Post by Warork on Feb 7, 2023 4:54:06 GMT
Chapter 1: A Day At The Races
Var Zayza; Capital of the Planet of Theron
14 BBY
Var Zayza; Capital of the Planet of Theron
14 BBY
It was often said by spacefarers that if the galaxy had one place where the ancient and modern came to parley then that place was Theron. The venerable summits of its white stoned spiral rock formations descended into valleys where the new colonies of green and yellow mosses, grasses and lichens grew in between the crumbling crags at lower altitudes. A blue-grey sky that hadn't changed in millennia hung over cloudy fog banks that hid the young rivulets of water which sprang from the spring thaw of the frost and ran down into the rivers that flowed to the seas.
It was the place where the new met the old. Flocks of hatchling avian Gulcha-beasts picked at the remains of ancient, long-necked, shell-backed Slortles which had finally perished of old age and whose gargantuan, leathery carcasses provided endless waves of wild scavengers the nourishment needed to survive another day in Theron's wildernesses. The ruins of at least one but perhaps more ancient civilizations dotted the rugged landscape where small colonies of newly arrived settlers and homesteaders built ramshackle shelters and shops inside crumbling edifices in which perhaps entire long gone populations once gathered to meet or to worship their now dead gods.
Here were the cities, built hundreds or thousands of years ago depending on which one you happened to be standing in at the time. Most inhabitants were quite proud of the history their home city boasted even though by all researched accounts none of the planet's the currently standing cities held a candle to the age of the ruins of whatever societies had once called Theron home before they had vanished, leaving only the empty husks of what had once been their own thriving municipalities. Each one had its own character and story; a motley collection of independent city states connected by a common culture and bonds of shared commerce. In the midst of the marshy swamp lands dwelt Var Korleen; a squat and vast conclave of slums and shacks with a nasty reputation as a haven for gamblers, criminals and smugglers and yet one which many were drawn to as a center of music, revelry, and culture. It was the largest river port on the planet, straddling the banks of where the world's largest waterway met the adjoining seas. There were ten thousand ways to get into Var Korleen, its people often said, but few ways to leave.
Would one follow that river it would wind through the great river-lands and their trackless farming plots that formed sparse communities which spiraled out like fluid fractals from lakes and creeks until the land rose into mesas, plateaus and finally the Silverspine mountains where was nestled the shining city of Var Mordrum. The glass and crystal domes of its buildings reflected sunlight brilliantly into the sky every cloudless day; shining beacons amongst the the dull stones while its lonely, abandoned towers and temples, carved in antiquity into the very edifices of the mountains themselves, provided halls of retreat, tranquility, and solitude to its people. Many of those dour folk labored long shifts in the ore mines that descended into the roots of the cliffs around them, the darkness of those caverns as inescapable as the flinty gazes of their foremen. The light and wind above them that they'd return to at their toil's end were their blessed, if fleeting liberators.
These and dozens more dotted the surface of the spinning blue-green and white orb that was Theron. Var Acrahg on the sea had its great docks that housed legions of fishing vessels while Var Samdzik sat cramped between the walls of the great Zarut Canyon; a place named after the God-Axe that was supposedly dragged through the ground to make it. Every city had a people and every people had a story...
But while all cities on Theron had their own idiosyncrasies, each paled in comparison and lived in the shadow of the capital. Var Zayza was the oldest and largest of them all and was probably the only city on the face of the planet to have some form of thriving population living within it since the planet was colonized many thousands of years ago before the Republic had even taken its first breath. Var Zayza was the ancient jewel of Theron; where great multi leveled commerce complexes that arched into the heavens shared broad thoroughfares with wizened stone aqueducts and bustling, speeder strewn plazas were paired with weather worn monuments on sagging plinths to statesmen, philosophers and warriors whose names were lost to time and whose facial features were lost to the natural process of erosion. Steady streams of star-bound vessels moved in rough queues back and forth in the sky lanes over the city as its central space port directed them for safe transit in an orderly, almost mechanical airborne dance. Below them massive observation platforms covered in shining, chrome plated skin floated weightlessly on their gargantuan repulsorlift engines, ferrying the wealthy and powerful over the streets below choked in many places with trees and vines that overgrew the fences of the parks they were set aside for while ponderous bridges of stone that had seen millennia of foot traffic arched over many of the city's watery canals.
It was alongside one of these canals, down a boulevard teeming with sentient beings that ranged from the mundane to the fantastic that a small boy walked today. All around him swirled the huddled masses of the ancient capital; his hometown, each making their own way through the crowd. While the sight of the boy's blue skin and white hair might have been unusual on other planets or even in other cities on this planet, Var Zayza was a melting pot of as many peoples and cultures as there were stars in the sky and as such the little Pantoran, a scampering, slight framed child clad in the perpetually dirt stained loose fitting cloth that all boys his age seemed to eventually adopt no matter what their guardians had originally intended for them, made his way past groups of chittering, bat-nosed Chadra-Fan traders and lumbering, misshapen and wrinkled Chevin in scrappy beggar's rags alike without receiving so much as a second glance from any of them. A thousand languages were spoken or shouted in the open air's tumult and the warm smells of spices wafted on the breeze as peddlers sold freshly made food roasted over open flames under the colorful fabric canopies of the nearby bazaar booths and stands. One voice in particular, sunny and smooth, could almost be heard clearly over the multitude of others in the discordant chorus as it blared through amplified speakers arrayed around the canal plaza. The young Pantoran strained his ears to hear the salient voice as he walked through the square.
"...An absolutely gorgeous day in the capital as we get into these; the qualifying rounds of the four hundred and eighty sixth annual Twin Staves Classic here in beautiful Var Zayza! Wouldn't you say this is some of the best weather we've seen for a podrace this season, Berdo?"
Another voice joined the broadcast, this one having a chipper, mechanical lilt to it.
"You are correct, Haydin! Observation: the podracers who will be competing today should have much better fortune than the ones who attempted the same maneuvers on the Malastare circuit one standard month ago. The sudden dust storm that covered the course on lap three was cited as the main cause of the six engine pile-up that occurred on the fifth turnpike there."
"A tragedy to be certain, Berdo." The first, much more melodic voice cut in again. "But these are the risks these racers take at the end of the day to win the glory of the victor's circle! Speaking of which, why don't we take a moment to tell our listeners about the racers who are favored to be competing for the top spot in the starting lineup?"
"Answer: Very well, Haydin! Allow me to pull up the files on today's death defying organic pilots! Commentary: it seems the statistics favor two candidates for the race's winner today. The first is Dolyk "The Phaser" Phaziir, a Togruta male and racer who has placed in the top ten rankings in the past fifteen years of the Twin Staves Classic. He is looking to secure his third consecutive win this year! His main rival in this endeavor is our second candidate; Intas Multruk, a Cerean male who is looking to redeem his podracing career after surviving the aforementioned crash on Malastare a month ago."
"These and many more hopefuls are currently vying for advantageous positioning for the big race later this week!" The first voice added helpfully. "It all boils down to how quickly they can complete their qualifying laps."
"Affirmation: This is indeed the case, Haydin! Observation: There seems to be a third racer's profile that is also in popular consideration for final victory in this year's race but I am observing she is considered something of a 'dark horse' by most observers...whatever that means. Would you like me to—"
"Hold that thought, Berdo!" The first voice cut the other off. "It looks like the competition has started a little early! A pack of podracers just ripped into the Harrowglass Canal tunnel as this, the first of the qualifying laps for the big race is well underway!"
No sooner had these words come from the speakers around the plaza than a mass of people, as though a spell was compelling all of them, shuffled as one group towards the median stone wall that separated the canal from the street, many craning their necks out to look down the dark canal tunnel that the announcer had spoken of.
"Its The Phaser coming down the tunnel in the lead like a mynock out of hell with his butt on fire! Those two Voltec KT11 Hornets of his are absolutely at full throttle, folks, as he tries to keep the lead over Multruk who holds the number two position just behind him and is looking for a way to get around Phaser!"
The Pantoran lad slowed his walk to a crawl as he felt a low building roar in the stones around him; a throaty thrum of oncoming engines that was pouring out of the canal tunnel and getting louder with each passing moment. As the crowd's energy steadily heightened along with the cacophony, he quickly grabbed hold of a tent pole from the nearest food stand and braced himself.
"Its a really tight run here, folks! These racers are risking it all vying for position in such a narrow passage and its not even the real thing yet! Multruk tries the left but Phaser just as quickly drifts into his path cutting him off! I don't think Multruk is going to have much of a hope unless he—wait, we've got another racer advancing on the lead pack from the rear! They're looking for room to maneuver on Phaser's right! I don't believe what I'm seeing here, folks! Its a three way battle for first place in a section of the track with almost no room to maneuver!"
The awful, thundering noise from the tunnel entrance reached a crescendo and out leapt the monsters responsible for splitting the calm morning air; thee pairs of massive repulsorlift engines, their spinning intakes screaming in metallic rapture and their jet exhausts bellowing flame behind them came rocketing out of the shadowy tunnel, mere feet separating all of them. Behind each trailed a brightly painted chariot; a control pod attached to their maddened mechanical steeds with little more than the tensile strength of the thin metal cabling that the pilots within depended on to keep them alive. Their deafening passing drowned out the the ecstasy of the crowd and yet they cheered all the same, the young Pantoran boy watching as those nearest the median wall threw their hands in the air, mirroring the whitewater sprays from the canal that were kicked up by the podracers' high speed maneuvers scant inches above the waterline.
The boy closed his eyes and winced as they roared past him, vanishing down the canal as quickly as they had appeared and leaving only the hollow feeling of shock in his chest from how their engines had torn the very air around them. The crowd continued to bellow in adoration, their fiery heroes receding into the distance as they sped off further down their track at dare-devil insane speeds. He filled his lungs again after a moment that seemed to stretch on agonizingly long for how short it had been and blinked away the afterimages of the star white jet washes that had just solar flared past the plaza...
The podracers had been blur of speed and noise but that hadn't stopped him from getting a good look at them and the streaking, emerald green painted thunderbolt that led them as they passed by.
"Dank Farrik!" the announcer swore through the speakers, the boy barely hearing him over the ringing in his ears. "Folks, words cannot do justice to the absolute audacity of the move I just witnessed! Just when the stakes could not be higher the Jade Javelin has appeared to steal the lead from right under Phaser's nose!"
"Confirmation," the mechanical voice again took over. "Vemidra Ajaxis is the human pilot from Corellia who seems to have successfully used the rivalry between Phaser and Multruk to move quickly up the racing ranks this year. She came to prominent fan acclaim several months ago after her team managed to secure victory in the Five Sabers racing tournament despite being virtually unheard of at the time."
"Thanks for the run down, Berdo. That's right, folks! Vemi and her lean, mean, green racing machine; a craft pulled by two Girodyne CK-250 Phantoms, has taken the lead here in the first qualifying lap for the Twin Staves Annual in beautiful Var Zayza! The finest pod-jockeys for a thousand parsecs have come here this week to participate in one of the most exciting and prestigious races of the year! Its gonna be a real thriller, folks! We haven't even made it to race day and the competition is already on a knife's edge! We'll be back with more coverage of this death defying spectacle but first...a word from our sponsors..."
The broadcast droned on but the boy was done listening. He tightened the strap on the satchel he wore around one shoulder and brushed the dust that had been kicked up by the passing podracers off his tunic as he scurried off down a side street and away from the canal plaza. The minutes it took to navigate the tight turns of the alleys felt like hours to him but finally he was able to come to an avenue with relatively few people walking down it. He stopped and sagged against the side of a stone building, filling his small chest with gulps of clear air. He closed his eyes and felt the gentle breeze of the warm day on his skin and took in the soft sunlight warming him from behind a layer of clouds.
"Enjoying the day's festivities, are we, young master Sidanti?" A voice suddenly asked from the calm. It was accompanied by a long shadow falling over the boy and he opened his eyes to behold a tall, four armed figure standing over him where one had not been before.
"Oh, hi there Mister Babbard!" The child said cheerily, looking up at the elderly Besalisk standing before him. "Yeah, I guess I'm enjoying them."
The Besalisk made a chortling sort of noise that sounded half like gargling and half like mirth, his neck wattle wagging sympathetically. "Well don't sound too excited, young master. It seems the excitement of the week is only just beginning. But what brings you down to the District of Crystals on this fine day, young Sidanti?"
"I was actually coming to see you!" The Pantoran boy chirped and stood up a little straighter than before. "Eli sent me to pick up that thing he left you."
"Ah, all business today, are we?" Babbard chortled again, his wizened, wrinkled features full of warmth and good humor. He picked a small metallic object out of his waistcoat pocket with one of the arms of his lower pair and held it aloft on its chain. With the press of an unseen button a small holographic display emanated from the device, displaying a string of characters Sidanti couldn't read. Looking down at the display Babbard tutted his tongue. "Well, it was just about time for me to head back to the shop from my stroll about in any case. Care to join me, young master Sidanti? It would be nice to have someone to chat with. Perhaps you can tell me about your favorite podracer."
Sidanti fell in beside the old Besalisk as he began to walk but furrowed his brow and frowned as he did so. "Sure, I guess I could...If I have to." He said, scratching his head through his ever messy tuft of silver-white hair. It was an eternal mystery to Babbard, despite his many years, how children's hair always managed to defy the ministrations of even the most severe of combings.
"What's this?" Babbard asked in mock surprise as he walked, one of his arms gripping a finely polished cane that was keeping pace alongside him. "A child in this city who is not enraptured with the sounds and sights of the races? Most curious, indeed!"
"They're very loud." Sidanti complained as he walked. "The engines hurt my ears, they get my clothes all dirty as they speed by and whenever a race is happening the streets are even more crowded than usual! It makes getting across town even harder than it usually is."
The chortle from Babbard was even more pronounced this time. "Child, did I not know you I'd almost be tempted to say that you have quite an old soul. Every word you've just said to me is one that I've heard out of the mouths of dear friends that I've known for decades."
"Thanks...I guess?" Sidanti said, slightly confused. "Are you saying I sound like an old person?"
Again the chortle. Again the waggling wattle on Babbard's neck. Again the slow, metronome-like tapping of the cane hitting the pavement. "I am saying that you are young, Master Sidanti, and you should therefore be enjoying the exciting adventures of youth while you still can."
"Yeah?" Sidanti asked while he walked. "Eli always tells me I can't do a bunch of things I want to until I'm older!"
"Ahhhh..." Babbard tutted. "He is, of course, correct I am sure. But between you and I allow me to let you in on a little secret."
Sidanti looked about himself and leaned towards Babbard conspiratorially. It wasn't often that the old Besalisk shared secrets with him.
"Oh?" the boy cooed. Babbard obliged him with a loud whisper.
"Every adult in existence would gladly give up all that they could do because they grew up to be adults in exchange for experiencing what being a child is like once more."
Sidanti straightened up and continued walking, his face betraying his skepticism.
"That doesn't make any sense!"
"No?" Babbard asked, mystified. "I suppose not. But I promise you that it will make all the sense in the galaxy to you one day, Master Sidanti."
"If you say so, I guess."
The conversation moved on to lighter topics from there. In about ten minutes the two had made their way across streets where the occasional speeder trundled past and down alleys where the occasional felinoid hunted the occasional womp rat until they rounded a street corner where a squat little building sandwiched between a cafe and a salvage shop sat and welcomed those on the street into its warmly lit doorway with a sign that in jauntily fonted Aurebesh proudly displayed the name "Babbard's Baubles." Sidanti stepped into the familiar store and beheld the displays and exhibits that he'd beheld many times before; here stood a manequin wearing some sort of finely tailored ceremonial raiment made of precious stones and the hair of a veermok. Over there was a table covered in small pedestals that held eggs made to resemble those of Nunas but made of shiny and expensive metals which opened to reveal miniature scenes of pastoral tranquility no doubt crafted by master artisans over the course of hundreds of hours. The outrageously expensive was not the only sort that could be found in Babbard's shop, however, as shelves were also lined with decorations, trinkets, art pieces, and displays of all types and price ranges. If it was gaudy, ostentatious, refined, or elegant Mister Babbard probably had it in his shop somewhere. Sidanti watched as small droids with buzzing wings and insectile legs flitted from one display to another, landing daintily on each and using their tiny metal legs to clean or maintain the objects held there.
"Now then." Babbard said, clearing his throat after finding his way behind the shop's counter and hanging his cane upon a banister behind it. "Let me find the order I had for your father."
"He's not my father." Sidanti, half turning from looking at the sculpture hidden inside one of the eggs on the table.
"No?" Babbard asked curiously as he used his four arms to move things around on a shelf underneath the white marble countertop. "Does he not take care of you?"
"Yes...but—"
"Does he not feed you and provide a roof over your head? Does he not instruct you how to behave and how to act like that adult you seem to want to be so badly?"
"Yes." Sidanti said sheepishly as he approached the counter and cast his eyes down to it. "I guess."
"You've done a lot of guessing today, boy." Babbard said as he picked an item out of the assorted objects he had hidden on the shelf behind the counter. "But a man who does all that for a child that's not even his own blood...That's one of the few things in this galaxy you can be sure of; his integrity."
"Integrity." The young Pantoran repeated and looked up at Mister Babbard with curious, bright yellow eyes. "What's that mean?"
"Someone who means what they say and does it." Babbard replied without missing a beat. He gave the boy a crooked smile and scratched the stubble of his chin with one of his thick sausage-like fingers. "No matter how hard it might be; they stand by their family and friends to the end and they never give up on them. They believe in what's right and stand against what's wrong. That's someone who has integrity."
Sidanti nodded and seemed to consider this for a few moments before responding. "That does sound like Eli."
Babbard gave a grumbling harumph and folded his upper arms while handing Sidanti the object he held in one of his lower hands. "Fine, boy. Have it your way."
Sidanti took the object from Mister Babbard and held it in his hand. It was a small box made of black obsidian that opened on a small durasteel hinge but its hatch was sealed by a small biometric scanner embedded into the front of it. The box hung from a thin silver chain which Sidanti grabbed onto before placing the box into his palm. He fished out some credit tabs from his satchel and placed them on the counter top in return.
"Eli said to keep the change this time and to thank you for doing a rush order." Sidanti said dutifully as he placed the box into his satchel.
"You may tell Eli that he is most welcome." Babbard nodded to Sidanti. "And that I look forward to the next trinket of his that he needs cleaned or fixed." The chortling of the Besalisk once again filled Sidanti's ears and idly he wondered if it was possible for Mister Babbard to inflate his wattle to the point where it popped like a balloon. He tried not to laugh while imagining it.
"Run along now, Master Sidanti." The old shopkeep shooed him. "Come back in a few days and tell me what you thought of the race!"
"I will Mister Babbard!" Sidanti called as he left the store and rounded the corner, headed for home.
Why did Eli have such weird friends, he wondered?
It was the place where the new met the old. Flocks of hatchling avian Gulcha-beasts picked at the remains of ancient, long-necked, shell-backed Slortles which had finally perished of old age and whose gargantuan, leathery carcasses provided endless waves of wild scavengers the nourishment needed to survive another day in Theron's wildernesses. The ruins of at least one but perhaps more ancient civilizations dotted the rugged landscape where small colonies of newly arrived settlers and homesteaders built ramshackle shelters and shops inside crumbling edifices in which perhaps entire long gone populations once gathered to meet or to worship their now dead gods.
Here were the cities, built hundreds or thousands of years ago depending on which one you happened to be standing in at the time. Most inhabitants were quite proud of the history their home city boasted even though by all researched accounts none of the planet's the currently standing cities held a candle to the age of the ruins of whatever societies had once called Theron home before they had vanished, leaving only the empty husks of what had once been their own thriving municipalities. Each one had its own character and story; a motley collection of independent city states connected by a common culture and bonds of shared commerce. In the midst of the marshy swamp lands dwelt Var Korleen; a squat and vast conclave of slums and shacks with a nasty reputation as a haven for gamblers, criminals and smugglers and yet one which many were drawn to as a center of music, revelry, and culture. It was the largest river port on the planet, straddling the banks of where the world's largest waterway met the adjoining seas. There were ten thousand ways to get into Var Korleen, its people often said, but few ways to leave.
Would one follow that river it would wind through the great river-lands and their trackless farming plots that formed sparse communities which spiraled out like fluid fractals from lakes and creeks until the land rose into mesas, plateaus and finally the Silverspine mountains where was nestled the shining city of Var Mordrum. The glass and crystal domes of its buildings reflected sunlight brilliantly into the sky every cloudless day; shining beacons amongst the the dull stones while its lonely, abandoned towers and temples, carved in antiquity into the very edifices of the mountains themselves, provided halls of retreat, tranquility, and solitude to its people. Many of those dour folk labored long shifts in the ore mines that descended into the roots of the cliffs around them, the darkness of those caverns as inescapable as the flinty gazes of their foremen. The light and wind above them that they'd return to at their toil's end were their blessed, if fleeting liberators.
These and dozens more dotted the surface of the spinning blue-green and white orb that was Theron. Var Acrahg on the sea had its great docks that housed legions of fishing vessels while Var Samdzik sat cramped between the walls of the great Zarut Canyon; a place named after the God-Axe that was supposedly dragged through the ground to make it. Every city had a people and every people had a story...
But while all cities on Theron had their own idiosyncrasies, each paled in comparison and lived in the shadow of the capital. Var Zayza was the oldest and largest of them all and was probably the only city on the face of the planet to have some form of thriving population living within it since the planet was colonized many thousands of years ago before the Republic had even taken its first breath. Var Zayza was the ancient jewel of Theron; where great multi leveled commerce complexes that arched into the heavens shared broad thoroughfares with wizened stone aqueducts and bustling, speeder strewn plazas were paired with weather worn monuments on sagging plinths to statesmen, philosophers and warriors whose names were lost to time and whose facial features were lost to the natural process of erosion. Steady streams of star-bound vessels moved in rough queues back and forth in the sky lanes over the city as its central space port directed them for safe transit in an orderly, almost mechanical airborne dance. Below them massive observation platforms covered in shining, chrome plated skin floated weightlessly on their gargantuan repulsorlift engines, ferrying the wealthy and powerful over the streets below choked in many places with trees and vines that overgrew the fences of the parks they were set aside for while ponderous bridges of stone that had seen millennia of foot traffic arched over many of the city's watery canals.
It was alongside one of these canals, down a boulevard teeming with sentient beings that ranged from the mundane to the fantastic that a small boy walked today. All around him swirled the huddled masses of the ancient capital; his hometown, each making their own way through the crowd. While the sight of the boy's blue skin and white hair might have been unusual on other planets or even in other cities on this planet, Var Zayza was a melting pot of as many peoples and cultures as there were stars in the sky and as such the little Pantoran, a scampering, slight framed child clad in the perpetually dirt stained loose fitting cloth that all boys his age seemed to eventually adopt no matter what their guardians had originally intended for them, made his way past groups of chittering, bat-nosed Chadra-Fan traders and lumbering, misshapen and wrinkled Chevin in scrappy beggar's rags alike without receiving so much as a second glance from any of them. A thousand languages were spoken or shouted in the open air's tumult and the warm smells of spices wafted on the breeze as peddlers sold freshly made food roasted over open flames under the colorful fabric canopies of the nearby bazaar booths and stands. One voice in particular, sunny and smooth, could almost be heard clearly over the multitude of others in the discordant chorus as it blared through amplified speakers arrayed around the canal plaza. The young Pantoran strained his ears to hear the salient voice as he walked through the square.
"...An absolutely gorgeous day in the capital as we get into these; the qualifying rounds of the four hundred and eighty sixth annual Twin Staves Classic here in beautiful Var Zayza! Wouldn't you say this is some of the best weather we've seen for a podrace this season, Berdo?"
Another voice joined the broadcast, this one having a chipper, mechanical lilt to it.
"You are correct, Haydin! Observation: the podracers who will be competing today should have much better fortune than the ones who attempted the same maneuvers on the Malastare circuit one standard month ago. The sudden dust storm that covered the course on lap three was cited as the main cause of the six engine pile-up that occurred on the fifth turnpike there."
"A tragedy to be certain, Berdo." The first, much more melodic voice cut in again. "But these are the risks these racers take at the end of the day to win the glory of the victor's circle! Speaking of which, why don't we take a moment to tell our listeners about the racers who are favored to be competing for the top spot in the starting lineup?"
"Answer: Very well, Haydin! Allow me to pull up the files on today's death defying organic pilots! Commentary: it seems the statistics favor two candidates for the race's winner today. The first is Dolyk "The Phaser" Phaziir, a Togruta male and racer who has placed in the top ten rankings in the past fifteen years of the Twin Staves Classic. He is looking to secure his third consecutive win this year! His main rival in this endeavor is our second candidate; Intas Multruk, a Cerean male who is looking to redeem his podracing career after surviving the aforementioned crash on Malastare a month ago."
"These and many more hopefuls are currently vying for advantageous positioning for the big race later this week!" The first voice added helpfully. "It all boils down to how quickly they can complete their qualifying laps."
"Affirmation: This is indeed the case, Haydin! Observation: There seems to be a third racer's profile that is also in popular consideration for final victory in this year's race but I am observing she is considered something of a 'dark horse' by most observers...whatever that means. Would you like me to—"
"Hold that thought, Berdo!" The first voice cut the other off. "It looks like the competition has started a little early! A pack of podracers just ripped into the Harrowglass Canal tunnel as this, the first of the qualifying laps for the big race is well underway!"
No sooner had these words come from the speakers around the plaza than a mass of people, as though a spell was compelling all of them, shuffled as one group towards the median stone wall that separated the canal from the street, many craning their necks out to look down the dark canal tunnel that the announcer had spoken of.
"Its The Phaser coming down the tunnel in the lead like a mynock out of hell with his butt on fire! Those two Voltec KT11 Hornets of his are absolutely at full throttle, folks, as he tries to keep the lead over Multruk who holds the number two position just behind him and is looking for a way to get around Phaser!"
The Pantoran lad slowed his walk to a crawl as he felt a low building roar in the stones around him; a throaty thrum of oncoming engines that was pouring out of the canal tunnel and getting louder with each passing moment. As the crowd's energy steadily heightened along with the cacophony, he quickly grabbed hold of a tent pole from the nearest food stand and braced himself.
"Its a really tight run here, folks! These racers are risking it all vying for position in such a narrow passage and its not even the real thing yet! Multruk tries the left but Phaser just as quickly drifts into his path cutting him off! I don't think Multruk is going to have much of a hope unless he—wait, we've got another racer advancing on the lead pack from the rear! They're looking for room to maneuver on Phaser's right! I don't believe what I'm seeing here, folks! Its a three way battle for first place in a section of the track with almost no room to maneuver!"
The awful, thundering noise from the tunnel entrance reached a crescendo and out leapt the monsters responsible for splitting the calm morning air; thee pairs of massive repulsorlift engines, their spinning intakes screaming in metallic rapture and their jet exhausts bellowing flame behind them came rocketing out of the shadowy tunnel, mere feet separating all of them. Behind each trailed a brightly painted chariot; a control pod attached to their maddened mechanical steeds with little more than the tensile strength of the thin metal cabling that the pilots within depended on to keep them alive. Their deafening passing drowned out the the ecstasy of the crowd and yet they cheered all the same, the young Pantoran boy watching as those nearest the median wall threw their hands in the air, mirroring the whitewater sprays from the canal that were kicked up by the podracers' high speed maneuvers scant inches above the waterline.
The boy closed his eyes and winced as they roared past him, vanishing down the canal as quickly as they had appeared and leaving only the hollow feeling of shock in his chest from how their engines had torn the very air around them. The crowd continued to bellow in adoration, their fiery heroes receding into the distance as they sped off further down their track at dare-devil insane speeds. He filled his lungs again after a moment that seemed to stretch on agonizingly long for how short it had been and blinked away the afterimages of the star white jet washes that had just solar flared past the plaza...
The podracers had been blur of speed and noise but that hadn't stopped him from getting a good look at them and the streaking, emerald green painted thunderbolt that led them as they passed by.
"Dank Farrik!" the announcer swore through the speakers, the boy barely hearing him over the ringing in his ears. "Folks, words cannot do justice to the absolute audacity of the move I just witnessed! Just when the stakes could not be higher the Jade Javelin has appeared to steal the lead from right under Phaser's nose!"
"Confirmation," the mechanical voice again took over. "Vemidra Ajaxis is the human pilot from Corellia who seems to have successfully used the rivalry between Phaser and Multruk to move quickly up the racing ranks this year. She came to prominent fan acclaim several months ago after her team managed to secure victory in the Five Sabers racing tournament despite being virtually unheard of at the time."
"Thanks for the run down, Berdo. That's right, folks! Vemi and her lean, mean, green racing machine; a craft pulled by two Girodyne CK-250 Phantoms, has taken the lead here in the first qualifying lap for the Twin Staves Annual in beautiful Var Zayza! The finest pod-jockeys for a thousand parsecs have come here this week to participate in one of the most exciting and prestigious races of the year! Its gonna be a real thriller, folks! We haven't even made it to race day and the competition is already on a knife's edge! We'll be back with more coverage of this death defying spectacle but first...a word from our sponsors..."
The broadcast droned on but the boy was done listening. He tightened the strap on the satchel he wore around one shoulder and brushed the dust that had been kicked up by the passing podracers off his tunic as he scurried off down a side street and away from the canal plaza. The minutes it took to navigate the tight turns of the alleys felt like hours to him but finally he was able to come to an avenue with relatively few people walking down it. He stopped and sagged against the side of a stone building, filling his small chest with gulps of clear air. He closed his eyes and felt the gentle breeze of the warm day on his skin and took in the soft sunlight warming him from behind a layer of clouds.
"Enjoying the day's festivities, are we, young master Sidanti?" A voice suddenly asked from the calm. It was accompanied by a long shadow falling over the boy and he opened his eyes to behold a tall, four armed figure standing over him where one had not been before.
"Oh, hi there Mister Babbard!" The child said cheerily, looking up at the elderly Besalisk standing before him. "Yeah, I guess I'm enjoying them."
The Besalisk made a chortling sort of noise that sounded half like gargling and half like mirth, his neck wattle wagging sympathetically. "Well don't sound too excited, young master. It seems the excitement of the week is only just beginning. But what brings you down to the District of Crystals on this fine day, young Sidanti?"
"I was actually coming to see you!" The Pantoran boy chirped and stood up a little straighter than before. "Eli sent me to pick up that thing he left you."
"Ah, all business today, are we?" Babbard chortled again, his wizened, wrinkled features full of warmth and good humor. He picked a small metallic object out of his waistcoat pocket with one of the arms of his lower pair and held it aloft on its chain. With the press of an unseen button a small holographic display emanated from the device, displaying a string of characters Sidanti couldn't read. Looking down at the display Babbard tutted his tongue. "Well, it was just about time for me to head back to the shop from my stroll about in any case. Care to join me, young master Sidanti? It would be nice to have someone to chat with. Perhaps you can tell me about your favorite podracer."
Sidanti fell in beside the old Besalisk as he began to walk but furrowed his brow and frowned as he did so. "Sure, I guess I could...If I have to." He said, scratching his head through his ever messy tuft of silver-white hair. It was an eternal mystery to Babbard, despite his many years, how children's hair always managed to defy the ministrations of even the most severe of combings.
"What's this?" Babbard asked in mock surprise as he walked, one of his arms gripping a finely polished cane that was keeping pace alongside him. "A child in this city who is not enraptured with the sounds and sights of the races? Most curious, indeed!"
"They're very loud." Sidanti complained as he walked. "The engines hurt my ears, they get my clothes all dirty as they speed by and whenever a race is happening the streets are even more crowded than usual! It makes getting across town even harder than it usually is."
The chortle from Babbard was even more pronounced this time. "Child, did I not know you I'd almost be tempted to say that you have quite an old soul. Every word you've just said to me is one that I've heard out of the mouths of dear friends that I've known for decades."
"Thanks...I guess?" Sidanti said, slightly confused. "Are you saying I sound like an old person?"
Again the chortle. Again the waggling wattle on Babbard's neck. Again the slow, metronome-like tapping of the cane hitting the pavement. "I am saying that you are young, Master Sidanti, and you should therefore be enjoying the exciting adventures of youth while you still can."
"Yeah?" Sidanti asked while he walked. "Eli always tells me I can't do a bunch of things I want to until I'm older!"
"Ahhhh..." Babbard tutted. "He is, of course, correct I am sure. But between you and I allow me to let you in on a little secret."
Sidanti looked about himself and leaned towards Babbard conspiratorially. It wasn't often that the old Besalisk shared secrets with him.
"Oh?" the boy cooed. Babbard obliged him with a loud whisper.
"Every adult in existence would gladly give up all that they could do because they grew up to be adults in exchange for experiencing what being a child is like once more."
Sidanti straightened up and continued walking, his face betraying his skepticism.
"That doesn't make any sense!"
"No?" Babbard asked, mystified. "I suppose not. But I promise you that it will make all the sense in the galaxy to you one day, Master Sidanti."
"If you say so, I guess."
The conversation moved on to lighter topics from there. In about ten minutes the two had made their way across streets where the occasional speeder trundled past and down alleys where the occasional felinoid hunted the occasional womp rat until they rounded a street corner where a squat little building sandwiched between a cafe and a salvage shop sat and welcomed those on the street into its warmly lit doorway with a sign that in jauntily fonted Aurebesh proudly displayed the name "Babbard's Baubles." Sidanti stepped into the familiar store and beheld the displays and exhibits that he'd beheld many times before; here stood a manequin wearing some sort of finely tailored ceremonial raiment made of precious stones and the hair of a veermok. Over there was a table covered in small pedestals that held eggs made to resemble those of Nunas but made of shiny and expensive metals which opened to reveal miniature scenes of pastoral tranquility no doubt crafted by master artisans over the course of hundreds of hours. The outrageously expensive was not the only sort that could be found in Babbard's shop, however, as shelves were also lined with decorations, trinkets, art pieces, and displays of all types and price ranges. If it was gaudy, ostentatious, refined, or elegant Mister Babbard probably had it in his shop somewhere. Sidanti watched as small droids with buzzing wings and insectile legs flitted from one display to another, landing daintily on each and using their tiny metal legs to clean or maintain the objects held there.
"Now then." Babbard said, clearing his throat after finding his way behind the shop's counter and hanging his cane upon a banister behind it. "Let me find the order I had for your father."
"He's not my father." Sidanti, half turning from looking at the sculpture hidden inside one of the eggs on the table.
"No?" Babbard asked curiously as he used his four arms to move things around on a shelf underneath the white marble countertop. "Does he not take care of you?"
"Yes...but—"
"Does he not feed you and provide a roof over your head? Does he not instruct you how to behave and how to act like that adult you seem to want to be so badly?"
"Yes." Sidanti said sheepishly as he approached the counter and cast his eyes down to it. "I guess."
"You've done a lot of guessing today, boy." Babbard said as he picked an item out of the assorted objects he had hidden on the shelf behind the counter. "But a man who does all that for a child that's not even his own blood...That's one of the few things in this galaxy you can be sure of; his integrity."
"Integrity." The young Pantoran repeated and looked up at Mister Babbard with curious, bright yellow eyes. "What's that mean?"
"Someone who means what they say and does it." Babbard replied without missing a beat. He gave the boy a crooked smile and scratched the stubble of his chin with one of his thick sausage-like fingers. "No matter how hard it might be; they stand by their family and friends to the end and they never give up on them. They believe in what's right and stand against what's wrong. That's someone who has integrity."
Sidanti nodded and seemed to consider this for a few moments before responding. "That does sound like Eli."
Babbard gave a grumbling harumph and folded his upper arms while handing Sidanti the object he held in one of his lower hands. "Fine, boy. Have it your way."
Sidanti took the object from Mister Babbard and held it in his hand. It was a small box made of black obsidian that opened on a small durasteel hinge but its hatch was sealed by a small biometric scanner embedded into the front of it. The box hung from a thin silver chain which Sidanti grabbed onto before placing the box into his palm. He fished out some credit tabs from his satchel and placed them on the counter top in return.
"Eli said to keep the change this time and to thank you for doing a rush order." Sidanti said dutifully as he placed the box into his satchel.
"You may tell Eli that he is most welcome." Babbard nodded to Sidanti. "And that I look forward to the next trinket of his that he needs cleaned or fixed." The chortling of the Besalisk once again filled Sidanti's ears and idly he wondered if it was possible for Mister Babbard to inflate his wattle to the point where it popped like a balloon. He tried not to laugh while imagining it.
"Run along now, Master Sidanti." The old shopkeep shooed him. "Come back in a few days and tell me what you thought of the race!"
"I will Mister Babbard!" Sidanti called as he left the store and rounded the corner, headed for home.
Why did Eli have such weird friends, he wondered?
Sidanti had decided a long time ago that he liked the District of Clay better than the District of Crystal. While the latter was certainly cleaner and bore wider, better maintained streets than the former he'd always found the uniform whites and pastels of the District of Crystal's storefronts made them feel cold and clinical; the sunlight glaring off the many panes of glass windowing that lined the thoroughfares reminding him of the dispassionate glow of the artificial lighting in a doctor's waiting room. Sidanti hated whenever Eli made him go to the doctor, even when he had been sick with Nuna-pox when he was little. The doctor's office was always strange and uncomfortable. The air was dry, the space inside always seemed to echo and then after sitting in the weird smelling and sounding room they had to go to another room with a different smell that was just as weird where they waited again so the doctor could finally show up to perform his usual routine of standing around making hmmm-ing and huh-ing noises. And then, as if all that wasn't enough, he'd sometimes bring out one of those long, scary needles.
Sidanti felt an involuntary twinge in his arm at the memory. He'd cried a lot that day. Eli had only laughed. "A little pain now to save a lot of pain later," he'd said while Sidanti had attached himself firmly into Eli's side. It hadn't been a great memory but Sidanti found himself feeling warmth in it nonetheless. Eli had smiled down at him with that cocky grin of his to show him that everything would be alright. Sadly, he didn't have too many memories of Eli smiling these days. Not many of the adults he knew seemed to smile a lot, he'd noticed. Usually, when he asked Eli about why someone seemed sad Eli would tell him it had something to do with the war.
The war. Sidanti heard about it all the time. He had been born just before it started so he didn't remember much about it. He only really remembered how it had sounded and that it had been very loud. He'd cried a lot during those days too, just like the adults did when they talked about the war or when they thought no one was looking at them. It seemed strange to him to always be thinking about something that happened so long ago, but then again it was hard not to when you lived in a place where you walked by thousands of the scars it left every day.
The District of Clay was Sidanti's favorite part of the city and it still bore, even half a decade later, many of the marks of the war. He walked down dull, brick roads where water pooled in small craters and past brick buildings with brick chimneys where masons and layers still worked to repair the shredded stonework of windowsills that had once been beautifully crafted into smooth lines but had long since been shattered and scorched by laser fire. Everything in the District of Clay was brick; from the walkways and the alleys, to the buildings and the roofing. Miles and miles of warm, terracotta red greeted Sidanti every day aside broad cast, white angles and yellowed, beige molding that seemed to mix itself with grey mortar from street corner to street corner and all of this bordered by cobblestone that was arrayed in the wide public squares in between. Even the sewers underneath everything were lined with brick! And he knew that because he'd been down there a whole bunch of times even when Eli found out and told him he shouldn't go there anymore. Sidanti's friend Marli said she hated living in the District of Clay and kept telling him how she dreamed of one day escaping to live in one of those fancy penthouse apartments in the gleaming towers of the District of Gems but Sidanti couldn't disagree more. The thought of living somewhere so high up made his head spin. To heck with that, he thought, he'd rather live closer to the ground where the streets were narrow but cozy and something warm and sweet smelling always seemed to be wafting out of some of the windows he passed. Besides, he'd never trade the people he knew here for anyone else in the city. Yeah sure, Crazy old Heimskur the one eyed Iktotchi beggar who hung out down on the corner of Keda Road and Strex Avenue looked scary and smelled like alcohol all the time but Sidanti had heard sooooooo many cool stories from him. Like the one about how the District of Clay had been founded hundreds of years ago by immigrants from somewhere called Ferrix. He didn't know where that was but apparently Heimskur's ancestors were from there. And then there were people like Missus Punbramo who was the most famous Dug in the District for the family recipes she brought with her when she moved to Theron from her original home. Everyone wanted some of her Malastarian Zillo-puffs at their next party and she was so nice about making them for everyone, too.
He came to a halt on the street corner he was on and tried vainly to banish the swirling thoughts about this place from his mind. It was just making what Eli had told him days ago that much more difficult. He didn't want to leave. He liked the District of Clay. He liked his friends. He liked the city and everyone he knew here. He didn't want to leave them and he somehow already missed them even though he hadn't even left yet! That wasn't even the worst part, either. The worst part was that Eli had told him that he couldn't say goodbye to anyone. Eli always used words like "jeopardize everything" and "operational security" whenever he told Sidanti that there was something he HAD to do.
But it wasn't right. It didn't feel right to just not say anything to anyone. Sidanti had felt so many questions well up in him that it became hard to breathe. One day he just couldn't stand how much they smothered him anymore and they all came out at once. How could this be okay to do to everyone he knew? What had happened to "doing the right thing" like Eli always talked about?
To Eli's credit he had at least given that some thought. But his answer had only confused Sidanti even more. "Sometimes you have to do a bunch of small wrong things to do a big right thing."
He didn't understand. What could be bigger than home? Bigger than the District of Clay? Bigger than Marli and Heimskur and Missus Punbramo and the foundry workers who were led by the big Feeorin named Tomrox who said hi to him while walking home from every shift? What about the shopkeeps and the old ladies who fed the pikobis down by the pond in the park every morning? What about all his friends that went to school down on Nayzor Street? What about everyone?! Didn't he get a say in this?
Sidanti clutched the strap of his satchel with both hands and stood there on the street corner looking down at the brickwork of the curb. His throat stung him and he felt white hot embarrassment flush in his face as his eyes became blurry and he dragged a sleeve across them to crudely batter away the tears gathering there. He looked around him, thankful there was no one near enough or interested enough in him at this time of day to see his shame. Across the street were the rows of great terraced townhouses that he would recognize even in the dead of night without a lumen-post to guide his way. He looked down the road for the one with the steel slat fencing out front overgrown with Zayla bushes bearing bright pink flower buds. He crossed the street and pushed the gate guarding the path to the front door open, its hinges sounding their familiar keening protests as he did so.
Home sweet home, he thought as he looked up into the windows that overhung the street.
At least...for a little while longer.
It had taken a few minutes for Sidanti to figure out where Eli was when he'd entered the townhouse and silently closed the door behind him. He'd always thought it was cool that both of them got to have a whole townhouse to themselves when most of the people he knew had to share theirs with different families. Eli had said it was one of the perks of working in the Governor's office. Having such a big space to themselves made it easier to hide people too. Eli did that a lot. Sidanti was pretty sure the Governor didn't know about that seeing as Eli always told him to never say anything about anyone who stayed at the townhouse besides the two of them. One of the people who Eli hid even thought it was funny. "Right under their damn Imperial noses" he had chuckled, winking at Sidanti.
Sidanti had found Eli in the study earlier and had been surprised to see him in his slate grey military uniform and high black boots. "I know I said I had the day off," Eli had said apologetically. That was something Sidanti liked about Eli even though he was still mad at him right now. Eli was always apologizing about things that weren't even his fault. "But I had to go down to the office to speak to someone and it was important."
Sidanti thought Eli's uniform was pretty wizard. His friend Azilom had once said something about how "that uniform was a disgrace" but Eli was pretty sure Azilom was just repeating something his dad had said. Azilom's dad hated everything about the Empire so it wasn't that surprising. Mari had said that the uniform made Eli look handsome, a sentiment which her friend Tel'bura disagreed with because of the small scar that sliced through Eli's right eyebrow and its sibling; another that traced its way from his right cheek across the bridge of his nose. "You can't be handsome with facial scars, everyone knows that!" Tel'bura had protested. Sidanti hadn't known what to reply to that. He didn't know how to judge what made anyone handsome. Eli had always just been Eli to him. Sidanti had always thought that Eli looked like the statues down on the Ancestral Parkway; the ones of the warriors from ages past who wielded shields and spears instead of blasters like in the storybooks at the library. Eli would look just like one of them if he put on that old-timey armor, Sidanti thought.
There was something else, though. Something that Sidanti felt Eli had in common with those statues that he didn't have the words to describe. Every time Sidanti looked up into their silent, stony faces he saw the youthful shine in the endearing expressions that their sculptors had chiseled from plain marble but also the harsh wear of erosion that the passage of the cruel aeons of time had inflicted upon them as well.
Earnest but weary. Solemn but in a way that seemed sad. Yeah, the young Pantoran decided, Eli was a lot like those statues.
"Would you go wake up our guest and tell him that the briefing is about to start?" Eli asked him. He was busying himself adjusting the settings of the glossy black holotable that was central to the study. He pressed a button on the table's control display and the light in the room dimmed as the transparisteel window to the outer world on the other side of the room darkened to a nearly opaque black.
"Did you have any trouble getting to Babbard's shop? Traffic's hell today."
"Not really." Sidanti said, frowning. He didn't know how to feel about their current "guest." He seemed nice enough...when he was conscious anyway. But despite Eli's assurances to the contrary Sidanti was pretty sure the whole reason they were leaving soon was because of him.
"Good." Eli nodded. "Lets have it, then."
Sidanti wordlessly opened his satchel and pulled out the obsidian box on the silver chain that Mister Babbard had given him earlier and handed it to Eli who turned it over in his leather gloved hands before setting it on the holotable.
"Good work, Sid." Eli said with a slight smile and a pat on Sidanti's shoulder. " I knew I could count on you."
That was something else Eli was always doing. Sidanti remembered when he was younger and the whole thing had seemed so adventurous to him. Being a courier for secret messages and dead drops, what could be cooler than that? But now that it meant they were leaving Theron suddenly none of it seemed nearly as fun anymore. Back then he'd be grinning all day after Eli told him he'd done a good job. Now it felt like mockery.
"What do you even want me to wake him up for?" Sidanti asked, frowning. "Every time you've had a briefing with him his answer is always the same."
"Yeah well..." Eli trailed off, his smile fading into frustration. "This time we've got some new information that might change things. Umbra wouldn't have called a meeting otherwise. Have you finished packing your things? Are you ready to go?"
Sidanti wanted to hide the look on his face but despite his best efforts he was sure he looked as uncomfortable as he did when Missus Punbramo pinched his cheeks.
"Are you sure we have to go?" He asked. "There isn't anything you and Umbra can do differently so we can stay?"
Eli looked at Sidanti and went to speak before seeing the look in the poor kid's eyes and deflating a bit. He sighed.
"Sid, we've talked about this." It was all he could think to say. He'd long since run out of ways to try to break this to Sidanti gently. "Things are going to be very different soon and I—"
A small, tinny beeping cut through the awkwardness of Eli's words. He looked down at the chronometer on his wrist that was emanating the alarm.
"I don't really have time to get into it again. Go wake our friend and get squared away to leave, kid. Double time."
Sidanti turned to leave. He could feel the harshest groan cry out from inside of him to be released but he knew it would be an exercise in futility. Eli only ever called him "kid" when he expected Sidanti to do something without arguing.
That was another thing Eli was always doing. He let people know where he stood, he just didn't always say it.
With the holotable set up and a moment to himself in his room the Imperial grey uniform couldn't come off fast enough. Not for the first time had Eli stood in the doorway of his closet and taken a good long stare at the garments and boots he put on for work every day. The color wasn't the worst thing, the worst thing is that it wasn't even a true Imperial uniform. It was rather merely a traditional Theronian uniform that had been modified to mimic the Imperial style; starched, polished, depressingly monotone...goonish.
That's all they were now. Imperial goons. The war had ended and as the old saying went, to the victor went the spoils. That's how the soon to be Empire had come to Theron, anyway. Oh yes there had been parades, there had been cheering and singing and dancing aplenty. Why wouldn't there be? Theron had been fighting its own little wars for longer than Eli had been alive. So when the Republic had finally started to pay attention to it when the Separatists brought an entirely new war to their home, why wouldn't there be folks waving flags from rooftops shouting 'long live the Republic!' by the time it was all over?
He remembered that day. Remembered when they'd raised the victory banners up over the great domed edifice of the opera house down at the end of the street. Most of the dome's grand artifice had been missing then; a multi story work of architectural ingenuity that stood half obliterated as an obscene reminder of how those years had destroyed the best of all they were. Another casualty of the Clone War. He also remembered the days afterwards. He remembered the looming shapes of Venator class star destroyers suspended above the capital, remembered how the joy had given way to awkward silence as lines of clone troopers marched down the street.
He remembered the words 'for a safe and secure society!' blaring from every speaker and holo device in the city.
And so the tyranny that they'd all fought for years to bury had come to them under the guise of their liberation. Looking back on it, the only thing that had surprised Eli was how quiet it had been; a masterstroke accomplished via exploitation of the one thing despots could always depend on—the inherent pettiness of all sentient people. None had complained when the Separatist Barons had their fortunes and industries turned over to Republic loyalist corporate bodies from the Core Worlds. No one had shed a tear when the Empire had cleaned house and all those owing allegiance to the CIS backed ruling families and cartels had their doors kicked open in the dead of night only to be dragged off to who knew where. Not one word of contrition had been uttered when all the positions and titles and ranks that those people had held were then handed over to those who had "won" the war. Why would anyone say anything? This was justice wasn't it? Who cared what the Republic called itself now? Years of treachery and abuse had been repaid. Those who deserved it were being punished. You could trust the men and women in the grey uniforms and white armor, they were making things right.
Eli closed the closet door and stepped away from it, walking back into the silence of his bedroom. He looked around and not for the first time contemplated its warm glow and comfortable furnishings. This too had been one of the many gifts of the Empire, or rather, one of the many gifts of the governor who himself was a gift from the Empire. Imperial gifts. Now there was a laugh. The people of Theron had quickly learned that the Empire didn't give gifts so much as it carried out transactions. Sure, you can have jobs and livelihoods and all it will cost is the reasonable price of your guild's powers of bargaining. Desire some political stability, do you? Don't give another thought to that quarrelsome planetary council assembly when you can simply forward all your complaints to the petitionary forums of the governor's office. Tired of all the ephemeral, phony garbage coming out of the holonet these days? Not to worry, the Empire can simply remove all of that nonsense from your daily life and in turn provides you with newscasts presented by inoffensive personalities that you can depend upon to tell you who to despise and what to fear.
Why not trust the salesman with the crooked smile? Why not put on your uniform and follow your orders? Why make a fuss? Why bite the hand that feeds you? You won. The spoils of war are yours to enjoy. Why worry about what it had cost you? Wasn't the carrot worth the stick?
A knock at the door to his room wrenched him from his thoughts. Eli moved quickly to throw on a shirt before welcoming the intruder to enter. A pneumatic hiss filled the silence of the bedroom as the door pulled back, revealing Sidanti who greeted Eli with a look of abject perplexity.
"I think he's dead." Sidanti reported.
Eli responded in the only way anyone could hope to in that moment.
"What?"
It had turned out that their guest had not, in fact, perished but after descending the staircase and entering the townhouse's master refresher unit Eli could see why Sidanti had thought that to be the case. It took a few frustrating minutes for Eli to gather enough of the empty glass spotchka bottles strewn haphazardly across the tiles into the crate that had, at some point, been the subject of an uncaring toss into a corner just so he could clear a path over to the tub that dominated the center of the chamber. There in water that had long gone cold half floated face down the motionless form of a blue-green humanoid figure. In fact, if it wasn't for the small streams of bubbles that Eli observed periodically venting from the sides of the body's head he'd be tempted to agree with Sidanti's initial assessment.
No such luck he supposed in a moment of rueful musing that he only half regretted a moment later. He'd hosted plenty of vagabonds hiding from his employers over the years and each of them had been out of sorts in their own ways, but this one...he'd never met a Nautolan more seemingly prepared to do the Emperor a favor by wasting away from liver failure of all things.
"Jirano?" Eli attempted from the edge of the tub. The alien did not stir. In the water one of the several long, fleshy tendrils that his species possessed in lieu of an average human's head of hair twitched. Eli leaned forwards and flicked the fleshy appendage about an inch above where it tapered, a small splash of water the only sound breaking the silence other than his voice. The tendril curled its yellow tip reflexively and twitched some more but the body it was attached to refused to reanimate.
Damn, this poor asshole really had drunk himself stupid.
Seven to Fourteen. That's how many of the cephalopod like tentacles, which most called 'headtails' in polite conversation, most, if not all Nautolans possessed if what Sidanti had told him weeks ago was correct. It had been a conversation that Eli remembered if only because when asked how he knew that the kid had volunteered that he'd seen it on the holonet and, furthermore, that some people seemed to be really into that sort of thing. That revelation had naturally led to another conversation about how old Sidanti needed to be to look at those sorts of net sites and which of his friends' older siblings he needed to stop hanging out with. Despite the pitiful sight before him, Eli couldn't help but feel a half smile turn his cheek at the memory.
"C'mon Jirano, Umbra's waiting. You're holding up the whole damn show." The discombobulated octopus that was Jirano's head remained in a state of inebriated stupor. If he'd heard Eli then he showed no signs of it.
"Alright well, can't say I didn't try."
Eli leaned over and stuck his fingers into both of the sides of Jirano's head where the small bubbles continued to stream to the surface. The gill openings that had produced said bubbles momentarily began to open and shut against Eli's hands reflexively in a vain attempt to dislodge that which obstructed them. Another few moments and Jirano's head was sluggishly shaking back and forth, rippling the placid waters of the tub until finally his neck arched back violently and he raised his head above the surface gasping for air as he did so.
"Karking hell!" the Nautolan spluttered between coughs, shaking his head and sending his headtails flopping around wetly as he did so. Eli hated the sound those things made when they did that. "What the—"
"Ah, so you are breathing." Eli said. "Good thing too, would have been awfully awkward explaining to the enforcers how a full grown man drowned in my bathroom."
Jirano made to stand, tub water coming up to his shins, and swayed slightly as he did so. He spat a small stream of water back into the tub. Eli wasn't sure how pitch black, amphibian eyes could become bleary but somehow his guest had managed it.
"A man with gills no less!" Eli added. "Would need a hell of a lawyer. Though, I think the jury would be more interested in the victim's absurd blood alcohol concentration."
"What...ehrrm...What time is it?" The groggy Nautolan asked, noisily clearing the sludge in his throat. He briefly wondered if he'd tried to swallow a bogling or something similarly small and furry the night before. His voice certainly sounded scratchy enough that he couldn't eliminate the possibility outright.
"Its time for Umbra's briefing. The operation is only a few days away, remember?"
There was a growl that emanated from the back of Jirano's throat and the sound of swishing water as he made his way over to the edge of the tub. "For frak's sake I already told both of you I wasn't interested in—"
"He said he's got new info that's of interest to you specifically, remember?"
Eli could tell a lot about the individuals who stayed in his home by how they looked at him sometimes. The venomous scowl that Jirano gave him was no exception; an expression that bathed in exasperation and annoyance yet was soaked thoroughly in fatigue. It was the bags under his eyes that had somehow seemed to sink further back into his face since he came here, Eli thought. It was the look of a man near the end of his rope.
"Fine." Came the stiff reply. "I suppose he enjoys getting told to kark off to his face."
"Five minutes. Get dressed." Eli said, turning to leave. "And for frak's sake brush your teeth or something. Your breath smells like a bantha crawled into your throat and died."
Five minutes had come and gone. Then six. Then seven. Eli was just about to march back into the refresher unit to see what the hold up was when at seven minutes and thirty seven seconds after he had left the room Jirano finally entered wordlessly and took a seat in a corner of the room, sullenly folding his arms as he did so. A few silent key presses on the holotable's interface and Eli watched as the door to the room closed itself and sealed the two of them off from the rest of the townhouse with the clack of its locking mechanisms slotting into place. Another few key presses and the almost inaudible whine of the table's short range jamming device could be heard in the room as it powered up. With the work of only his fingers Eli had made the room into a black hole; nothing could get into our out of it except by his own command. To most people, the precautions that Eliatheo Vandrec had put into place to ensure that whatever communication he received through this device in this room would border on paranoid delusion but to him it was just another facet of the work that he did. The information that passed through this room could kill dozens or perhaps even hundreds in the wrong hands and so he would leave absolutely nothing to chance.
This thoroughness, this attention to detail was why Umbra had recruited him wasn't it? He dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it came to him. Perhaps that was a delusion of his own making. Perhaps he was simply another asset to be shuffled around, weighed and sacrificed with the cold detachment of a Dejarik master sliding his pieces across the playing field. Perhaps it was both...or neither. Umbra had never been much of an open book but who in this line of work ever could be? There was far too much at stake for petty things like "truth" and "decency" to remain obstacles in their path. How far would they go? Eli often kept himself up at night asking himself this very question and a thousand others besides but every day he drifted off to sleep coming to the same conclusion...
The Empire had to be destroyed.
All the means, all the lies, all the coercion, the blackmail, the smuggling, the skullduggery, the mayhem and the murder, all of it served this end. Eli picked up the obsidian box from the table's surface and opened it to reveal the tiny nav-comp device held within it. The box held an insignificant but interesting bit of gadgetry that was able to sync up with holonet data, satellite feeds or even communicate with the navigational hardware of starships within range to provide the holder an up to date and detailed holographic map of the surface of whatever celestial object they were currently standing on. A simple compass on steroids, Eli supposed, in layman's terms. The device's ability to prevent the user from becoming lost was not what he required of it today, however. No. That honor would go to the small hidden chamber in the box's false bottom that he opened with another series of button presses which dropped a small data chit into the palm of his other hand.
"Are all these asinine steps really necessary just for you people to talk to each other," Jirano asked petulantly, breaking the silence. "Or do you only go through them to annoy me in particular?"
"Its fascinating that you think you're worth spending that much time and energy to make upset." Eli shot back coolly as he inserted the chit into one of the ports on the holotable's interface and danced his fingers across its keypad in quick succession. "Especially considering you seem to be quite able to accomplish that on your own most of the time."
"Just get on with it," came Jirano's sour retort. "Of all the people on this planet to be saved by it had to be the people playing at commandos in their basements."
"I'm sorry," the speed of Eli's turn towards Jirano mirrored how fast he had felt the prickles of those words underneath his skin. "Perhaps you'd like me to take you back? Put on the uniform and turn you in as an escapee? Let the bastards throw you into deepest borehole they can find so they can grind your bones into dust?"
"I'd almost prefer that."
Eli held Jirano's gaze for a moment before turning away from him in silence back towards the holotable. There was no arguing with Jirano when he was like this. And besides, Eli could trade snark and banter just as well and as long as the next rough hewn laborer from Theron's working class but something in him always faltered when he realized that his guest was no longer saying such things as a matter of sarcasm.
The Empire had to be destroyed.
All the means, all the lies, all the coercion, the blackmail, the smuggling, the skullduggery, the mayhem and the murder, all of it served this end. Eli picked up the obsidian box from the table's surface and opened it to reveal the tiny nav-comp device held within it. The box held an insignificant but interesting bit of gadgetry that was able to sync up with holonet data, satellite feeds or even communicate with the navigational hardware of starships within range to provide the holder an up to date and detailed holographic map of the surface of whatever celestial object they were currently standing on. A simple compass on steroids, Eli supposed, in layman's terms. The device's ability to prevent the user from becoming lost was not what he required of it today, however. No. That honor would go to the small hidden chamber in the box's false bottom that he opened with another series of button presses which dropped a small data chit into the palm of his other hand.
"Are all these asinine steps really necessary just for you people to talk to each other," Jirano asked petulantly, breaking the silence. "Or do you only go through them to annoy me in particular?"
"Its fascinating that you think you're worth spending that much time and energy to make upset." Eli shot back coolly as he inserted the chit into one of the ports on the holotable's interface and danced his fingers across its keypad in quick succession. "Especially considering you seem to be quite able to accomplish that on your own most of the time."
"Just get on with it," came Jirano's sour retort. "Of all the people on this planet to be saved by it had to be the people playing at commandos in their basements."
"I'm sorry," the speed of Eli's turn towards Jirano mirrored how fast he had felt the prickles of those words underneath his skin. "Perhaps you'd like me to take you back? Put on the uniform and turn you in as an escapee? Let the bastards throw you into deepest borehole they can find so they can grind your bones into dust?"
"I'd almost prefer that."
Eli held Jirano's gaze for a moment before turning away from him in silence back towards the holotable. There was no arguing with Jirano when he was like this. And besides, Eli could trade snark and banter just as well and as long as the next rough hewn laborer from Theron's working class but something in him always faltered when he realized that his guest was no longer saying such things as a matter of sarcasm.
"Encryption key integration successful." An automated voice stated, rising from the holotable itself as its image projectors spooled up, first displaying a field of flickering blue garbled nonsense before the images began to sharpen. "S-thread handshake established. Hyperwave transceiver signal stabilized."
"All systems clear." Eli affirmed, looking up at the images that the projector was floating above the table. "Umbra this is Twilight, are you reading me?"
"This one has heard you," came a static laden artificial voice from the table's speakers. "Can this one's own voice be heard?"
"Mostly, Umbra." Eli said as he did his best to keep annoyance from his own voice. It never ceased to strike him how many years he had been working with this enigma of a being and yet he had never heard their actual voice; only the uncanny facsimile of Galactic Basic produced by what Eli assumed to be some sort of translation vocoder. It was maddening to say the least. "Let me tune the transceiver, see if it helps."
"A lot of Imperial traffic, lately." Said another much more natural voice also coming from the holotable's projector. Eli looked up to see the shape of a slightly rotund Ardennian slovenly slouched and leaning against part of a wall, two of his four arms shrugging emphatically as his translucent blue form gained a more stable shape like some sort of simian poltergeist. "Its probably causing a lot of interference."
"Nothing that can't be overcome with a little finesse, Midnight." Eli said as he quickly scrolled through settings interfaces to adjust the table's signal. A few more moments of static passed, all the while getting softer before disappearing almost completely. Eli allowed himself a smile of triumph as he looked up to see the other image projected alongside the Ardennian come into clear focus; a slowly hovering set of six red orbs suspended in a loose semi circle above two white long tailed diamond shapes, their tips pointed at one another as though twin dagger blades about to be crossed.
"Good to see you in the flesh again, Umbra." Eli mocked. "Have you lost some weight? You look fantastic."
"Charming as always, Twilight." Came the neutrally robotic voice in reply. "This one is able to both see and hear both of you. Has Twilight ensured the presence of his guest as per this one's request?"
"I'm here." Jirano said. "Get on with it."
"Very well." The vocoder continued flatly. "This one will begin with the operational information you are all aware of and then we shall discuss the new information that has...added a new dimension to this matter."
Eli let out a quiet sigh as he pulled up his seat. "Its your show, Umbra. We've been over this thirty times but if you insist."
"The recollection abilities of most sentient beings are flawed." The vocoder lectured. "Repetition is a tool by which—"
"We overcome the natural limitations of biological memory," Midnight finished. "Like Twilight said, we've done this thirty times."
"We overcome the natural limitations of biological memory," Midnight finished. "Like Twilight said, we've done this thirty times."
"Thank you for making this one's point for him, Midnight." the vocoder intoned in its infuriating patience. "We will start with Operation Argent Audit which culminated two weeks ago when agent Aurora was able to assemble her objective; a data cache containing information vital to our operations in this sector. Unfortunately her mission was only a partial success as she was compromised and shortly thereafter terminated before she was able to get this asset off Theron."
Eli watched as a holographic image of bright eyed woman, her smile keen and genuine was projected along with the other images that the table was providing. Blazing red letters spelling out the words "killed in action" hovered beneath the picture for a moment as Eli looked up into the eyes of someone who was already gone. Another casualty of the "peace and order" the Empire promised. Another ghost made by this probably hopeless war that was being fought in the shadows.
Eli watched as a holographic image of bright eyed woman, her smile keen and genuine was projected along with the other images that the table was providing. Blazing red letters spelling out the words "killed in action" hovered beneath the picture for a moment as Eli looked up into the eyes of someone who was already gone. Another casualty of the "peace and order" the Empire promised. Another ghost made by this probably hopeless war that was being fought in the shadows.
"Aurora was dutiful to the end." Umbra confirmed, preempting what they were all thinking. "And due to her final actions this cell's work can continue without a high likelihood of similar compromise. To this end, we have learned in the subsequent days that her original objective is still in play. We have good information thanks to the work of agent Twilight that the asset is now held in storage within the mainframe of the Governor's personal office located in the Paragon palatial estate that now serves as the magisterial headquarters of the Imperial government on Theron."
The images being projected above the table shifted again, this time displaying a slowly spinning map of the capital city's skyline, its many towering structures and row upon row of smaller district buildings rendered in three dimensions while an expansive estate compound on the very fringes of the city's townships was highlighted and then promptly magnified to reveal the full majesty of the architecture in question. Before the Imperial takeover the Paragon estate used to belong to one of the most influentially wealthy family of aristocrats on Theron and this was certainly apparent even with a thousand foot view of its premises. Acres of verdant and pristine gardens grew next to a small legion of courtyards guarded by a fleet of gazebos and awning covered walkways where cohorts of pleasantly streaming fountains cast in marble stood sentinel next to pedicured shrubbery and shapely hedging that no doubt took a small army of servants to keep in check. Off to one end of the estate stood the palatial complex itself; a squatting titan of alabaster white masonry rising seven stories above the green sea of finely groomed grass that surrounded it, its hundreds of windows staring out like a multitude of eyes beholding the cliffs of the wide flowing Hoysja river that it maintained its ancient vigil over.
The images being projected above the table shifted again, this time displaying a slowly spinning map of the capital city's skyline, its many towering structures and row upon row of smaller district buildings rendered in three dimensions while an expansive estate compound on the very fringes of the city's townships was highlighted and then promptly magnified to reveal the full majesty of the architecture in question. Before the Imperial takeover the Paragon estate used to belong to one of the most influentially wealthy family of aristocrats on Theron and this was certainly apparent even with a thousand foot view of its premises. Acres of verdant and pristine gardens grew next to a small legion of courtyards guarded by a fleet of gazebos and awning covered walkways where cohorts of pleasantly streaming fountains cast in marble stood sentinel next to pedicured shrubbery and shapely hedging that no doubt took a small army of servants to keep in check. Off to one end of the estate stood the palatial complex itself; a squatting titan of alabaster white masonry rising seven stories above the green sea of finely groomed grass that surrounded it, its hundreds of windows staring out like a multitude of eyes beholding the cliffs of the wide flowing Hoysja river that it maintained its ancient vigil over.
"Armed with this knowledge we have put into motion a secondary operation code named Emerald Eclipse to secure Argent Audit's objective and safely transfer it off world."
"Right." Midnight butted in with a dismissive wave of one of his hands while two others sat firmly on his hips. "This is the part where Twilight is supposed to break into the Governor's office while a diversion is caused during the festivities surrounding the big race. This is where we always run into a problem because with Aurora gone its just me and Twilight..." The pregnant pause that Midnight left in the air at this was a nearly physical presence regarding all of them with scorn. "...Which is why we were hoping that Twilight's guest—"
"I told you I'm not interested in this errand of desperate fools." Jirano said acidly from his corner, his unwavering gaze boring into the holographs. "We've been over this."
"Ah," Umbra's fake voice cooed inoffensively. "You may have no interest in this matter but this one regrets to inform you that this matter may now have interest in you."
"What..." Now it was Jirano's turn to stumble, stiffening in his seat. "What do you..."
The overhead images of the Paragon estate faded from the table's projector field and were replaced by a series of stills seemingly captured from a holo-pict recorder. High resolution scenes of different angles of a dimly lit room the center of which was dominated by a throne of dark leather and durasteel restraints raised upon a dais where a series of people were being subjected to obvious torture. Wicked implements born by glossy black droids glinted in the slight light of the windowless chamber and each successive person held in thrall in the chair had a visage that was more anguished than the last.
"This one received these picts from a recording device under the purview of an informant within the past three cycles." Umbra's voice reported, unperturbed as always. "They detail the employment of methods of enhanced interrogation utilized by an Imperial agent known as—"
"An Inquisitor." Eli finished for him as his eyes scanned each pict still in turn. Most of the images were haunted by a lone figure; an imposing phantom that stood like an aloof sentinel over the poor souls whose limbs contorted themselves in misery against the bonds of the torturer's throne. The figure was mostly impassive, a shadowed wraith clothed and caped in Imperial black whose silhouette was barely visible in some images against the gloom of the chamber.
"An Inquisitor." Eli finished for him as his eyes scanned each pict still in turn. Most of the images were haunted by a lone figure; an imposing phantom that stood like an aloof sentinel over the poor souls whose limbs contorted themselves in misery against the bonds of the torturer's throne. The figure was mostly impassive, a shadowed wraith clothed and caped in Imperial black whose silhouette was barely visible in some images against the gloom of the chamber.
The sudden squeal of a chair's legs scraping along the floor broke Eli from his intent study. Jirano had stirred for the first time since entering the chamber, wordlessly rising and approaching the table to stand directly in front of one of the projected holograms. A snarling near human face stared back at him, its left side covered by a featureless black half mask. Its uncovered half was a scourge of sharp features underneath pockmarked magenta skin dominated by a head of dark blue hair that fell to his shoulders in steely, sheening chords amongst one rough knotted braid. The face glowered out into the world; a single blazing yellow eye bloodshot in an animalistic rage set above thin lips that curled around the ravening slash of the man's bared teeth. Eli watched the Nautolan place both hands on the side of the holotable, his knuckles turning pale as his grip tightened. Under the pale blue light of the holograms he could just make out the way the muscles in the alien's neck tightened as his jaw clenched and his black eyes traced the line of the glowing crimson blade held aloft in the Inquisitor's hand.
The stillness of the chamber was once again broken by Umbra's voice as he proceeded to explain.
"We know from intelligence gathered in the past that this specific kind of Imperial agent is responsible for the hunting and apprehension of—"
"Anyone who used to be associated with the Jedi Order. We know." Eli said, nodding.
"Anyone who used to be associated with the Jedi Order. We know." Eli said, nodding.
"This one only endeavors to make sure all agents obtain a clear understanding of the ramifications involved in—"
"I'll do it."
All eyes turned to Jirano.
"I'll do it." He repeated. "I understand the ramifications just fine. If he's on this world it means someone in their chain of command finally figured out who I am...or was..."
"This one suspects this to be the case, yes. Although this one does not have confirmation—"
"But you do know that the presence of an Inquisitor means that if I am the source of your diversion then it is likely all Imperial forces in the area will be ordered under the highest authority to prosecute my capture whether this is a wise course of action or not."
"I'll do it." He repeated. "I understand the ramifications just fine. If he's on this world it means someone in their chain of command finally figured out who I am...or was..."
"This one suspects this to be the case, yes. Although this one does not have confirmation—"
"But you do know that the presence of an Inquisitor means that if I am the source of your diversion then it is likely all Imperial forces in the area will be ordered under the highest authority to prosecute my capture whether this is a wise course of action or not."
"That is correct."
Jirano stared up at the pict images again. Eli wasn't sure what to make of his sudden transformation; the distraught and ailing man he was once only passingly familiar with now burned with something approaching hatred, his eyes suddenly holding the dark menace of boiling pits of tar.
"Your plan was to have me feign an attempt to assassinate the governor, correct?" He said as he ripped his gaze away from the picts and began to pace in front of the table.
"Correct. This one believes it will be an easy enough matter to approach the governor while he is in close proximity to crowds of the citizenry of the city during the festivities surrounding the annual race held within the capital, if patterns from past events hold true for this year's race, of course."
"Make a credible threat to the governor's life and then break contact." Midnight interjected. "Imperial forces will be split between protecting the life of the governor and trying to corral the threat for capture. This is, unfortunately, the riskiest role in an already risky plan. All Imperial attention will be focused on you which will make extraction difficult...Especially with this Inquisitor—"
"Let me worry about him." Jirano said grimly. "I understand the risks. You'll have your diversion."
"Let me worry about him." Jirano said grimly. "I understand the risks. You'll have your diversion."
"Very well." Umbra intoned. "Let us now move on to the operation's specific parameters..."
Umbra and Midnight both launched into an explanation of details about the operation which Eli was already well familiar with. It was well enough, too that this was the case because he spent the rest of the meeting lost in his own thoughts, his gaze shifting from one pict image to another as he took in every detail of the nameless Imperial agent that Umbra had presented them with. Minutes passed with the other agents' discussions providing only a faintly audible background to Eli's spinning thoughts as he contemplated and considered...and suspected.
"Agent Twilight is this one's signal still audible to you?"
Eli snapped his gaze away from the Inquisitor's countenance and looked up at Umbra's sigil. He was suddenly aware that he was now alone in the chamber, Jirano having left after unlocking the door to the study and Midnight terminating his link to the conference mere moments before.
"I'm hearing you, Umbra."
"Understood. You did not acknowledge that your guest received a code name for his participation in this operation."
"Yes, Parhelion. As good an alias as any I suppose." Eli halted in his pacing around the table and looked up to the sigil, staring into the red orbs as if they were eyes. "You knew, didn't you?"
"Yes, Parhelion. As good an alias as any I suppose." Eli halted in his pacing around the table and looked up to the sigil, staring into the red orbs as if they were eyes. "You knew, didn't you?"
"This one must apologize for he does not understand." Umbra said curiously. "What are you referring to?"
"You knew he'd say yes if you brought this Inquisitor's presence to his attention, didn't you?"
Eli noted the half a heartbeat it took Umbra to consider the question before answering.
"This one suspected this would be the case, yes."
"He's going to die doing this."
"He has stated that he is quite aware of the possibility of such an outcome." Umbra attempted to say more but his next statement was interrupted by how forcefully Eli slammed his fist into the holotable's shining surface.
"He has stated that he is quite aware of the possibility of such an outcome." Umbra attempted to say more but his next statement was interrupted by how forcefully Eli slammed his fist into the holotable's shining surface.
"That's not the point and you damn well know it!" Eli roared. "Three cycles my ass, you're telling me the person who keeps a running log of how much Zersium gets shipped off world by the exact kilo wouldn't have known the exact moment an Inquisitor set foot on this planet?!"
"This one does not understand the nature of the accusation being leveled against him."
"How much do you know about this operation that you're not telling us?!" Eli was quite aware of how ridiculous he must look pointing an asserting finger at a floating sigil as if it were a living, breathing person but held it out all the same.
"Agent Twilight," the vocoder began in its maddeningly soft tone that never changed inflection or cadence. "You of all the assets under my command know the importance of information compartmentalization in the sorts of endeavors we pursue. All that you have been informed of has been deemed necessary for the success of the operation in question."
"By a disembodied, automated voice that refers to the people out there dying as assets." Eli growled.
"This one only endeavors to do what is necessary for the success of the mission." The vocoder went on relentlessly. "You were made aware of the circumstances of your employment when you agreed to the terms of service...Unless you have forgotten?"
"I know what I agreed to." Eli's voice was almost a whisper. "And the oath that I swore. I just want to know that the people whose word we're risking our lives on hold the same dedication. So far you have not given me reason to think this is not the case..." He slid his fist off of the table where his arm hung in defeat at his side. "But sometimes I am forced to wonder..."
"Curious," Umbra conceded. "That of all the misgivings about how forthcoming this one has been about critical information, you choose to be angered by the possibility that this one has been remiss of his duty to inform Parhelion when you yourself hold information that very well could affect how he views you...and as a result this operation as a whole."
The silence that reigned in the chamber was heavy enough that Eli found himself sinking back into his seat.
The silence that reigned in the chamber was heavy enough that Eli found himself sinking back into his seat.
"The work that your father did—"
"Don't." Eli warned. "Just don't."
"Very well." Umbra relented. "Do you plan on telling Parhelion before the operation is to commence?"
Eli stared at the floor, unable to bring himself to look up at Umbra's unwavering sigil again.
"I don't know." He admitted.