Session export: What Could Possibly Go Wrong?
Amongst the members of the Brotherhood’s Inquisitorius, intelligence was both its foundation and the currency worth more than a million credits. Although most agents cut their teeth with simple reconnaissance missions and eventually moved on for more sophisticated work, Acantha relished the opportunity to go on simpler assignments such as these. So, when an assignment to gather intel on a relatively new player in the game of Brotherhood politics came across her encrypted politics, she was among the first to volunteer.
Some of her colleagues wondered why the infamous operator known by most as Achlys would take on such a rudimentary assignment. The answer was simple: she enjoyed it.
Sitting in a nondescript landspeeder parked at the end of the street, Acantha peered through a pair of macrobinoculars, watching for any activity at the house of her target. Nothing yet. It had been four hours and nothing had happened after the blond entered it. What was she doing in there?
Iphis emerged at length with a ostentatiously languid indifference. More conspicuous than her height or the sword at her hip–only partially concealed by its shadowsheath–was her complete invisibility to Force-based perceptions. She spared a glace at the chrono on her wrist before setting off on foot for the spaceport.
“Finally,” Acantha muttered to herself while watching the blonde exit her apartment. Was she going for a walk? No. She was dressed too nicely for that. Maybe she was meeting someone.
Although Acantha was by no means an expert at detecting others in the Force, the fact that she couldn’t sense this woman at all was a major point of concern for her. It was like she’d erased her presence entirely. In her experience, such powers of concealment were only used by the most paranoid amongst the Brotherhood’s members.
What did this one have to hide, she wondered?
Acanha exited her vehicle only when Iphis reached the end of the street. With a bit of concentration, she silenced her presence in the Force before slipping a pair of sunglasses over her eyes.
The hunt had begun.
Iphis betrayed no hurry, no sense of paranoia commensurate with her invisibility through the Force. If she was heading for the spaceport, she was taking the direct path and not a surveillance detection route. Acantha was apparently in the black, which made her more uneasy than it should have.
Her suspicions were vindicated when she rounded a corner to find Iphis leaning casually against a building, staring right at her. “You loiter outside for hours and then you disappear as soon as a leave.” the Hapan said. “Care to explain?”
A jolt of surprise made Acantha briefly go rigid when she rounded the corner to see Iphis waiting for her. But she relaxed back into the familiar air of practiced calm in short order, and with as much ease as donning a cloak.
“I don’t,” she replied, watching for any changes in the blond’s expression, “but you don’t strike me as the type to take no for an answer. So, I’ll just say that I’m here to learn more about you. Word travels fast when a new, beautiful sadist appears on the Brotherhood’s radar. Figured I’d come see for myself.”
It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth, either.
“‘Beautiful sadist.’ Marvelous. I should have named the ship that. But no, kitten, I don’t buy it. If you just wanted to get into my robes, you’d buy me a drink or leave a dead rodent at my feet, not show up to my stylist’s wearing that for a stakeout and carrying, let’s see…”
A quartet of small urban birds, who had been contentedly nibbling on some litter at the street corner, cooed dramatically before launching themselves at the back of Acantha’s head.
“Rather early for you to be giving me pet names, isn’t it?” Acantha retorted coolly. She looked as if she was going to say something else, but pressed her lips into a tight seal when she felt the Force’s warning prickling at the back of her neck.
The Firrerreo-Mirialan hybrid spun and, with the brutal grace of a dancer-turned-killer, diced the birds with a crystal dagger. Despite the mess of severed feathers and spilled viscera that briefly floated about her lithe form before succumbing to the pull of gravity, not a single drop of blood stained her person.
She sucked her teeth while shoving the dagger back into its shadowsheath. “Quite the trick,” she said, “too bad for the birds, though.”
“Oh duckling, nevermind the birds. That was one in the hand, another and a sword under your cloak? Probably a few more stashed away in uncomfortable places.”
Iphis smirked. “Ashla’s tit, don’t tell me Marick sent you to kill me.”
Acantha tilted her head, searching her memory for the name. “Marick. Marick … wait, the Exarch? Not my boss.”
But the way she said it implied that her and the Exarch had history. She made a mental note of that little detail, suspecting it could be used for later. Maybe she could get her to say more?
“And what have you done to get on the Exarch’s bad side, hmm? Is he a jilted former lover? Or perhaps a political rival?”
“Just a bigoted assumption on my part that everyone who carries more blades than they have hands must know each other,” Iphis said. “Did you name yours? Are they any good at conversation?”
She shrugged. “It is a worryingly common occurrence amongst Brotherhood members,” she said, “Everyone’s paranoid, and if they’re not, they’re just stupid. It’s part of the reason why I’m here. Evidently you’ve ruffled some feathers, and I’ve been sent to learn more about you.
Seeing as you spotted me as quickly as you did, I don’t suspect any of my usual skills are going to work on you. So, why don’t we make a wager? You make my job easier by giving me some relevant information about yourself, and I give you something that you want.”
“Something I want? That is quite wager.” Iphis made a show of looking at her chrono. “Well, I’m going back to my ship. If you really want to owe me a favor, you can tag along and I’ll answer whatever insipid questions you like.”
“Easiest assignment I’ve had in ages,” said Acantha with a shrug. “Lead the way.”