"I'm not entirely sure why this sort of thing keeps happening here."  Davor watched out the window as plumes of smoke rose from around the city.  "Every time we turn around, some new invader is showing up and claiming us for themselves."  He shook his head, raising an arm to lean against the transparisteel window.  

"It's not even like we're even mining tibanna or bacta or coaxium or anything."  The Rodian scratched his neck with the edge off one of his suckered fingers.  "Nothing that any of the huge players would be interested in for their war efforts."

"Right?"  The human watched as patrol ships swarmed the skies, one of the fire teams arriving to spray down a burning building with jets of water.  Davor raised a cup to his lips, the caf nearly cold and bitter enough to make his lips peel back and expose his teeth.  

"Did you hear what the guys were saying downstairs?"  The Rodian put down the datapad, leaning forward in his chair.  

"What, that we're not paying them enough to be working in this sort of unrest nonsense?"  He pushed up away from the window, turning and crossing his arms.

"No...Well, that too." His voice hushed to a near whisper. "They think they're Jedi or something."  

"You're better than that, Kib."  He scoffed, stepping toward his desk.  "Even if Luke Skywalker was real, he sure as hell is not going to come down here and teach people on the far end of the galaxy so that they can create an Empire of dirt miners..."  He set his cup down, then let out a laugh.

The Rodian made a face, his proboscis curling up under itself.  

"What?"  He unfolded his arms. 

"You're from the core aren't you?"  

"Well, -ish."  Davor tilted his head.  "Why?"

"I grew up in system.  Parents landed on Tarthos looking for work when I was young."  The Rodian explained, his hands gesturing with long fingers as the human looked on.  "You don't know the...stories we all grew up around."

"What, that the mining colony was started by cultists and sorcerers?"  He scoffed.  "Yeah. I heard that one."

"How about the laser swords?"  Kib watched them man's body language change, his arms crossing again and a frown appearing from the corners of his mouth.  "You've seen them too."

"Yeah, but there's bound to be some sort of..."

"And the stories about the talking tree? Or the drunk cowboy and his seal?"  

Davor winced at him.  "Oh come now, what does a bunch of kid's stories have to do with Jedi?"

"I'm just saying, that maybe there's something behind those stories.  I mean, in all of the stories, they do Jedi stuff.  Pushing things with their mind, talking without their mouths, all that."  The Rodian leaned back in his seat, fingers drumming across the arm of his chair.

"Oh come on...  What's next, you're going to tell me that the Crimson Crazy and the black-eyed demon...whatshisname are real, too."  

Kib snorted.  "The horror vid stuff?  I hope to hell not."  He laughed. 

The console on his desk chirped, and Davor leaned over to press the button.  "Go ahead."

"Sir, there's a man here to see you."  The voice came through thinly, the speaker too small to reproduce the receptionist's voice well.  

"I didn't have any meetings until this afternoon."  He paused.  "Who is it?"

"They're from Naga Sadow."  She cleared her throat.  "He says his name is Ashen."

Davor glared at Kib, then at the console on his desk, then back to Kib.  He straightened his back, swallowed hard and blinked as the door opened.