You'd never believe me if I told you that I have friends who were hired by the Inquisitorius, but it's true and I can prove it.
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The Landsdown Docks were an ever-increasing hub of activity on Aliso. Their importance as the primary civilian spaceport meant it attracted people by the shipload. Settlers of the city itself intermingled with visiting crews keeping their stay on Aliso secluded to the docks. Stuffed haphazardly between the various docking bays were shops and stalls of various kinds desperately attempting to sell or advertise their diverse range of products. Larger establishments felt less pressure to do so, relying instead on the customers packing their premises to showcase their worth.
The most popular of these establishments was the Landsdown Café. Easily one of the largest storefronts in the entire dock area, being the largest wasn’t saying much. The establishment was tucked in between two large bays that could comfortably house small-scale freighters or gunships. To make up for a lack of width, the café was long and narrow, with only a single row mismatched durasteel tables to either side of a main walkway. The tables were accompanied by padded, worn-in chairs, four to a table, tucked neatly under the flat tops. The row of tables ended a few feet away from a long bar area, outfitted with a swath of products that could yield beverages of numerous kinds from across the galaxy, including those with alcohol. Where the bar ended was a small space that an average-sized humanoid could fit through, leading to the kitchen area hidden behind a simple swinging door secured by some rickety hinges. The aroma of various meals and other delectable treats wafted into the cafe with every opening of the door, spurning the appetites of the patrons within.
Near the quaint entrance of the Landsdown Café, a spry Pantoran dressed in simple smuggler’s attire attended two other patrons, pouring a large metallic pot of caf into their mismatched mugs of cheap porcelain. With his back to the entrance, a wide set human man with a sizable gut took his cup eagerly, using his free hand to direct the plumes of steam emanating from the beverage toward his face. To the right of the human man was an exotically beautiful Zeltron woman dressed in elegant though functional attire. She sat with her legs up on the table and leaning back on the rear legs of her chair, fingering her mug of caf at the edge of the table nearest her. Though she was beautiful, she had dangerous eyes that were both sultry and cold at the same time.
“I can’t believe I’ve found you two here,” Laren exclaimed as he sat in a chair against the wall. “After all of these years, you’re both alive and, imagine that, on Aliso.”
The large human man whose name was Gron shrugged lazily. “We heard there was business out this way. Who in their right mind can no’ ignore that.” Gron’s accent in Basic was odd due to his upbringing in the streets of Ord Mantell.
“In truth, we weren’t expecting to find you here.” Merilay, the Zeltron woman, met Laren’s eyes with a firm glance. “Especially among all these Sith types.”
Laren shrugged. “They pay well.”
Gron snorted. “We all know that’s a bag of krayt spit. You were never so simple.”
“And what in the nine hells it that supposed to mean?”
“Money was never your game, Blue. Don’t deny that.”
Laren looked away from Merilay, turning his focus to Gron. He couldn’t help but to feel the heat of his face which he knew was a slightly darker shade of blue. Blue had been his nickname among this lot, back in the day. It had been some time since he heard Merilay utter those words.
Ignoring their comments, Laren continued. “But truly, what brings you out this way?”
Gron set his red-dyed porcelain cup down and looked to Merilay expectantly. Gron had the age and experience among the duo, but she had always been the final say in matters of their work as mercenaries. Merilay returned the look for a moment, sharing a wordless exchange with the bulky man. After a moment she nodded and returned her sharp sapphire stare to Laren, her voice soft and barely audible over the buzz of the café.
“This doesn’t leave this room.”
Laren sat forward, his interest peaked at her sudden seriousness. “I’m listening.”
Merilay sighed. “Originally we thought we were here for a protection contract. Standard fare plus bonuses, room and board while escorting the rare private transport in and out of the system. Nothing out of place.”
Gron snorted. “Boy were we karkin’ surprised, eh?”
Merilay nodded hesitantly. “You could say that.”
“So what in the hells happened?”
“If you let me finish, Blue, I’ll tell you,” Merilay responded, directing a finger and her scolding tone toward the unsuspecting Aedile. Laren raised his hands in mock surrender before returning his focus to listening.
“Everything changed. Honestly, you probably won’t even think it’s true.”
“Listen, you both agreed to tell me what’s what in that little exchange you had a minute ago with your eyeholes. Now tell me what’s going on.”
Merilay sighed. “As I said, you’d never believe me if I told you that I was hired by the Inquisitorius, but it’s true and I can prove it.”
Laren’s golden eyes widened as he sat back in shock. His hand almost darted to his blaster, but instead he maintained his composure and kept his hands folded neatly on his lap. He looked between Gron and Merilay, hoping to see some semblance of dishonesty, some sign among the two that they were trying to lie to Laren. The seconds passed into a full minute, but he finally accepted that they were not trying to lie to him. Just like they had managed during his escape from Mandalore all of those years ago, they were telling the cold, hard truth.
“How the hells do you know it was the Inquisitorius?” Laren finally managed in a low whisper.
Gron leaned forward. “Some of those folk aren’t exactly subtle. Nay for this one, too. He had the armor and everything.”
Merilay nodded her agreement, continuing, “It’s true, Laren. The man wasn’t messing around. I would know him anywhere if I saw him.”
“What does he look like?” Laren demanded, his voice still a whisper, but forceful all the same.
“I couldn’t forget him if I tried. Human man, handsome face from the mask up. But those eyes,” Merilay breathed. “Green as those fields to the north of the city, and an Inner Rim accent that makes you melt.”
*Arden*, Laren thought with a start, ignoring Merilay’s transparent attraction to the curious Inquisitor. Laren had always known the man was highly regarded among the Inquisitors, but he had supposed his loyalty was to Clan first. What could the man be playing at by working for them now?
“So what’s the job?”
“A lot of creds job this is.” Gron had a knack for providing comments that didn’t help the conversation progress. But for all of his unique or annoying quirks, he was a stellar pilot and a dangerous marksman that could match some of the best shot-for-shot. Laren had once seen Gron pick up a blaster rifle he had never used before and hit a target at over half a kilometre.
“This is where it gets interesting,” Merilay said, sitting forward in her chair and leaning forward on the table. “For now, we’re just running cargo out of that asteroid of yours – what’s it called?”
“The Circle.”
“Right, the Circle,” she said with a snap of her fingers. “Anyway, we’re running cargo out of there for this contact about once an Alisian week. Standard fare, right? But we’re also on retainer for this.” She patted a pocket on her snug jacket. Laren could barely make out the outline of a rectangular device he was sure was a datapad. “We’ve been given a list of targets here on Aliso that, if things go south, we’re supposed to take out. People, infrastructure, you name it. Even gives an order of precedence.”
“You were right to tell me about this, Meri,” Laren managed after a moment, sitting back against the wall once more. “And if I hadn’t known who you spoke of, you’re right, I wouldn’t have believed you.”
“Laren – Laren, there’s more.” Merilay looked down at her hands, fumbling with her fingers in her lap. She seemed too scared to continue.
“You’re on the list, my boy,” Gron grunted before Merilay could summon her courage. “You’re one of them targets.”
He froze, golden eyes locked with Gron’s beady brown. This time his hand did dart for the blaster at his hip, but he did nothing more than rest it on the grip of the weapon. The two across from him made no move for their own hidden arms. The guilt they felt was obvious in their expressions, due to their past history together.
“What honor is there among our kind?” He looked between Merilay and Gron. “We sell ourselves and our blasters for some creds, killing and looting along the way. I mean, I appreciate you letting me know, though, so don’t feel so bad. I’m a bit flattered, actually.”
“You’re *flattered*?”
Laren laughed. “Absolutely! I’ve been among these Sith for over a bloody year. If I’m on some hit list of theirs, it must mean I’m doing something right. Who knew a little time acting half obedient could do such wonders?”
“Listen, Blue. You’ve always been a bit self-absorbed in your work, but this is insane. I guarantee we aren’t the only mercs who have been offered this contract.”
“But you were wise enough to accept the terms, which is good. He would have killed you otherwise. And you were also kind enough to warn me of his plans. Once again, Meri, you made the right call by telling me. Now if I could pass along my own tidbit of information?”
Merilay and Gron both nodded.
“Get the hell off Aliso. Get on your ship and set your course for the furthest system you can think of and do not look back.”
“But we accepted the contract, we can’t just –“
“Meri, I can’t say much, but just know that your instincts are right. This is no normal proposal, and this is no normal situation. Did you notice anything off since you’ve been in the city? Something just at the corner of your eye that you can’t quite shake.”
“Aye, me certainly did,” Gron said, sounding much more lucid than before despite his odd speech.
“The people. They seem hesitant. Some of them even seem more scared than usual.”
“It’s because they can feel it, Meri. War is coming. The Sith are seldom seen outside of the Pinnacle anymore, and for good reason. Battle lines are being drawn as we speak, and you’ve just been roped into a conflict that will span the entirety of the stars themselves. Please… run while you still can.”
“Listen, Blue, we don’t run or abandon jobs.” Meri eyed Laren fiercely, but he ignored it.
“This isn’t Mandalore, Meri!” Laren said, more exasperated than before. “This is Aliso, home of an entire clan of half-mad Sith bent on galactic domination – and this is just one clan. Unlike me, you’re not in too deep to simply make yourself scarce. Just this once, Meri, you have to trust someone other than yourself. Get out while you still can, and don’t look back.”
Merilay and Gron took Laren’s advice. Soon after their hushed conversation, they left the Landsdown Café and headed for their ship. Laren followed them the whole way, acting as an unofficial escort of sorts, scanning the crowd for any signs that they were being followed or targeted. Once they reached their ship, one of the older type Corellian freighters Laren so despised, he bid his old friends farewell. Watching their ship arc gracefully into the cloudy Alisian sky, Laren turned and strode away from the landing pad, his head filled with thoughts of Arden Karn di Plagia, and betrayal.