, and he shook slightly, but not as he had before. A muscle in his jaw twitched arhythmically.

"Get out of here before someone else tries to kill you, and kills everyone else in the process, would you?"

Then he was gone around the corner, perhaps after Wine, perhaps to deal with the crowd.

Sladg gave Garet a nod.

"Now would seem to be a good time to leave."
He had to speak loudly over the noise of the crowd below, the whistle of steam (and who knew what else) blasting into the room from ruptured pipes in the wall, and the howl of the wind through the now-hole-ridden windows.

He bent and scooped up the remains of his goggles.

The leather strap in the center had been severed by something sharp, perhaps the lock on the guard's helmet when he had impacted him.

Lucky, lucky... it could have been the Defel's skull instead.

And then the fire sysem went off.

Sladg squeezed his eyes shut, and cursed in his own tongue, which probably sound liked a sneeze to anyone else that heard it.

It would take forever to get out of his fur, he was sure.

He reached into his utility belt and pulled out the other pair of gogs (stowing the damaged ones in the empty pocket as he did so), the ones that only let UV through, for when he was on bright planets and the normal light was too much for his eyes. He'd be nearly blind in here with them on, but it was better than fire spray pouring onto his cornea.

Once they were in place, he looked at the dim shadow of Garet, who was suddenly illuminated by light from the direction of the bar. Sladg turned, and saw Nakadai and another man silhouetted against a bright hole where before there had been only wall.

"Mr. Nakadai has found the door, i think. Let us do as our young friend suggests, and make use of it."

[Wine Marisinthe]

Only a matter of moments.

The new regiment hits a wall of fleeing patrons as they void the lifts; a dozen from the first set of doors are bottlenecked.

They draw weapons.

My deliberation nearly costs-

The ship hovers parallel to the windows close enough that I can make out the grin of the pilot below the visor of his helmet.

The whole room implodes as the Miy'til fighter lets fly a concussion missile into the lower arena of the club, only one of a typical payload of six.

I've moved, quick enough to keep my hearing, but susceptible to the wave of heat and force.

Hopefully, they made it through.

The tide carries me and I relax.

[Garet Andrys]

"Mr. Nakadai has found the door, i think. Let us do as our young friend suggests, and make use of it."

Garet nodded and moved to the bar, limping slightly. It didn't hurt to move -- much -- but he didn't want to aggravate the wound any more than necessary.

Nakadai had already exited through the hole in the wall. The bartender looked at Garet and Sladg expectantly. Garet looked behind the bar.

The bartender frowned. "Not to be rude, son, but you really want to be leaving now."

"In a minute." Garet saw the metal box attached underneath the bartop. He reached out and pulled, freeing it from the magnetic fasteners. His suspicions were correct: one military-issue first aid kit. "I need this."

"You and most everyone else still breathing on this floor," the bartender said, clearly annoyed. "Now get."

Garet nodded again, and waited as Sladg leapt nimbly through the hole and onto the platform beyond. Then he felt something strange -- a low rumble, like an earthquake.

There aren't any earthquakes on Corusca --

He looked up just in time to see the ball of fire come around the corners and through the walls. It hit him full on, singing his clothes and hair and knocking him through the hole in the wall and onto the platform. He managed to keep a grip on the first aid kit, but the blaster skidded along the surface and fell over the edge of the building.

"What... the...?"

[NeuroMortis]

He felt it before he saw it; a low, dull rumble through the nerves.

Turning, squinting against the wind driven rain-at this height he stayed low, the gusts merciless and unforgiving as they swept along the causeway toward the welcoming struts of the Entrepreneur.

The short, dark hall angling down toward the bar-

First, the Defel-he gestured, indicating the ship above the squall, the wind singing shrill along guy-wires and sconces among the rooftop architecture and cooling towers.

Come on…

Then, Garet, nursing his lef-

whump

The fireball engulfed the offworlder, spitting him onto the deck at Nak's feet-

--then the wave itself.

Right arm lashing, clawing, hooking into piping as the blast slapped his footing easily from under-

Ohwhatthe

The shockwave passing, the structural integrity of the rooftop already bore signs of protest-and compromise.
The offworlder at his feet flipped around, regarding the scorched hole.

(What…the…)

Nakadai, stunned, barely heard him.

He had his own crisis of faith to deal with.

...Wine...

[Sladggrlok]

Sladg was out onto the brighter rooftop in a hearbeat, barely even touching the bar as he passed over it.

He followed Nakadai's gesture towards the waiting ship, and was already on his way up the gangplank when the low rumble of an explosive was picked out by his experienced miner's ears. It could only be an explosive. Sladg judged it to be relatively low yield, and not dangerous unless rather close.

Which, unfortunately, it was.

He turned into time to see Garet get knocked on his stomach by the explosive, and Nakadai latch onto a handy bit of scenery to stay on the roof.

Sladg had about one second to react, and he dropped, curling into a ball, protecting his sensitive ears and nose.

The blast rolled him up the gangway into the ship, scorching his fur further.

He was on his feet before the roll stopped, and back down onto the roof-which moaned like a tunnel before a cave in.

The upper part of the building was mostly intact... for now. The lower corner where the explosion had occured was falling away, and the building was beginning to shift as it's design was compromised.

He bent and lifted Garet to his feet, gently.

Countless people had died for no reason today.
Sladg corrected himself. There was a reason.

It undoubtedly had to do with Koda, but that was not the true reason.

The true reason was that those responsible were without scruple. He had not seen such a cowardly display since the days of the Empire on Af'El.

To a Defel, this implied that they thought that he lacked scruples as well.

One only discarded ritual and honor when dealing with someone who lacked them, for their restriction became dangerous in such times.

Sladg freed himself of all restriction, in regards to those who sought to bring this venture to an end.

In the end, he thought, he would gut them and leave them for the scavengers, for they did not deserve to be honored with consumption.

The roof shifted under his feet.

The narrow spire of the building that housed the Nebulae was beginning to tilt slightly.

On the edge of his vision, Sladg saw a small ship come into view.

"Garet, we should get into the ship, before something else happens."

He made a quick count... only three stood on the roof.

Where was the dark-hair who fought so well?

His eyes ran to the blackend hole in the wall that was the door, and his mind became a blur of calculation.

[Wine Marisinthe]

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Splendid master rhythm in life.

Breath.

Copulation.

Birth.

Extinction.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Chaos enters.

Out.

Violated peace.

In.

Death.

Out.

Life.

In-

This is the part you only read about in stories.

I'm breathing.

Below, sky, then steel, then concrete.

Tangled in wires and antennae and shot through with glass and plastic I hang upside-down and bleeding from scores of wounds that run and bleed and blend and fall with the rain down and down and down.

I laugh, cracked, and wonder how long this mess will hold me here, snarled in the offal of the raped Nebulae.

Shouldn't be too long-that Miy'til up there is bound to pick me out. In a bit.

Mosquito gorging in jugular spray…

…

Run the stones, girl.

I snap to, startled.

Lost a lot of blood.

Need to stay awake

It's moving now. Creeping up the side. Toward the roof.

How long was I

The cords haven't budged. Can't feel my right arm, twisted confusion blood circulation and I breathe

In.

Out.

!!!runthestones!!!

Alright.

All. Right.

Cord loosens, right arm free. It will really, really hurt in a moment as the blood pounds back through suffocated veins-I won't wait that long.

My stomach is on fire but I've folded up to my feet-

Andrys' VK comes alive…

Free.

Clinging to a knot of cords several hundred feet up, several muscle groups perforated, and I'm following the trail of machine guts to their source-a long, jagged fissure in the building's side because the PlexiSteel beside me is too strong to break but it's remarkably clear and I can see in to a closed office, hologram of a happy family glowing softly from a case of fine craftsmanship.

I have no family.

Knife tucked in beltline again because I can't keep it in my teeth because I might scream--the pain has hit my right arm and I'm

RUN

running the stones again, Tzerace goading me, prodding me, twelve whole feet above the ground, keeping the stones up with my concentration, leaping one and two and faster feet faster, higher stones higher, and now he's letting the stupid drones out and they're gonna burn my assImeanbottom like they did last time and I

HIGHER

fell a foot and shake my head awake.

Lost too much blood.

Clear your mind.

I try.

God knows I try.

[Sladggrlok]

Sladg reached his conclusion.

He had maybe two minutes.
Maybe.

He looked up at Garet.

"Get inside the ship."
It wasn't a request.

Treading softly, but moving swiftly, Sladg crossed the fragile roof, back into the remains of the Nebulae.

As he did so, he did a quick inventory of his body.
He was only very lightly singed.
The chemical his fur had soaked up from the fire system had kept him from burning, it would seem.

He also did a quick inventory on the fighter.

It was gaining elevation, judging the scene.
it would not do so forvever.

The Coruscant air patrol would be here shortly, no doubt.

All these things left his mind when he reached what remained of the interior.

It was mostly empty space and jagged metal.

He peered inside.

There seemed no hope for the Dark-hair.

But-

His keen predatory eye caught a rhythmic movement.

swing... jerk. swing... jerk.

A cable, on the other side of the room, some floors down.

Like someone was climbing on it.

A quick survery of the space.
There. Then there. Then there.

It would be easier to get her from the air... but that would be impossible with the fighter attacking.

He made his decision.

He gathered his muscles, and lept.
And overshot, slightly.

He caught his target, a beam shorn off at the end, with his left hand as he passed it.

He hung for a moment, and chuckled.

He swung, dropped, and landed on a patch of floor below.
It promptly changed angle, but didn't give completely.

From there, a short downward leap to floor beam that canted down to the peice of wall that the spasming cable ran out of.

He slid, and bumped it.
It creaked, and the whole building shifted slightly shortly after.

Sladg leaned out, and as he had guessed, there was the Dark-hair.
The Survivor.

Sladg barked wordlessly down to her.

She grinned, and waved.

She was a bloody mess, and shaking with her every movement.
She showed the fatigue she resisted.

Sladg gripped the cable in hand and heaved.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Her bloodied hand appeared on the section of wall.
It shivered, but held.

Then she was standing next to him.

"Rest for a moment."
She shook her head in a firm no, and brushed the bloody strand of hair away that flew into her eye.

"Very well."
The two stood silent for a moment as the Defel eyed the return trip. The wind roared and sucked at them on their fragile perch.
The building shuddered and things shifted as debris rained down through the once lush space, now turned burnt coffin.

Wine cleared her throat.

He could make the climb...
She couldn't make it as he could, not in the state she was in now.

He snagged the VK out of her belt, and slashed the cable at the wall, and quickly measured out perhaps seven body lengths.

One end he forced into a loop and knotted around his waist (the metal resisted for a moment, but Sladg convinced it to agree). Another loop at the end for Wine.

Then:
Another fireball.

A large section of building fell past, and debris flew.
The good news was, the ascent was now much shorter.

The bad news was, Sladg could see Nakadai's ship hovering over the building, and see the blaster fire raining down on it. All in the all, the ship seemed to be holding up just fine, and was holding fairly steady.

He shrugged and cast a look at the Survivor.

She nodded once more, and he crawled to the end of the beam.

Leapt up and out, the coil of cable sliding gracefully through the air behind him.

He impacted the beam he was shooting for with a solid thump.

It knocked the wind out of him, and he grunted, but swung himself up, and pulled the slack out of the cable.

Wine followed, jumping as far as she could, and he hauled her the rest of the way.

Twice more, they repeated this ritual.

Then, the two crouched at what was once the middle of the lower level of the Nebulae, and what was now the top.

Stray fire from the fighter was impacting around them, and the building was rocking dangerously.

Nakadai's ship was about seven body lengths up.

Sladg could probably do it.
Assuming the cable was long enough, of course.

He and Wine exchanged a final glance, and he coiled down into a crouch, relaxing deeply, eyes closed.

Then snap and like a small furry projectile from a slug-thrower he was up... and the landing strut of the ship slapped firmly into his hand.

Below, the building teetered, swayed, and fell.

Wine leapt free, and the cable suddenly went taught... and slid down his waist.

He grabbed it with his free hand, and held it up.

He wasn't exactly sure how long he could this keep this up, but he was bound to find out.

[Ilsid Rector]

::Ilsid Rector stands on a roof some kilometers from the gutted spire that was the Nebulae.
He is a smallish man, perhaps 160 centimeters tall, and slight, weighing perhaps 60 kilos.
His hair is short, dark, and slicked back. His face is somewhat round and plain, with a suggestion of fatness that the rest of him lacks.
His mouth is constantly set into a soft smile, a smile that rarely reaches farther than his lips.
He seems an unassuming sort of man, one easily over-looked.

Until one looks into his eyes, and then one does not forget Ilsid Rector.

Currently, he was staring into a telescopic viewer, watching the little shadow and the not-quite-a-jedi struggle towards the ship.

The little shadow, displaying impressive strength and resourcefulness, looped the cable around the landing strut of the ship, and then stood sidewise on it, and so braced, hauled the girl up till she safely on the strut::

Fools.
::he stands on the roof alone, but speaks aloud regardless::

Damnable fools. Two dozen changelings and a fighter, undone by two men, a furry shadow, and a girl. Were they not all dead already, I would bolt them to a wall and let the granite slugs have them. Imbeciles.

::in the distance, but rapidly closing, Ilsid could see the Coruscant Air Security Force approaching. He turned from the sight, and vanished into the building on which he stood::

[NeuroMortis]

The Defel disappeared into the hole.

This was not a good thing.

Already halved, this was not a good thing.

A moment of eye contact with Garet.

Up the gangway, through the aux hatch, meeting Fess' voice-

"Primary power in preparation for immediate evacuation. Structural surface integrity unstable and decreasing. Immediate rendezvous with unidentified craft imminent; all secondary power converting to shield quadrants one through five"

--across personnel recreational center, down the incline to the forward cockpit-

"Structural surface integrity compromised. Initiating retrostabilizers."

--Nakadai locked himself down and prepared for more of the worst.

[Garet Andrys]

"Get inside the ship."

Garet nodded, and moved over to the ship. He saw the word Entrepeneur stenciled on the side, and smiled slightly. What did you expect? Of course it's called Entrepeneur...

He saw Nakadai looking at Sladg, who was apparently going to look for Wine. Nakadai didn't look happy. He glanced up at Garet, who nodded, and then climbed up the gangway into the belly of the vessel.

Garet followed.

She was a nice ship... top-of-the-line for a vessel it's size -- slightly bigger than a small freighter, though obviously not designed with hauling cargo as its primary function. The auxilliary hatch opened into a recreational facility -- a "common room" for the crew, though Garet supposed the ship was automated to the point that it could be flown solo.

Nak headed fore, down a ramp into the cockpit, probably.

Garet headed aft, to look for the turret's he'd seen on the vessel.

The corridor heading aft was narrow -- two people could pass each other only if they turned sideways. Most of the ship had been built to use the space as efficiently as possible, probably to allow the living quarters a little more luxury. The first cabin on the port side was closed, and he suspected it was Nak's. The unusued rooms were open, however, and he passed three more cabins -- each capable of housing two human-sized humanoids in realative comfort. Next, on the starboard side, was a small but well-equipped medibay, complete with a sophisticated AutoDoc and diagnostics table.

Garet filed that away.

There was also a cargo hold, closed. He didn't open it to look inside, but he suspected it wasn't as large as a freighter's. Finally, at the end, was the engine room, and a ladder to the right of the entrance, with a hatch above and a hatch below.

The gunnery turrets.

He hit a button and the bottom hatch slid open with a hiss. He climbed down the ladder and found himself climbing into the gunnery chair. The lights came on, the hatch resealed itself, and the computers blinked to life.

Garet looked at the controls briefly, familiarizing himself with the layout. This was a pretty sophisticated tracking system... the ion canons were light-grade, of course, but the tracking system allowed for a fair amount of precision.

Well, let's see how precise they are...

He keyed in a code to arm the lower turret.


UNABLE TO ARM WEAPON. All unneccesary power diverted to deflectors.

"Unneccessary..."

Garet shook his head in frustration. He'd have to trust that Nak knew what he was doing.

He opened the gunnery hatch, and climbed out of the turret, still shaking his head.

[Sladggrlok]

Sladg and Wine huddled together on the strut.

He'd figured out a way to get them up, by lifting the cable over the strut, and then standing on the side/bottom of it, head hanging down over the city, as he hauled Wine up to the strut. Once she was on, he climbed up himself. It had been at the edge of his ability to get them both up and he had torn something in his shoulders. It would heal, but he was already beginning to ache.

Only once the two were 'safely' on the strut did he notice that he left bloody prints anywhere that he touched.

Both his hands were cut, and so was his body in various places. He'd been too busy to notice. They were minor wounds, fortunately, and most had already stoppd bleeding.

Wine, however, was in bad shape. She was drifting in and out of consciousness, and blood seeped from her injuries (many of which Sladg could see still had peices of glass and metal in them). She shivered in the cool mist that hung around the ship.

The fighter continued to pound the light freighter from above, taking no notice of the two figures huddled beneath.

He looked around the area. The local air traffic had ceased completely, but Sladg could see some ships moving into the area.

Coruscant's security, most likely.

It struck Sladg that hanging around to explain why dozens of people had been murdered was a bad idea.

Checking to see that Wine was safely anchored, Sladg scrambled up the strut, into the compartment that housed it.

There was, as he had hoped, a maintenence hatch for the space. Small, but large enough for Wine to pass through.

It wasn't going to open from this side, however.

So, Sladg did what he could.

He pounded on it.

[Ilsid Rector]

::Ilsid Rector strides calmly through the interior of the hotel on whose roof he had stood a moment before. His exterior does not display the seething inferno of anger that boils inside him.::

::He pauses to look out a window with a group of various non-humans. They make space for him without realizing it. He once more peers through the telescopic viewer.
The resourceful little shadow has disappeared inside the ship, but the girl remains huddled on the strut. The fighter, meanwhile, still hovers and darts above the larger craft, frustrated at how the shields are taking everything he can dish out::

::Ilsid swiftly exits the building, and walks towards the street around the damaged Nebulae, where no other person stands. It is far too dangerous. Emergency personnel labor around him, but take he takes no notice of them. He speaks quietly into a small com unit, set to distort his voice in a unique and unremovable manner. The local authorites would intercept the transmission, and trace it, but he had no intention of remaining here long::

Forget the ship, you fool. Kill the girl, at the very least. She is beneath the ship, on a landing strut.

::the Pilot responds::

Sir, the girl is behind the deflectors as well-

Silence! Kill the girl.
::Rector does not raise his voice, but the intensity of his anger carries over the com, distortion or no::

Aye, sir.

::Rector smiles::

Good. You have a little time to do so. If you fail, and somehow escape the Coruscant authorities...

You certainly shan't escape from me.

::He turns and exits the scene speedily::

[Garet Andrys]

Garet was making his way to the medibay when he heard a pounding coming from underneath the floor. He was halfway between the engine room and the medibay, and there were no other hatches in this part of the ship except for the ones leading to the gun turrets, behind him... but the sound was definately coming from beneath the floor.

He looked down. The floor was a series of square baffles that kept people from walking directly on various environmental control systems, most specifically, the internal gravity controls. They could be pulled up when it became necessary to perform maintenance on them.

Garet bent over and pulled up one side of the plate directly over the pounding noise.

It took a little coaxing, but he eventually pried it loose. It was only slightly thinner than the corridor, and one corner banged up against the wall as he tugged it away.

The pounding was louder now.

Looking down past the floor, Garet saw a ladder and a crawlspace about a meter and a half deep branching fore, port and starboard. The sound now seemed to be coming from the starboard direction -- it was harder to tell with the baffle plate covering the crawlspace. Garet climbed down.

Dim lights flickered on as soon as he was halfway down the ladder. Crouching, he moved starboard. He could see the hydraulics for starboard landing strut, still deployed, and a maintenance hatch on the floor.

That was where the pounding was coming from.

Garet kneeled next to the hatch and keyed in a command to open it. The computer blipped to life, scanned the outside for breathable atmosphere, scanned the interior for compatible air pressure, and hissed open. Garet saw Slagd at the top of the strut, peering up at him... and Wine, clinging to the base of the strut, both looking wounded.

And below them both, a fighter flying up towards them, preparing to attack the underside of Entrepreneur.

[Sladggrlok]

"Hello, Garet."

The man looked tense, his face worn.
He did not seem surprised to see them still alive.

"Please make space for me."

Sladg scrambled up into the space, forcing Garet to back up.

He turned, and tugged on the cable, grunting.
Wine half climbed, half fell her way up the strut into the little space as Sladg kept the cable around her waist taut.

"We must get her to the medical area. She is badly wounded."

Sladg eyed the girl, and she smiled faintly back, her sell-the-Wampa-ice-cream grin tarnished by the blood on her sparkling teeth.

"Thanks. I don't think he would have noticed, iffin you hadn't said anything."

Then she was out cold.

Sladg caught her carefully as she slumped forward.

"We must go quickly."

There was a nearly blinding flash as the fighter beneath let loose, and the deflectors soaked up the energy.

[NeuroMortis]

The fighter dropped out of view.

Nakadai frowned.

“Fess, location of passenger?”

The characteristically soft, matter of fact assurance of the OSI emanated from spaces unseen.

“Which passenger?”

He paused in scanning the periphery display.

“Funny. Where is he?”

Silence.

The ship shuddered only slightly; the fighter had released a concussion device in frustration.

“Fess.”

“There are two variables to your inquiry, Nakadai. The first male passenger is now entering the Medbay. The second male passenger is sealing access hatchway seven.

Nak blinked several times.

“Second passenger?”

“The second male passenger, in order of boarding.”

“Description?”

“The second passenger is of the species homonid Defelian.”

Nak was up and out of the cockpit, making his way toward the Medbay. The ship shuddered again—the fighter was desperate. Boo hoo.

“Make us disappear Fess. I don’t want to be seen until my feet touch Ropagi.”

[Ilsid Rector]

::Ilsid stalks through the streets of Coruscant.
He is lost in thought, considering the next course of action. The figher will fail to destroy the Entreprenuer, and the girl will live, of this Rector is reasonably certain. He merely ordered the pilot to continue the attack to save himself the trouble of having to kill the fool himself at some later date. He mummers to himself::

Bounty Hunters these days... quite subpar.

::He removes the com link from his pocket, and makes minor adjustmants, altering the frequency and ID signature. He pages the intended party::

Yes, my Lord?

Prepare my ship for departure, I will be leaving within a few hours.

::A single missle snakes by overhead, seeking a target.
It settles on the reflection of the sun on the side of a glittering office building. It impacts, sending a firey shockwave across the face of the structure. He turns. The fighter is locked in combat with several Coruscant Security Ships. The Entreprenuer is no-where in sight::

Correction. Make that immidiately. And have the recordings of all goings on in the area of the target placed on board.

Yes, my Lord.

::Rector can hear the bow the servant makes out of enforced habit::

Very good.

[Garet Andrys]

Sladg began to remove the cable from around Wine's waist. It took some doing -- there had been a fair amount of tension placed on the cable, and with the tension gone the knot had tightened considerably. Sladg finally managed to work it out enough to slip the cable off of the Jedi's body, however, and Garet began to carry her to the medibay as Sladg remained behind to seal the maintenance hatch. Wine had fallen into a deep trance... either a coma or some kind of meditative state that Jedi used for self-healing. Garet wasn't sure which, and unless he knew, any attempt to help her recover would kill her.

Through the crawlspace. Up into the corridor, an awkward process due to the narrowness of the passage, and finally into the medibay itself. Garet looked at the AutoDoc, then the diagnostic table, and hesitated.

He put her on the diagnostic table.

AutoDocs were incredibly useful machines, but didn't treat multiple wounds efficiently. Unless you overrode its medical protocols with a verbal command, it would prioritize the patients wounds and treat them sequentially. Unfortunately, if the first treatment consumed a great deal of system resources and took hours to perform, a minor wound could cause a patient to bleed to death while the patient was being repaired.

The table reacted to the presence of Wine's weight and body heat, causing the overhead light to come on and the diagnostic computer to spring to life. Garet turned and activated a second computer sitting on a countertop set against one of the walls. It began to list all of the drugs currently stocked aboard the Entrepreneur.

Scanning the list, he punched in the codes for the drugs he needed. A panel along the wall opened up, and vials emerged, held by robotic arms. He began collecting them -- five in all -- as quickly as he could. He looked up briefly, and noticed that Sladg had entered the room.

"Make sure she doesn't fall off the table," he said. He didn't think she would, she was too calm... but she might spasm involuntarily, and that would be bad.

He opened up the drawers under the counter, looking for tools. He found them in the last drawer he opened -- a hypodermic spray, a topical spray, laser scalpel, some handheld diagnostics. He turned back to the diagnostic table, hit a button, and a tray slid out with a whisper. Garet put the tools there, and checked the monitor.

She was in very bad shape. She was filled with shrapnel and glass, many muscles were torn badly, and she'd lost quite a bit of blood... and was still bleeding internally, from organs pierced by shrapnel. Still, she was attempting to heal herself. The monitor showed that in some areas the bleeding was tapering off, wounds were closing up, and pieces of detritus from the building were being expelled from her body.

It was a good thing he hadn't put her in the AutoDoc. AutoDocs did not detect or comprehend Jedi disciplines, and because her rate of healing was far outside the parameters for a normal human, it might have interpreted the act as a viral attack on the body, or perhaps as a fast-acting cancer. It would probably have tried to flood her body with immuno-depressents in order to keep her bodily functions within normal paramaters -- and right now, her ability was the only thing keeping her alive.

"Wine, this is Garet Andrys. You're in Mr. Nakadai's medibay. You might not believe it, but I'm a Doctor, and I'm going to have to perform surgery to stop your bleeding. I'm not going to sedate you, because you need to keep doing what you're doing. I will use topical anesthetics, but I can't promise they'll work completely."

His voice was uncharacteristically gentle and soothing. He didn't know if she could hear him, but he didn't know if she couldn't, either, and if she could hear him, she needed to know what was going on so she wouldn't stop healing and start resisting.

"I apologize for any discomfort this is going to cause, but you need to trust me. Like I trusted you earlier."

He'd loaded five hypo sprays, and was loading the topical applicator. He looked up at Sladg, and looked over at the AutoDoc.

"I can't put her in there just yet. If there's a medical file for Defel on it's screen, I suggest you go ahead and jump in. I'm afraid I wouldn't know how to begin to treat you, so that's probably your best bet."

He looked back down at Wine and applied the first hypo.

"This might take a while."

[Wine Marisinthe]

The sabre is a living organism.

It sleeps, it feeds.

When inserted into the body, the flesh curls around the vibrancy of the blade; charring and blackening in some creatures, while others experience the skin turning the bright, viscous pink of severe burn-scarring.

Inside, too, it lives. You can feel it; it has emotions—the extension of the wielder, it seeks out the places within to pass judgment, whether righteous or corrupt.

You can feel your body change to accept it, to become part of it—to be purified.

I lay face down in the marshy wet, curled around the crackling hatred of the intruder. His will nests in my midsection, just within the lowest ribs on my right side. I feel them fusing—I feel his hatred willing my pain into being. I cannot move, cannot cry out. I can only lie there wishing for release.

His voice in my head then—

“From man came woman. From man’s rib was woman created."

The sabre turns within me--the lowest of my ribs separated from the trunk.

"You will expel this as you do children, thus proving your only function as a carrier, a host--nothing but a case, a temporary housing for that which you do not own, and wants no part of you."

--and he plants his seed, the lie, and I only await release. His will, his whim—I am at his mercy.

"I steal this privilege from you now.

Remember me as your first and last."

Agony, and the sabre withdraws.

Not so his voice.

“You are nothing, woman. You are a severed branch, a withered, useless vine. What might have bourne fruit is now barren—you are the grape which has been crushed.”

Something hits the moisture, splashes my face.

Silence.

Then:

“You, and your line, are purged.”

Somewhere far off feet splash away.

The eye I can open takes in the ruined haft of another sabre; this one, nothing more than a lifeless shell.

Tzerace.

I want to die.

I want to go.

I want—

A voice.

“Wine,”

(youarethegrapewhichhasbeencrushed)

“This is Garet Andrys. You're in Mr. Nakadai's medibay. You might not believe it, but I'm a Doctor, and I'm going to have to perform surgery to stop your bleeding.”

I inhale the marshwater, breathe it in, nodding, swimming back to the

PrAeSenT

Shaking, cold, I reach for the fuselage of Tzerace’s weapon, knowing it will not bring him back but wanting to touch it to call my nerves to feeling

“I'm not going to sedate you, because you need to keep doing what you're doing. I will use topical anesthetics, but I can't promise they'll work completely."

I keep doing what I’m doing

Shaking

Feeling

Remembering

Swimming



Running the stones


----------

[NeuroMortis]

Nakadai hits the medbay.

“Obviously, this—“

Speechless.

He looks from Garet, decked out in medstuff, to Sladg, eyeing the AutoDoc, to the woman on the table—then back to Sladg.

A moment of utter respect.

Utter, sincere, and wordless.

This venture, indeed, would be all or nothing--all the best players, and nothing more to Nakadai's preference.

Alright.

Back to business!

“You go back into my bar and all you can salvage is table Wine?”

[Garet Andrys]

Two hypos to boost some vitals, then wash. The counter had a sonic faucet -- Garet used it, getting the grime and blood off his hands.

This room was not designed for surgery, it's not particularly sterile and we don't have the time to make it sterile.

Two more hypos, then cut away at the remnants the shirt around her lower torso.

"I don't know how modest you are, Wine, but right this moment there's no danger of any, uh, exposure."

[NeuroMortis]

Nak steps forward, realizes his jacket is still on, strips it off and throws it into the hallway.

From everywhere:

"We have reached Coruscant's outer orbit. Please prepare for intitial jump to sublight travel. In five.

Four."

[Garet Andrys]

Garet was about to make a cut into Wine's belly.

"Three."

He turned off the laser scalpel, put it on the tray, and grabbed the diagnostic table.

"How smooth is Entrepreneur's drive?"

[NeuroMortis]

Nak pulled his eyes away from the scalpel.

"Are you kidding?"

"Two."

"Fess is flawless."

Said while subtly grabbing the other side of the table.

[Sladggrlok]

Sladg stood watching Wine and Garet.

The Dark-hair was in the other-place, it seemed. Sladg could see it in her body, in the way her face lost its practiced looks, and how the sublte changes drifted across it.

She had wavered to and fro from it on the strut, and as he and Garet had gotten her to the medical bay of the ship.

It was wise of Garet not to place her in the machine.
Those in the other-place often were capable of much beyond what was normal.

And he had already decided this human girl, this Survivor, was not normal.

Sladg suspected she was a Jedi... and though he generally viewed them with distrust because of their sorcery, this one had done much to ensure that he had made it out of the Nebulae alive, and that made all the difference to Sladg.

He watched Garet work, and considered the 'doc.

Really, he just needed to get clean.
His wounds were minor, simply cuts for the most part, and he wished to wash the chemicals and burnt ends out of his fur.

He turned at the sound of Nakadai's footsteps, and watched him break off his sentence.

For a moment, the calculation faded from Nakadai, and he was exposed to his core.

Sladg watched tension melt out of his neck and face.

A look, which he could not fathom(stowed away for future reference, so that he would know what it meant in time), and then the Storyteller regained control.

He puzzled over Nakadai's comment.
He guessed it was humor of some sort, for it made no sense otherwise.

His red eyes blinked at Nakadai (he had taken off the googles when he had entered the ship, in order to be able to see).

"Nakadai, I could not leave without being sure that there was no hope for her. One does not leave partners. Thank you for remaining while under fire. We would not have been able to climb up, had you not. Perhaps she will relate the tale when she is well."

Sharp nod of the head.

There was little doubt in his mind that she would recover.

"One. Main Engines Engaging."

The subluminal engines kicked in, accelerating the ship towards the outer edges of the system.

The ships internal gravity systems compensated nicely (after an initial jolt, suggesting extreme power being applied) for the inertial shift, and it could barely be guessed how hard the engines were working.

This was a very nice ship.
He made a note to himself to look into purchasing one for modification.

Garet returned to his work on Wine, and Sladg turned his attention to Nakadai.

"For now, all i wish is to make myself clean, and perhaps to rest in a more comfortable environment. May i adjust the gravity and luminal controls of whatever space you grant me?"

[NeuroMortis]

Nak smiled. The initial jump really was smooth, as he knew it would be.

The jump to actual hyperspace versus the sublight travel would be only slightly more noticeable--he'd had the money, he'd put it into the ship, and she wore it well.

Nak took in the Defel.

Then, Garet.

"Ah, yeah. Sure, I'll just..."

He glanced at Wine, then the scalpel Garet had retaken.

Torn.

Nodding, to Garet:

"You seem like you've got this handled, so I'll just show Sladg his room...I'll be back to check on you. If you need anything, tell Fess---short for flawless, like I said."

He gestured to the Defel, then headed off down the corridor.

[Sladggrlok]

Sladg watched the conflict flow over Nakadai, and watched it subside as he reached a decision.

The Dark-hair, Wine, was obviously important to him in a way that ran deep.
Perhaps she was his mate?

Nakadai's way seemed to be to say things in reverse.
Perhaps that was the key to his earlier comment on Sladg's retrievial of Wine.
Only time and further observation of Nakadai's rituals would reveal the truth.

He padded down the corridor after the human, feeling more tired than he had in many days.
His back was sore, and his hands ached slighty. It would be nice to get the chemicals and burned bits out of his fur so he could groom himself. And normal light and gravity would allow him to relax and heal properly.

Nakadai led him towards the rear of the ship, and into a fairly spacious cabin.
It was well appointed, but restrained in the application of decor.

Sladg gave a nod of approval.

Nak showed him the master controls for the lights, and the gravity (located behind a panel in the wall, as normally the spectral content of the lights, and the gravity settings were constant over the ship).

"Nakadai, I will not keep the gravity at my normal levels for a great deal of time, as i have no desire to subject your vessel to undue stress."

Nakadai waved it off.

"Don't worry about it. Fess will let you know if there's any trouble. Anything for a fellow who can serve up wine on demand, anyhow. Even if it is cheap."

Megawatt grin.

Sladg stared at him, for a moment, and then blinked.
Nakadai was a very peculiar human.
But, if Sladg was beginning to get a feel for him, it meant that he was very grateful for the events of the evening.
So he nodded.

"Very good. I will rest now."

Nakadai gave him a nod, and made his way out of the room, the need to hurry concealed to any other eye.

[Garet Andrys]

Garet got back to work.

"The jump to sublight gave you a little more time for the effects of the local to kick in," he said to Wine. "I'm cutting now... shrapnel has torn into your stomach..."

There were actually three separate tears in the lining of her stomach. As he dug out a piece of metal from one end, he could see a piece of glass being pulled out as well. Jedi healing at work.

"The diagnostic bed comes with a low-grade stasis field, in case you're wondering. That lets me cut without having to worry about suction... your bloodflow has slowed almost to a standstill. The other shot I gave you is compensating for the fact that your blood isn't really circulating right now... it's an enzyme that goes after carbon dioxide and other pollutants in your blood..."

He removed the last bit of shrapnel from her stomach and started to seal up the last tear.

"...unfortunately, the enzyme is unstable and breaks down... so it has to be re-administered. Also, since it can't actually be carried by your bloodstream to get to other parts of your body, it's effectiveness is limited. Enough to get the job done, but it's a pretty unpleasant experience. I apologize for that..."

The surgery continued for another twenty minutes, Garet talking the entire time, explaining what he was doing, what was going on. He didn't really expect Wine to understand all of it, or even comprehend what he was saying, but he suspected the drone of a calm voice would be helpful in some way. Finally he had done all he could... it as time for the AutoDoc to do its work.

He opened it up, and set it to recline. At the pharmaceutical index, he keyed up a sedative and loaded it into a fresh hypospray.

He turned back to Wine. "Wine, I'm going to sedate you now. I need to put you in the AutoDoc so it can finish the job properly... but to do that, I need you to stop trying to heal yourself. I don't know if you can in this condition, so I'm just going to bypass the problem and put you out for a bit. Probably twenty minutes or so..."

He turned off the stasis field on the diagnostic table, allowing her circulation to return to normal, and injected the sedative into her arm. He waited until she was completely out before carrying her to the AutoDoc. As soon as he drew back, it closed around her and started filling with bacta.

Now, my turn.

He'd need to spend some time in the AutoDoc later, but the pain was coming back and the wound was oozing nastily. He removed his shirt -- a little self-consciously, even though Wine was completely unconscious -- revealing hundreds of scars covering his chest, back, stomach and shoulders. He treated the blaster wound with a topical disinfectant, then with a bacta spray, then with some medicated synthskin.

That should keep it from getting any more infected than it already is.

He put the shirt back on, wishing he had a set of fresh clothes. He doubted any of Nakadai's would fit.

"Fess?"

"Yes?"

He couldn't quite tell where the voice was coming from. "I know I'm not your owner, but will you inform me if the AutoDoc reports a decline in its patients vital signs?"

There was a moment of hesitation, probably to see if the request conflicted with any of its security parameters. "Yes."

"Thank you." Garet exited the medibay, looking for a sonic shower.

And maybe something to drink. Green.

[NeuroMortis]

The only sounds were the gentle gurgling of the bacta wihtin the autodoc, and the faint beeping from the LCD readout apprising the viewer of the patient’s condition.

Nakadai stared.

She hung suspended in the typical bacta-nullness of the AutoDoc, magnified within the cylindrical casing…

Garet had done an excellent job, it seemed.

Even going so far as to replace her underclothes—which, in the bargain, would be sterilized by the bacta.

What a deal!

Deals.

He stood gazing at her body—specifically, at the wounds, at the absurd amount of damage she’d taken…for what?

The compensation she sought would be far beyond what he actually had to offer—hell, his offering wasn’t even his, yet.

He’d taken a hit as well, yeah. But the Nebulae was one of hundreds of easy opportunities, low-investment high-yield ventures that panned out in the short run with just marketing savvy and presentational flourish.

Simple.

The woman wasn’t simple.

Nor were the two new partners on his ship.

“Fess, location of Andrys? I’m sorry—passenger one, male, named Garet Andrys. Passenger two, the Defelian, is called Sladgrrlok.”

He pronounced the Defel’s name with perfect diction.

“Garet Andrys is showering in unit three.”

He’d closed on the tank, staring through his reflection at the woman’s midsection, which floated at near eye-level.

Staring at an angry, curving C just below the ribs—

“Thank you Fess.”

His eyes took her in, coursing up, over more wounds, more scars, the tears in her brassiere undergarment noted but skimmed over quickly…purposefully quickly…after a moment…

And up to her face, to the deep blue eyes which stared at him through the fluid.

He startled, backing away two steps.

Her eyes remained closed.

He rubbed his lips, smirking, turning away.

He then exhaled, noticing he’d held his breath.

“Fess, do me a favor.”

Pause.

“If by favor you mean granting you something for nothing, the term is moot.”

Nak moved into the corridor, making his way toward the living units.

“Witty. No, the next time you see me heading toward the Medbay?”

He tapped a code into a keypad. The door slid aside.

“…Please remind me it’s bad for my health.”

[Garet Andrys]

Garet stood in the sonic shower, thinking about Coruscant. He'd been looking forward to taking a real shower, with real hot and cold running water, but that would have to wait. The notion of hot water that wasn't so hot it would burn the flesh from your bone was a luxury he never would have considred growing up, and the uncertainty of the experience was something he enjoyed. But luxuries involving water were rationed on spacecraft, and usually involved food preparation or air circulation.

The sonic shower did the job, however. Once clean, he put his tattered clothing under the shower as well, putting it on a lower setting so as not to tear the fabric apart. That didn't work quite as well, but it was better than nothing. His side ached a bit -- he'd been careful not to put it directly under the shower, but wake from the spigot had peeled back a bit of the synthskin. He pressed it back down as best he could. It was only a temporary patch, anyway.

Dressed again. The clothing was still dirty, but he could live with it for now. He left the cabin and went to the rec area... there was a bar, as he'd hoped. He choose something low-grade and poured it into a glass.

Long day.

Glass in hand, he went over to a couch and sat down, leaned back and closed his eyes. He took a sip, feeling warmth spread from head to foot. He exhaled slowly.

"Fess."

"Yes, Garet Andrys?"

"Why do you classify the gun turrets as 'unneccessary systems' when diverting power to the deflectors?"

Fess hesitated before replying "that is an established operational parameter set in place by the ship's captain."

In other words, it just is, and it's none of my business. "Fair enough."

[NeuroMortis]

A few moments later Nakadai entered, new jacket, no shoes.

“Damn, you’re drinking Stellis? I keep that on board to eat the corrosion out of the core housings…”

He made his way to the bar, taking up an ornate bottle with two necks.

“Y’know, no matter how many times I tell myself I’ll never come back to Coruscant I find myself running away from it again…it’s this love/hate relationship we’ve got.”

He slumps into an opposing couch, staring at the ceiling.

“Coruscant, I mean.”

A drink.

“I’m always amazed at how she’s considered the bastion of commerce and trade relations by so many enterprises throughout the four quadrants. You want to impress someone, tell ‘em you’re from the Corporate Sector. You want to intimidate them, show them creds from Coruscant.”

He laughed, the bottle jouncing slightly on his stomach.

Silence.

“Of course, this last trip probably made the top of my list of ‘Reasons to Think Twice About Going Back’…

[Garet Andrys]

Garet looked at the glass of Stellis, shrugged, and took another drink.

"It does the trick," he said.

For some reason, Nakadai didn't make him nearly as nervous as he did when they first met. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he was just as deep into this mess as the rest of them. Maybe even more.


"Of course, this last trip probably made the top of my list of 'Reasons to Think Twice About Going Back'...

Garet laughed at that. "No kidding. Of course, the last time I was here, it was still the capital of the Empire... I didn't realize I'd been away that long till I arrived this afternoon."

This afternoon.

Garet shook his head, bemused. "I think I may have set a record for 'shortest amount of time spent planetside before being run offworld.' "

[NeuroMortis]

Nakadai commiserated, chuckling.

“Fess, what was the duration of our shortest planetside transaction?”

Immediately:

“Elrood. Six hours, twenty-three minutes, forty-six seconds.”

Nakadai laughed aloud.

“You win.”

He downed another swig.

Pause.

“Well, it sure didn’t take long to gather flies, did it? Unbelievable.”

He sat up.

“But you know—this only happens for one of two reasons. One, there’s something really, really important that someone doesn’t want me to have. Two, there’s something really, really important I have that someone else wants.”

He thought about that a moment, taking in the man across from him.

“…and then there’s always three: I got in someone’s way.”

[Garet Andrys]

Garet nodded. "And there's always the possibility that all of the above are true."

He drained his glass and set it on an end table.

"Whoever pulled this off seems to have quite a lot of knowledge about you and your people. I take it those were your people? Or at least, posing as your people?"

Garet looked at Nakadai. He was a smart guy, and had probably already figured out what Garet was going to say. But he wanted to get it out into the open.

"If they could infiltrate your staff the way they did... well, they probably know about all the places you go, the people you usually talk to, the resources you usually fall back on... they almost certainly know about this ship's signature. And I suspect they have a pretty good guess as to your next move."

Garet smiled.

"So this is going to be an interesting tactical challenge."

[NeuroMortis]

Nak smiled.

“There are no usuals. That’s the real kicker here.”

He took another drink before replacing the stopper, then tossed it to Garet.

“I’ve been to the Nebulae once, and that was a while back. I think whoever pulled this did it in an incredibly short amount of time—that’s partially why we made it out. They were sloppy, they didn’t expect the kind of resistance they found, and they couldn’t work together for squat. Probably a changeling coup; they’re popular goons for hire with endless numbers, greedy hands and few questions.

Expensive though—someone had resources to tap into them and the fighter—which brings me right back to the sheer stupidity of the hirelings. They took out the building before they took out the ship—which they would’ve had a hard time doing anyway because Fess doesn’t just take a nap every time I leave the front door open.

High profile hit, but completely disorganized—which leads me to believe it was led from remote, someone who pulled it together at the last minute but couldn’t, or chose not to be there due to the expediency of it in unsure environs.”

Nak shrugged.

“Least, that’s my take on it. I could be way off.”

[Sladggrlok]

Sladg stood considering the sonic shower.

He had been hoping for water, quite honestly.

This more than slightly dissappointing, but he probably should have known.

At the least though, it would get the dirt, ash, and blood out of his fur, even if it couldn't get the chemicals out.

He'd already turned up the gravity, and altered the lights.

Now the room would have been nearly pitch black to the humans, but it would darken their skin fairly quickly.

Assuming they could have stayed in for very long.

Currently the gravity was set for 2.5 standard g's. He'd been turning it up slowly, as Sladg was letting his body acclimate again to normal gravity levels.

It was nice not to feel so light, and like he was going to fly away everytime he took a step.

Though he had to admit, low gravity had it's advantages, as the day had proven.

He turned up the intensity of the shower to a level that would clean his fur thoroughly, but would also massage his torn shoulders. It was only light strain, and would heal fine, probably with a nights rest, under his normal gravity. It was somewhat dangerous to allow his body to heal under lower grav conditions, as it might do so improperly.

Once cleaner, the singed fur gone from his body, and the dirt and grime and blood gone as well, Sladg padded out into the room.

He turned the lights out, turned the gravity up to three g's, curled up on the bunk, and slept.

[Garet Andrys]

"Well, I don't know if I'd call it disorganized. We're lucky to get out of it alive, and we have your pretty Jedi friend to thank for it. We were pretty outgunned."

He shook his head admiringly.

"She's good in a fight."

"Still..." he replayed the series of events in his mind. "Their tactics were not, how shall we say, completely professional. That would add credence to your last-minute theory... no-one I've ever worked with would take that kind of assignment on short notice."

He was as much as admitting the kind of company he'd kept in the past, but he suspected Nakadai already knew some of that.

[NeuroMortis]

We're lucky to get out of it alive, and we have your pretty Jedi friend to thank for it.

At this, Nakadai smiled in a sort of wince. He listened intently, nodding, to the rest of Garet’s train of thought.

Then:

“About my ‘Jedi friend’…” he shrugged, shook his head. “I don’t know that she’s Jedi.”

He raised eyebrows, stood, moving to the bar.

“I’ve known her for about three years, and I’ve never seen her like—well, like this. I mean, yeah, she was Jedi, at some point, I think—I don’t know. I don’t know anything about the whole religion thing. I always assumed that if you practiced Force magic, you were either a good guy or a bad guy. You use—whatever—to get what you want, or you use it to give others what they need.

On my way down my crew at the Neb told me she’d been there for three days, as I’d requested, and all was according to schedule."

A grin.

"I didn't schedule squat.

I touch down, she meets me on the roof—looks at me for a second, and tells me she’s glad I’m still on top of things, that I’m one of the only people she can trust.”

Nak chuckled, pulling a stainless steel cylinder from the bar’s racks. Grabbing two glasses, he crosses the room again, offering one to Garet.

“I’m like ‘Alright, sure, you can trust me—you don’t have anything I’m interested in that I wouldn’t pay more than I’d like to for.’ (Obviously. I mean, come on, she’s gorgeous but she’s nuts, right? Don’t tap a vein you can’t contain’ and all.)

She’s messed up—I mean, the next few hours I can tell something really messed up has gone down somewhere between now and Kabray; last time I saw her, her and her Priest were right as rain, running around giving hugs to the poor and whatever the Jedi do in their spare time when they aren’t killing for peace, you know? I don’t know, I spent the evening with her on the station, waiting for the Corellian delegation to set up the shipping infrastructure up with New Alderaan. We…”

He pauses, back on the couch, the drink from the container tapering off into the glass.

“…well, we had some things in common, but I mean, you know. A girl like her, a guy like me…that whole thing.”

He toasts Garet.

“Acquisition.”

Raising the glass to his lips, he paused—then broke into another chuckle.

“How ironic. No, I didn’t mean for that to follow that. She’s her own—hell, you know what I meant.”

Meeting Garet’s eyes, he toasted again.

“To acquisition of that which needs to be acquired.”

The drink slugged down a little too fast.

Sharp exhalation.

This liquor, whatever it is, is way beyond green.

A shake of the head. Teeth bared, eyes watering.

"The hell is Sladg? I feel the need to arm wrestle..."

[Garet Andrys]

Garet returned the toast silently, and drank. It was potent stuff, he nodded at the bottle admiringly.

"This is good," he murmured. Then, "I don't know where Sladg is. Resting maybe. I think today took more out of him than he's willing to admit. To us, anyway. Yet."

Then, "I didn't mean any disrespect towards your friend... I, uh... am a diplomat only when I'm not talking, if you know what I mean. My description was more factual than wistful, if you know what I mean."

[Ilsid Rector]

::Ilsid Rector is sitting in the spartan chambers of his personal craft, the Artificer. It is an ugly ship, lumpy and worn, scarred with use and apparent poor maintenence. It is also, like some many things about Ilsid Rector, a bold lie.::

...bring your tambourine. Yeah-

::he presses a button, moves back in the recording::

-ine secure? No, I’m serious— yeah, I’m absolutely sure. Less than two days ago the range spiked nearly twelve thousand percent. Yes, a spike—a spike that seems to have attracted the attention of an Imperial runner that—will you shut the hell up? Do—ok, fine. Talk to you later….well then grant me the courtesy of informing you . Good. Now. As I said, the Imps must have pulled out of the Bryx garrison—any Sith would’ve had a shot in the anus when the spike went up—

::A wry chuckle, and he snaps the recording off::

Ropagi, Phillius Roost, Mr. Nakadai.

::He turns to a control console of several projections, shot from various angles within and around the Nebulae. His finger touch a button, and Wine flies through the air in reverse. The finger releases and his brow furrows as he watches her engage the changelings::

Who are you, my darling girl?

::Her employment records at the Nebulae had brought up a name with no history, no records, nothing. He expected nothing more, but had checked regardless. Now, he wonders who and what she might be::

No lightsaber... no weapons at all, except for the knife, quite briefly, and even that was not your own, my dear.

::In the recording, she drops the last guard. He switches to a different projection, watching her sail free of the fireball, twisted in cable, and then free herself shortly after. He watches the little shadow bear her to the ship as the fighter prepares to engage with it impotently::

From the Defel, i would expect such actions... but you are a surprise and a mystery. I do not like surprises. I will not underestimate you or your friends again.

::He makes selections of a few images of the Defel, Nakadai, Wine, and Garet, and packets them into a data bundle with what little info he could gather on them from Coruscant. Oddly, of them all, he has the most information on the Defel, who is for all appearances merely a normal business-creature. He encrypts the data, and prepares it for transmission, tacking a voice message on the end, along with the code that would see it delivered to the proper party::

My Lady: The intial operation has encountered some difficulty, in the form of unexpected resistance, and incompetence on the parts of those contracted. I am pursuing the matter to it's natural conclusion. Included in this data bundle are the individuals in question. I request you transmit all data regarding them from your archives directly to me. Contact my compatriots for appropriate security measures, if you desire. Rector out.

::He turns in his chair, staring out into the cold reaches of the outer Coruscant system. He turns back, and considers the recording of the disappearance of the Entreprenuer, and the demise of the fighter::

You are wily and resourceful... and your friends have served you well thus far, Mr. Nakadai. Do not hope to reman so lucky...

[NeuroMortis]

Nak waved a hand dismissively, mouth full of the liquor, then downed it.

“Hhhaah, nono, I know. I know.”

Deep sigh.

“I’m the same way, in some respects. Diplomacy is a means to serve an end—not the sum total of character—and it’s only useful when you don’t trust the person you’re using it with.”

A nod, a grin.

“…so I appreciate your candor.”

[Garet Andrys]

Garet snorted. "Well, then, it's settled. Just tell me when I need to ah... be diplomatic."

He took another draught from his glass, and actually grinned. "This is what I was looking for in that bar," he said. "Wow."

He was starting to relax.

"I pegged you as the chorous as soon as you walked into that bar. Tried to get out of it, but I knew it was lost cause as soon as you delivered the first soliloquoy."

He stopped, realized he was babbling, and grinned sheepishly at the beyond green in his cup.

"What is this stuff? Sorry, my planet is a little overfond of tragedies..."

[NeuroMortis]

Nak barked laughter, staring at the ceiling.

He, too, felt quite warm.

“What planet you from, anyway? I mean, hard to tell, kind of work you’re in…”

He frowned. Then,

Laughed harder.

“No, not urine.”

Chuckling to himself.

“Urine. You’re in, urine. No, I mean—what planet?”

Within moments, he’d drifted into slumber appropriate to such an evening.

Garet had already gone there, blazing a trail, his wounds finally catching up to him, his drink remaining absolutely stable in his hand.

The liquor’s soporific effect unwound the tension for a few, sacred moments.

It would be the last such moments they would have for some time, the Entrepreneur hurtling sure and sound through the stellar landscape.