Run, run as fast as you can

[Michael Cline]

ERROR 474-A ACCESS DENIED

You have 1 log-in attempt remaining before your account will be locked

[Forgot my password] [Forgot my log-in]

Mike was sure if he stared at the screen hard enough he could mentally force it to change, the thin durasteel of the professional class datapad flexing beneath his furious grip. Even without pushing the darkside into his muscles he'd have been mad enough to break this frelling thing. Today was a bad day. It was a horrible day. Today had not started off any better.

His flight from Jovan had finally gotten him home - and an uncomfortable call on the way back to Mr. Prent was behind him from the day before. 'Yes, Mr. Prent. I'm sorry, Mr. Prent. I know I only scheduled a week off Mr. Prent. I was stranded on the wrong ship, Mr. Prent.' It had taken mentioning Captain s'Ilancy's name to get him to stop chewing the red head's ear off, and only just. It was a good thing it had been her ship he'd gotten stuck on and not someone else's. Their connection at least had been enough to turn the tide on a situation that had left him shaken afterward.

Mike's mistakes when it came to the syndicate were... starting to build up, and he could feel the uneasiness of judgement upon him. His five year stint as a carbonite wall hanging had been strike one. Vanishing, again, while stuck in Alliance space and no way to securely contact his employers had been strike 2. He'd planned on coming into work today and putting that behind him, proving himself to Mr.Prent, Ms. Sasseeri and the rest of the syndicate. He'd even stopped by the local Stim cafe on the way to pick up drinks for everyone, a sign of good will and his way of apologizing. Instead his credit chit, on the company's account, had been declined.

So he'd tried his private account, also ran through the company's systems. That, too, had been rejected. Finally he'd resorted to using what little he still had on hand from the vacation, as most of that had gone to securing a private charter back home. He wasn't about to put something like that on the company bill. The declined chits were probably just his pay being docked, or some sort of auto lock since he'd popped off the radar for too long. After his last stint he couldn't blame Ms. Sasseeri for any sort of safeguards she'd put in place. He'd get that sorted out at work. Except when he'd gotten to work he'd been turned away. Aggressively.

It had taken every bit of resolve to not create a scene in front of the Casino. To not immediately give away what he was by throwing the bouncer through a second story window. Instead he'd smiled and nodded and walked home. Which is where he was now on the verge of snapping his datapad in half. His accounts were locked, but more worryingly so was his work log-in. That had set off warning bells. He thumbed the screen back to the built in comm-line and looked to see if he could have possibly missed any incoming communications. Nothing. The outgoing showed dozens of attempts in the last hour and a half. To Mr. Prent, to Ms. Sasseeri, dren at one point even to Mr. Olorin, just in case. Nothing. He was cut off, completely and deeply.

He threw the pad down on the table and ran his fingers through his hair, attempting to reign in the ball of anger growing in his stomach. They couldn't have cut him out just for that. They wouldn't have. It was a mistake. It had to be. He threw himself from the chair and stormed to his closet. Frell this. He needed to talk to Ms. Sasseeri directly. He wasn't going to get through any other way, and that meant getting to Coruscant. He wasn't going to get there on what was left available to him, so he needed his bug-out bag. He wasn't sure where he'd heard the term originally, but it had stuck with him. A 'worse case scenario' kit. It didn't take much to pry off the loose paneling of the closet wall and drag out the rucksack behind it. He fished inside to double check the contents. Three credit chits, the amounts on them weren't mindblowing, but they'd get him off world at least. A couple of quick and easy changes of clothes, a fake passport, just in case, and the Holonet number Lancer had given him. You never knew when something like that could come in handy.

He'd get to the bottom of this, damnit. He wasn't going to just give up the life he'd fought to build here. Not again. He wasn't going to lose it all again. He couldn't. He pulled the cord on the canvas sack and tossed it over his shoulder on his way out, the slam of the door behind him feeling far more final than he'd meant it to.

[Rolth Wygraant]

Terrebest
- The Corellian Trade Spine -

The last of the resistance was over. From orbit, the view of the terrorist base camp was of a dying ember in the fire, a single spot of dull red set against the night side of the planet. The enemy was isolated from population centers, making it easy to deal with them the moment they were found out. The Decimator had dropped into realspace nearly on top of the planet, allowing turbolasers to deliver instant retribution. The few fighters that were able to scramble were easy prey for his TIE squadrons, which were swarming the skies below.

It was, the Captain surmised, a tidy operation. No need for a protracted affair, and no need to involve the Knight. Nevertheless, she'd be expecting his report.

"All stations at yellow. Prepare to deploy to the surface to confirm eradication."

"Sir." Commander Belgen nodded from the crew pit, resuming his attention with the gunnery team. A few more shots belted down to the planet, destroying what few targets of opportunity remained.

Wygraant retired from the bridge, pausing just beyond the double-paneled doors at the aft deck to look towards the equally heavy doors to his right. A pair of Naval troopers stood like black statues as posted guards. Wygraant nodded, prompting one guard to insert his code cylinder into the door to open it. As the heavy metal doors slid back, Wygraant viewed a silhouette crouched in the floor, and the withering ghost of a hologram deactivating.

"My Lady, surface bombardment has been completed. I'm sending a team to confirm the results."

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

Vissica drew from her low crouch into a tall stance, pivoting fluidly to regard Captain Wygraant as the darkness of the room was gradually cast in light again.

"We have a new mission. Leave your ground teams to inspect the base, and prepare to set course for the Anoat sector."

[Rolth Wygraant]

Such sudden course corrections had long-ceased to flummox Wygraant. Lady Vissica was brusque and direct, and she found any delay at getting to the point distasteful. Politeness aside, the Captain had begun to appreciate the kinetic way his taskmaster focused her purpose.

"I'll instruct my navigator at once."

[Michael Cline]

Mike's head drooped back to rest against the headrest of the chair as he let a sigh roll out of his lips and the cup of caf in front of him grew cold. There had still been no returned messages, and no way to access any accounts associated with either the Casino or the Black Sun. He'd hoped that something would have come up while he was waiting here, a knot in his stomach keeping him from doing anymore more than nursing the drink in front of him.

Prent had been upset, sure, but he wouldn't have been burnt over that, would he? Just cast out because of a damn gate error? No, it couldn't be that. He refused to believe it. He checked his chrono and groused, rubbing a hand over his face. He didn't have the credits for private transportation, so he'd had to book a ticket for the next shuttle to Coruscant. Nothing leaving till that evening, according to the attendant. He could have sworn there was an earlier flight, but she'd insisted it wasn't the case - that he had to wait. She'd seemed so nervous about the whole thing, too - his empathy telling him that she was on edge and anxious. Well it was a high-stress job. He didn't need to make it worse by screaming at her, even if his temper was boiling just beneath the surface.

Maybe something would come up between now and then while he waited. A call, a message, anything. He had to hold out hope, other than time it was all he had to cling to at the moment.

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

Bespin
-The Anoat Sector-


The Delta-class T-3c (https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Delta-class_T-3c_shuttle) shuttle cut stark shadows over pastel clouds as it descended through the upper atmosphere of the gas giant. Ahead loomed Cloud City, arrayed by its numerous satellite stations and tibanna processing facilities.

Inside the shuttle, Lady Vissica focused her attention on a hologram of Captain Wygraant projected in miniature on the co-pilot's console.

"We're in position now, my Lady." Wygraant's hologram flickered then coalesced into clarity again. "The outer moon's Lagrangian point should conceal us from any traffic to or from the planet."

Vissica nodded curtly.

"Good. Hold position there, and wait until summoned."

Something troubled the Captain, judging by the creases on his face.

"Begging your pardon, my Lady, but wouldn't showing the flag - as it were, be a more effective disincentive for the target to escape?"

"The less our quarry knows of our willingness to capture him, the better," Vissica snorted, crossing her arms over her chest, "I will reveal force only when it is appropriate."

The Captain nodded.

"Of course. Decimator out."

The commlink severed, and Vissica looked at the slowly approaching cityscape. Small specks on the sky grew larger until two TIE fighters became clearly visible. Each fighter flanked the shuttle as the copilot opened a channel to Bespin.

"Cloud City command, this is Shuttle KN-4279, transmitting priority clearance code for landing permission. We are carrying a VIP who seeks audience with Baroness Tagge."

[Sanya Tagge]

"Acknowledged, KN-4279. Proceed to the Administrator’s Palace, landing pad besh.”

Among the many pale spires rising from Cloud City’s upper levels, the palace was unmistakable, with proud, bold banners of the Empire hanging from its outer walls. Approaching a window that afforded her a view of landing pad besh, the Baroness Administrator caught her first glimpse of the Delta-class breaking through cloud-cover. A touch of heat rose to her cheeks as she breathed words that would not have been considered proper in good, Imperial company. She had indulged, for a foolish moment, in the notion that her important visitor might the Empress herself, but - no, it was only a matter of weeks ago (https://theholo.net/forum/showthread.php?57922-Connect-This-Space-Between) that Miranda had come to Bespin.

Just a hint of edge to her voice, Sanya signalled her staff in the lower levels of the palace tower.

“Whoever it is, see to it that they are brought to me directly.”

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

Within minutes, a trio of figures were escorted into the Administrator's palace. Two death troopers stood quiet as their namesake, standing tall with the soft lighting glinting off their menacing armor. The figure in the middle somehow dwarfed even these specimens. The Selonian's alien proportions seemed out of place in the bastion of Imperial power, but if she noticed the incongruity, it did not appear to impact her - save for the simple custom of removing her helmet. It was a courtesy she afforded very few people.

"Baroness Tagge, I am Matatek Sel Vissica. Knight of the Throne."

[Sanya Tagge]

The administrator's offices were ample in size, yet the presence of the Imperial Knight and her troopers, alongside the complement of Stormtroopers who kept watch over Cloud City, made the ordinarily spacious room feel… not cramped, but tense. The Imperial Knights were not dispatched on trivial matters, and so the arrival of the creature before Sanya did not bode well for Bespin.

“It is always an honour to meet a member of your order,” Sanya said, her expression as cool as nightfall on Hoth. Seated behind a broad desk, she did not rise to greet the Selonian.

“How can I be of assistance?”

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

Vissica tucked her helmet under one paw, while the other paw's digits curled under the bottom seam of her cuirass.

"I have reason to believe that a rogue force adept may be residing on Bespin. I suggest that you begin preparations to discretely close all ports."

[Sanya Tagge]

Sanya touched an input on the desktop terminal in front of her, waiting for a moment for the connection to establish before speaking.

“Control, implement orenth protocol.”

While the Wing Guard began the process of sealing off access to the city’s ports, Sanya considered the implications of this news. During the years of active warfare with the Rebellion, a number of Force adepts had established secret base of operations in Cloud City. Their presence predated Sanya’s appointment as Baroness Administrator, yet she could not help but feel mingled shame and anger on behalf of her predecessor. How had they been so careless, to allow the Jedi to live right underneath their noses? Stars only knew how many of them had slipped through the Empire's grasp.

“Do you know the adept's name?”

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

Vissica's ears perked slightly at the immediacy of the Baroness's actions. She should expect no less of a capable administrator so close within the Empress's circle.

Withdrawing her paw from its hold on her cuirass, Vissica retrieved a holographic projector disc, thumbing it to life to produce a three dimensional profile of their target.

"Michael Cline. He matches a description in old Inquisitorius archives of a rogue adept seen near known associates of a group known as the Sith Order."

The projector passed the distance between them with the aid of the force, until it came to rest on the Baroness's desk.

"Are you familiar with this man?"

[Michael Cline]

Time seemed to move at a crawl as he sat in the small cafe. He glanced at his chrono again and noted that no more than 15 minutes had passed since the last time he'd checked, though it felt like hours. He let his chin rest on his palm and glanced at his now cold caf, considering if he should down it and get a refill before turning to people watch. It was about the only hobby he could find in the building, as glancing back at his pad just left him anxious hoping for a call from Mr. Prent or Ms. Sasseeri.

Muffled voices from outside drew the red head's attention as a small stream of people began to leave the port, most of them angry. He could feel it wash off of them like an odor, it was so strong. Anger, frustration and an undercurrent of... fear? His brow knit at that. What could happen at a space port to cause that sort of a...

A chime from his datapad drew his attention away instantly. Finally. Finally He snatched it up in hand, a lump growing in his throat, hot and solid and making his breath feel ragged and weak as he hoped for good news. Clicking and swiping through he found it was an automated message from the shuttle company he had booked his flight to Coruscant on. He tried to focus on the words, reading over them repeatedly, mouthing them under his breath as he tried to get his head around what he was seeing.

His shuttle had been canceled, with a promise to reschedule as soon as possible. He clicked through the information, exceptionally vague. It didn't seem to give a reason it was cancelled, simply that it was. He clicked a few links and attempted to get to a schedule to rebook from. Everything was grayed out. He glanced back out at the throng of people in front of the port, some were staring at their own datapads, others were talking angrily, and loudly to one another. Bits of conversation, "I don't know." "They can't do this." "But I HAVE to get back." all of them painting the same picture.

The port was closed. Mike flipped through his datapad, moved to check one of the other ports... and found the same apology notices, the same grayed out schedules. Paranoia bit into him and he leaned in to think, hands resting against the table.

First he was cut off from resources, then from work, now from leaving. It was ridiculous to think that something as serious as major port closures was about him, it couldn't be. That was just anxiety eating away at him. The syndicate had a lot of influence, but something like this was bigger than the syndicate this was Imperia....

He felt his blood run cold in his veins at the thought.

Timeline, the timeline of all of this. Cut off today from everything. Phone calls last night to the company. Arrived home yesterday from... Jovan. From Alliance space. Oh dren.

He downed his caf and tapped the table to get the server's attention for another. He needed time to think.

[Sanya Tagge]

Though the Knight’s open use of the Force sent a strange little shiver crawling up her spine, Sanya regarded the flickering holo image with an unchanged expression.

“I am not.”

Her eyes lifted and met the Selonian’s inscrutable gaze.

“If there are resources that I can provide to expedite his capture they are yours, knight-captain.”

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

One of Vissica's broad forepaws pivoted slightly in deliberate motion. The holoprojector changed images on queue, showing a hologram of less quality, but with added context.

"This local image was taken two weeks ago. A figure that appears to be Mister Cline can be seen entering what appears to be a casino. My source says it is called Cumulus."

Another subtle movement of the hand deactivated the projector. Vissica regarded the Baroness fully.

"I suggest deploying your resources there, Baroness."

[Sanya Tagge]

“Cumulus?”

The Baroness knew the name, of course. The Cumulus was one of the city’s largest casinos, run by a man named Sanis Prent. If Prent was knowingly harbouring a fugitive adept, his time as one of Cloud City’s most comfortable businessmen would soon draw to an end. Sanya gestured to one of the Stormroopers, who wore a coloured pauldron to signify his seniority of rank.

“See to it that this Cline does not escape, captain.”

The ‘trooper nodded and Sanya heard the indistinct buzz of comms chatter as the captain left the Baroness’s office.

With that, Sanya returned her attention to the Imperial Knight.

“I would be grateful if you would keep me informed on the progress of your investigation.”

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

"I shall keep you regularly apprised, Baroness." Vissica curtly nodded, taking her cue to leave. The Selonian promptly seated her helmet atop her head, striding with purpose as the doors closed behind her.




*** Ten minutes later ***

A trio of LAAT/le gunships (https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/LAAT/le_gunship) descended upon the priority landing pad of the Cumulus Casino, disgorging a squad of stormtroopers each without their skids hitting the deck. The troopers quickly formed a perimeter, while two other gunships covered the service entry points of the building. One of the squads formed up as Lady Vissica exited the final gunship, and they moved into the casino en masse.

[Sanis Prent]

"Pick up, Getti, pick up."

I was on the comm with my inside man the moment I saw the gunships making an approach on the casino. Front door and the back door. Brazen and open, and with force. This was a mess, and I liked to keep things tidy.

A hologram flickered to life in the midst of my office pacing, and I stopped to look at the man wearing Imperial Greys.

"Getti, what in the hell is this?"

Lieutenant Braylen Getti squirmed like a worm on a hook. I'd pity his bad position if I wasn't pissed off. Maybe I wouldn't. He was an Imperial, and bought and paid for, or so I thought.

"Five gunships on my doorstep, and I'm the guy calling you instead of the other way around."

Getti glanced left and right, obviously sensitive to getting this sort of call at the office. When he felt comfortable having the conversation, he spoke.

"Look, it's news to me, I'm just getting it through dispatch!" He whispered forcefully, shaking his head to emphasize his ignorance. "Whatever got sent out, it wasn't through garrison protocol. My guess is direct from the Baroness."

That was a chilly thought. I frowned, cinching my tie slightly. I had what I'd considered until today to be a decent working relationship with Baroness Tagge and the rest of the upper crust goons of the Anoat sector. This wasn't how things were handled. It was un-neighborly.

"I don't pay you to guess! Find out something I don't know ten minutes from now, and let me know five minutes from now! You're not the only Imperial officer here who owes the house. Don't make me shake things up."

I was already out the door, and the hologram terminated.

Two minutes later, my wrist comm pinged. Getti got the fear of the almighty in him.

"I can't talk long, so listen. It's something coming in sudden from offworld. Went direct to the Baroness, then direct to you."

The lift had nearly brought me down to the lobby. Through the seamless glass, I could see a lobby with twelve stormtroopers, one Selonian, and fewer customers playing the machines than were there a few minutes ago. Storm on the horizon.

"Got it. Keep digging. Gotta run."

Killing the conversation again as the elevator slowed to a crawl, I stepped out across the seko-tiled floor, headed directly towards the phalanx. Stormtroopers reacted predictably like trained kath hounds, triangulating their blasters towards me in unison. I didn't take immediate offense.

"Is there a problem...officer?"

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

Vissica closed the distance, towering over the man in the pastels and white coat. She curled her broad fingers under the seam of her cuirass.

"Knight."

[Sanis Prent]

"Ah."

I tried not to grimace or take a step back at something oppressive suddenly rank in the air. I was at least successful in not giving up any ground to the giant alien. Not to be fussy about it, but when you wear designer fragrances from Naboo, and you pay a consultant a few thousand credits to concoct a proprietary blend of aromatic botanicals, and pipe them into your casino's air circulation system at a few dozen parts per million because there's evidence that those specific smells make people subconsciously less risk averse, then yes, you now have the right to be fussy over whatever the hell I was smelling now.

"My apologies, Knight."

She wasn't speaking for the moment, so I continued with the initiative.

"My name's Sanis Prent. I'm chief of operations here at the Cumulus Casino. Now, is all of this," I gestured slightly to the stormtroopers "really necessary? I'd love to cooperate with you in any way I can, in a more, uh, private venue."

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

"I am here for Michael Cline."

Vissica cleaved right to the point, ignoring the casino boss's request for decorum. She leveled a broad finger in his direction.

"I recommend that you produce him."

[Sanis Prent]

The sinking feeling turned into a freefall. I grimaced openly, smoothing back my hair with one hand.

"That's...going to be difficult to do."

I wasn't sure if I was being candid or stalling. If I had enough time to think about what Mike could've done to get on the Empire's radar, did I really want to know about it? Taking a deep breath, I dropped my hands back to my sides.

"But all of this can be talked over in my spacious, well-appointed, and quiet office."

She wasn't getting the breadcrumbs, so I put the whole loaf in her hands. I glanced back to the now-more-empty machines in my gambling hall, gesturing for her to see.

"Stormtroopers in the open are bad for my business. So is whatever you are. No offense, Knight - I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

Vissica's ermine features tightened, as did the hand that previously leveled a commanding digit to the man.

"I represent the only business that should presently matter to you, Mister Prent. The Empress's business."

[Sanis Prent]

My tie suddenly got a lot tighter, until I reached up to realize the knot hadn't budged. Neither had the cynid-weave collar, though it felt like it was crushing down against me.

I'd heard about it happening. I'd seen it once. So this is what it felt like. Okay, don't panic, don't cause a scene. Nobody needs to see the boss getting man-handled in his own house. Easier said than done when I could feel the skin at my cheeks tingling and hot, and see red stars dancing at the edge of my vision.

"Mm...gh...."

I massaged at my besieged throat, willing it to open, as the rest of my effort remained on standing on my own two feet. When I could feel that effort slipping, I put up a hand to hopefully prop against the Selonian's armor.

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

Vissica allowed Prent to brace against her armor, then swallowed up his forearm with one broad paw clamping over it to hold him fast.

"Let this be a reminder that any discretion I allow you is conditional. This is unpleasant for you. It can become more unpleasant."

The Knight relented her unseen hold over the casino boss, giving him a moment to gasp back his breath.

"My name is Matatek Sel Vissica. Now we have been introduced. You may show me to your office."

[Michael Cline]

He was now on his third cup of caf since he'd downed the first - and his second Cigarra - the subtle sting of tabac helping to clear his thoughts as he rolled a flimsi card around his fingers. It was a filthy habit and he knew it, but it was a public alternative to the flask of Corellian whiskey or deathsticks in his bag. Both had become a form of self-medication to deal with his violent and disturbing dreams, to settle his nerves when he would wake up in a cold sweat from nightmares that were mimicking his actual experience at the moment in a far too uncomfortable manner.

He tapped his finger against the table and watched the port again, no movement, no changes. The last thing he had seen had been a small squad of frelling Stormtroopers entering and securing the location, enforcing the lock down. His eyes shifted back to the pad on the table, mocking him with it's silence. Nothing from the company. Nothing from anyone. The whole situation had brought into stark realization just how isolated Cloud City is when the ports were shut down. He was in a cage and the door had just been slammed shut. It was going to do him no good to sit around and hope. If, stars forbid, this actually was about him he was just letting the noose tighten. If it wasn't about him he still had no way of knowing when this would end with a finite amount of resources and an increased Imperial presence to try and keep away from.

He needed off Bespin without involving any of the above the board methods. A few weeks ago he could have called in favors through the syndicate, greased the right palms or just outright asked his employers to back him up. That had vanished in a moment and didn't look to be coming back anytime soon which left him with just one last 'friend' to call on. He stopped fiddling with the flimsi between his fingers and looked at it, a non-descript comm number.

"Just do it." He mumbled to himself to spur his action and entered the number string leaving it to ring.

"C'mon Lancer, pick up."

[Zereth Lancer]

Eriadu. This was not the sort of planet he would willingly land upon; and was unplanned at that. A gross miscalculation had happened somewhere along the long, winding journey around the rim of the galaxy and he found himself short of fuel by this leg of the journey. It was a curious anomaly and one that the Mandalorian mechanics back on Dantooine would have to answer for and fix. His path had taken him out along the outskirts of society to stay out of the eye of authority as he crept around the walls of the core in order to get from Dantooine to Terminus. The ever growing city planet was rife with inequality to be righted. Like many other planets like it, Zereth often traveled to them to right the wrongs often allowed for the sake of progress.

Creeping up to the viewport, he glanced out into the spaceport beyond. Dozens of ships were laid out taking their turns fueling up. Eriadu was a conflicted planet, nestled right on the border the old Imperial blood was having to contend with the young rebels that were springing up, no doubt influenced by the doctrine preached just across the border. No one wanted to stay here for long. Him included. The sooner he got on his way the sooner he could breath again. All that stood between him and a fight all the way back to the outskirts of society was one over-zealous inspection. He was not worried for his own safety. There was little risk to a being of his capabilities and powers, but he worried for the vulnerable beings that he would be unable to aid and protect should his mission fail.

It would be a long, defeated trip all the way back to Dantooine.

A faint chirp-chirp drew his attention. His comm system had woken up and was displaying an incoming call. He did not recognize the transmission frequency. However, there were not many that could contact him. He kept this channel very private. It was not an Eleutherian channel, which meant it could only be a small handful of allies and contacts, or it was one of the few he had given the number to. In the case of emergency. A call for help.

Dropping down into the navigators' station he flipped the comm switch and toggled on to the call, turning up the volume just in time to catch somebody speaking absently. He recognized the voice.

"Michael? Are you alright?"

[Michael Cline]

With so many seemingly ignoring him today there was an odd wash of relief that came when Zereth Lancer, a man he would have at one time called an enemy picked up. He opened his mouth to say something but found the response died on his lips. Was he alright? He still couldn't be sure that all of this was anything more than paranoia - but someone was talking to him, finally, after a day with no returned calls and no options. It meant something and the man had in that moment gone from an uncertain acquaintance to a potential friend. He leaned in, over the table and stared down at the comm in his hands, how did he explain his situation? The cafe was, so-far, empty enough to prevent people from overhearing as long as he was quiet about it.

"I'm..." He paused before continuing, "I'm not sure." He admitted candidly. "I think I might be in trouble - and I need a ride."

He shook his awkward nervousness about asking for help off and reminded himself that it was his only remaining lifeline.

He leaned in a bit closer, lowering his tone to something more private. "The company let me go this morning. Froze my assets, cut my resources and aren't returning any of my messages." Lead him into the seat kicker slowly, "On top of that..." He ran a tongue over his bottom lip, "Something's up here. Cloud City is locked down tight. Shuttles cancelled, more Imps than usual and ports shuttered, so I'm stuck."

He let a breath out slowly. Time for the shoe to drop and see if Lancer felt like he was over-reacting or if this warranted the kind of concern he was feeling. "And all of this has happened within... oh.... 16 hours of me getting back from an unplanned trip through Jovan... and Alliance Space."

[Zereth Lancer]

"The company let me go this morning..."

The navigator's chair was left empty and spinning as Zereth moved across the cockpit and began toggling switches on the pilot's console. While he checked on the status of the refueling and ship systems, he listened to a humbled Michael. One that had been brought low. There was little sign of the haughty youth that was too cool for his own good and unwilling to accept help or advice. There was a helplessness and an unknowing in his voice that fueled Zereth's movements. A quick call to ground control would have the refueling shut off early. He had more then enough to get him to Bespin.

Michael continued, rattling on as a man with nothing left but talking does. There was a lot of poor decisions admitted to, but Zereth kept his I told you so's to himself. This was not the time. This was a moment in the force, of two individuals calling out to each other. There was no other thought on his mind except to connect the dots and get to Michael as quickly as possible. So many times he had witnessed these polarizing moments, between two people, against all odds, and from across the galaxy. And too many times had he turned his head and ignored it for one reason or another. Jezreal. Ashe. Asha. He would not allow it to happen again.

"I'll be there are quickly as I can. I'm not far. I'm at Eriadu. I'll come straight down the hyperlane to you."

The weathered XS-800 groaned as the engines were powered on and began warming up. The old freighter was hardly agile enough to just suddenly rocket out of orbit. Regardless he prepared himself for lift off. Locking down the hatches, putting his things away into storage, and gathering his weapons. He would need them soon. With an eye on the viewport he watched the service crews work, and feeling a sense of impatience like he had never before in his life as he waited for them to detach the fuel lines.

[Michael Cline]

Mike found himself momentarily speechless by the reaction. There hadn't been any questions or dismissals, Lancer was coming, with expedience it seemed, to his aid. He felt an odd kinship form with his one time captor. Maybe Lancer still figured he owed Mike for that, maybe he really had become the better person he'd presented himself as when they'd shared a few drinks - either way Mike was left in stunned appreciation for the actual kindness on display - and finally able to breath a sigh of relief that felt some of the tension melt out of his frame.

He let the air stay empty and still between them for a moment more, covering the comm with one hand as the waitress returned. Mike gave her a short nod of approval for a refill and considered just long enough to catch her before she left, "And a nuna club on rye, please." he gave a small smile as she walked off and returned to the comm.

"I'll hunker down here until I hear from you again." He thumbed the comm, ready to end the call before pausing and bringing it back to speak one last thing through it, "Thank you."

There wasn't much else he could do, and with the possible Imperial patrols it was probably best he try and keep off the streets as much as possible - at least until he knew what was actually going on.

[Sanis Prent]

I massaged my tender throat under the guise of adjusting my tie, while escorting the Knight and a handful of her goons as if it had been my idea the whole time. I passed a few of my people along the way, and made sure I was all smiles. Nothing wrong here, not at all. Just ignore the seven foot tall carrion pile and her jackboots. We entered my office, and I promptly set the glass to opaque, to shield any prying eyes.

"Can I get you anything? Corellian whisky? Toniray wine?"

Ever the good host, I gestured to my small but smartly-stocked personal bar.

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

Vissica dismissed her stormtrooper escort to post outside of the office door. Alone with the casino boss, the Selonian considered his request with a snort.

"I am not thirsty."

[Sanis Prent]

Of course not. A wrangled a grimace into an understanding smile.

"Worth a try."

Well I was. Grabbing a crystal tumbler, I measured two fingers of Privaat Reserve, and carefully put the bottle away. The first sip helped sooth the swollen unease at my throat that served as a subtle reminder of the stakes. I gestured to one of the guest seats in front of my desk. The Knight didn't budge, standing as ominously as before.

"Suit yourself."

I put my desk between us, opting to sit.

"Michael Cline works for the Cumulus, or I should say, worked for the Cumulus." I scoffed, setting my glass aside.

"He's had some work issues recently, and that brings us to the meat of the issue, he's a no call / no show. Hasn't checked in."

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

Vissica's broad brow creased.

"You do not know where he is?"

Her tail thump-thumped the carpet as her broad forepaws tightened briefly into fists and released.

[Sanis Prent]

With a little irritation, I took a level off of my drink, letting the glass clink audibly against the coaster.

"If I knew that, I'd be sorting it out instead of getting the business end of an interrogation in my own office."

I shrugged.

"So it sounds like we're both empty handed. You ask me, he's halfway across the galaxy by now."

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

"No." Vissica countered flatly, her nostrils flaring slightly. "I believe he is here, and I want you to draw him out of hiding."

[Sanis Prent]

"Oh, you do?" I audibly scoffed, leaning forward to rest my elbows on the desk. "Look, even if he was here, why do you think he'd listen to me? And if he's in trouble with the likes of you and he's on Bespin, you think word won't get to him that the Empire rushed his place of employment with gunships and troopers?"

My fingers laced together.

"You took care to act quiet and act fast. You closed the ports without official decree, so obviously Mike's a bigger fish than I ever rated him. Look, why are you coming after him this hard? Work with me here."

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

For a brief moment, Vissica hesitated. Though Selonians avoided lying at all costs, there were times where it was prudent to omit, so the Knight carefully measured out how much truth was appropriate. She settled instead on answering a question with a question.

"Perhaps you can answer that yourself. What did Mr. Cline do for your organization?"

[Sanis Prent]

Easy enough.

"He was a fixer."

It was the sort of answer that explained everything and told nothing. I allowed another sip, letting the needed alcohol help to find my rhythm again.

"Look, this isn't the Imperial army or navy or whatever. There's a chain, sorta, but there's also people that you ask to do a lot of things that don't really fit in a basket, you understand? Mike, he was one of those guys. I need something found, he found it. I need a problem to go away discretely, he's the soft glove touch."

Soft glove and Mikey? Okay, probably veering off script. I grimaced slightly.

"Well, usually."

[Michael Cline]

Mike was growing increasingly nervous, and could not shake the chill up his spine that felt like somewhere someone was discussing him. He checked his pad again. No new information, no messages, but the local holonet chatter was ablaze with conversation about the lockdowns. Questions of what was happening, why was it happening and especially who it was happening because of. That chill went through him again and he took a drag off his last cigarra. He'd burnt through his whole supply since this had all started.

He could feel the nervous energy making his leg bounce under the table as the waitress came back again asking if he was ready for his bill. He shook his head and just tapped the mug for a refill. She complied but he could tell she was growing irritated, even without his empathic gifts it would have been obvious - with them he felt like she were screaming in his face to get out of there and free up the space in the quickly busying cafe. It was across from the spaceport, a spaceport that was now closed and the people expecting to use it had to go somewhere in the interim.

Nothing from Lancer yet, still nothing from the company, it couldn't hurt to try one more time right? Just to double check. He entered Mr. Prent's comm number one last time.