The Tarisian spaceport bustled with activity. Hordes of travelers, eager to depart or afraid to miss their flight, hurried toward the terminal; others, on pit stops, ambled toward cafés and restrooms. The conversational cacophony might have been unbearable were it not for the dull hum of starship engines punctuated by the occasional whirr of service droids at work. Amidst this chaos on a bench against a far wall sat a solitary Togorian.
Katrila wrinkled her nose as her whiskers pulled back. She could ignore most noise, but many hours spent in starports still hadn’t inured her to the pervasive fuel odor. The smell didn’t distract her from scanning the crowd of passersby. I do hope he hasn’t developed cold feet.
She was looking for a human male. A xenobiologist employed by ExoGen Laboratories, Dr. Loran Mier studied the immune systems of various species across the galaxy. And one of Katrila’s clients were quite interested in his research. Initially reluctant to share, the researcher had agreed to meet after some “persuasion” from one of Katrina’s associates.
A single ship blinked out of hyperspace above the planet Taris. Bril Teg Arga sat in the cockpit of his Tie Reaper, Ibaka, gazing down at the planet’s surface. Thick clouds of smog hung in its planet’s upper atmosphere, giving it an unsightly yellow hue when viewed from afar. He’d done a cursory reading of the planet prior to his arrival, though only enough to know that some cataclysm in its distant past had left it a polluted husk of its former glory. And from the ashes of the old world, a new one had risen in its place — one whose stratified society reminded him of a Korda, a city back home on Selen, in all the wrong ways. Maybe this was a world he could try to help one day if his work as Starosta of the Dajorran Marshals didn’t keep him too busy.
“Ibaka, take us down,” announced Bril, “I’ve already uploaded the coordinates to your processing network.”
The shuttle’s embedded droid brain responded with a prompt “affirmative” before running through standard reentry protocols, most of which happened behind the scenes, so to speak. Once they finally crossed through Taris’ atmosphere, its sprawling ecumenopolis came into view. Garish skyscrapers bedecked with lustrous metals rose from a sea of haphazardly constructed homes and buildings carved from the bones of derelict starships. Ibaka swooped downward and reduced its thruster output to maintain a comfortable cruising speed, which allowed him to take a long look at the city below. He wondered what had caused the planet to become a veritable mausoleum for starships; war seemed like the most likely explanation. It was always war.
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After mooring Ibaka within a commercial hangar, Bril set out to locate his target. A tall man dressed from head-to-toe in golden armor caught the attention of myriad passersby. Most were content to gawk at him from afar, but one particularly bold human boy flung a rock at his head. Disembodied whispers spoken in a mixture of Old Zabraki and Paecian warned him of the impending danger in time for him to tilt his head just enough to avoid being struck in the helmet.
“We don’t want you here! Go back to those stupid towers with your other rich buddies,” The boy shouted. By the time Bril turned to look at him, he’d already picked up another rock to throw at him.
“Wait,” said Bril, raising a hand to discourage him from throwing it again. He briefly looked at one of the skyscrapers when the boy’s words dawned on him. “Do you think I’m one of th–” he turned around to address him only to see the child being shooed away by an older woman, presumably the boy’s parent or guardian. He clicked his teeth while looking down at his armored hands. Although it was a source of great pride and honor for him, his armor had on some level reminded that child of the people who oppressed him — so much so that he’d assumed Bril was one of them. Perhaps he should have worn something else.
Bril shook his head and pulled a small container from his Envoy messenger bag. Securing some of Dr. Mier’s personal effects had been easy enough; that he’d managed to gain access to the researcher’s desk simply by acting as if he was supposed to be there still amazed him. Of course, Dr. Mier sudden departure from ExoGen Laboratories after destroying any copies of his research certainly helped assuage any suspicions that his presence likely would have garnered in less exigent circumstances
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Of the belongings he’d gathered, a wristwatch with the initials “L + M” engraved on the back seemed like the most emotionally salient. He held it between his index finger and thumb, and closed his eyes to open himself to the wellspring of the Living Force. Countless living beings appeared in the dark like motes of fire, but one burned brighter than the others.
Dr. Mier was still in the hangar, but it appeared he was leaving, headed into the city proper. Bril opened his eyes and hurried off in that direction. Tracking him would be no problem so long as he remained within a certain distance, but he needed to intercept him quickly lest someone else found him first.
Katrila’s digitigrade legs bounced lightly as she inhaled deeply. This whole situation could become more of a headache than it had already. After all, she knew just how unpredictable fear could make a person act. She had hoped the good doctor would be amenable to the initial bribe, but her targets rarely cooperated so easily.
A nervous figure moving hesitantly through the crowd broke her momentary reverie. Loran Mier had arrived. In a white lab coat and unkempt brown hair, he took a few nervous steps at a time before stopping and craning his neck to look around.
Shaking her head, Katrila shifted in her seat and narrowed her eyes. A thought reached like a tendril across the crowded hangar to the unsuspecting scientist. Over here. Come. She didn’t even blink as he sat next to her on the bench.
“I…I got your message,” Loran stammered. “I brought the datapad. Just like you asked.” He extended a trembling hand to Katrila.
“And your laboratory?” she asked, sliding the datapad into the inner pocket of her robes.
“The samples have been destroyed, and I uploaded the files to the ExoGen system.”
“You’ve done very well, Dr. Mier.” The man’s name fell like a purr from the Togorian’s lips.
“What now?” he asked. His head fell into his hands. “I can’t go back to work after this. And they’ll come after me, you know.”
Katrila turned to face the man, her expression calm but firm. “We have the means to ensure your safety. My client has taken great interest in your research. You’ll have a fine future at ViroTech.” She placed a paw on Loran’s back. With each of his ragged breaths, Katrila’s consciousness expanded to meet his. After the briefest of moments, his tremors stopped and he sat upright, proof of the equanimity the Sith had implanted.
Of course, the researcher’s fate didn’t actually matter that much to a rival company with an interest in agents of biological warfare. To assure Dr. Mier’s continued employment had taken some doing. But Katrila always preferred to limit collateral damage. Besides, it couldn’t hurt to maintain some sort of relationship with a xenobiologist developing medical technologies that treated conditions indiscriminately across species.
A tingling sensation at the base of her skull, which she had disregarded at first, strengthened. Katrila swiveled her ears and glanced around the hangar. A new presence had established itself, burning like a tongue of flame among dying embers.
She stood up deliberately, in one fluid motion. The tip of her tail flicked as it gently swayed back and forth. She motioned for Loran to rise as well. “I’ll chauffeur you on the Katnip to your new offices. Shall we detour to a cantina first? I could take a drink…” Katrila threw an arm around the man and guided him out of the hangar. It was probably nothing, but she wanted to get away from whoever it was she felt.
Another presence revealed itself to Bril in time. Steeped in the Dark Side of the Force, it moved in tandem with Doctor Mier’s signature. Dank ferrik. Someone had already gotten to him before him, someone whom he suspected was also affiliated with the Brotherhood in some way. Although the “One Brotherhood” maxim was the official policy of the Brotherhood and all the clans that composed it, the young Starosta had learned personally that that didn’t preclude rival clans and its members from engaging in acts of subterfuge. He suspected that this Force adept, whoever they were, had been tasked with doing just that; he could think of a few parties who would stand to gain from using the good Doctor’s research for nefarious purposes.
His search led him to a nondescript, if not bedraggled, cantina tucked away on a dimly lit street. Were it not for the faint smell of cigarra smoke drifting through his mask and the loitering drunkards who attempted to convince the Ikkrukkian bouncer to let them back in, he may have confused it for something else. When Bril approached, the Ikkrukkian man stepped into his path with an outstretched hand.
“That’ll be thirty credits.”
“Thirty credits?” asked Bril in mild disbelief, “to get into this place? Seems like a robbery to me.”
The bouncer’s face scrunched into a scowl. They were about the same height, though he was maybe an inch or two taller. “No credits? No entry. So pay up or get lost.”
Bril shook his head while unclipping a small bag from his belt. He slapped the coins into the bouncer’s hand and waited for him to step aside. “What a scam,” he muttered to himself before stepping into the cantina proper.
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The smell of tabac hit harder now that he was inside the room. The faint golden glow of his helmet’s eyes shifted immediately to his quarry and the Togorian woman that accompanied him. This must’ve been the other presence he felt accompanying Doctor Mier. Bril could perceive the Dark Side of the Force clinging to her form like a dark cloud. If she bothered to open her senses to investigate his own presence within the Force, she’d initially feel a something akin to the surface of a tranquil lake; however, deeper probing would glimpses of a maelstrom beneath — wild, torrid, and overflowing with the energy of the Living Force — as Light and Dark mingled in a precarious dance.
After stepping up to the counter where the Loran and Katrila stood, he waved away the victualler while keeping his eyes trained on them.
“Dr. Loran Mier, right?” he asked, voice slightly distorted by the modulator in his mask. Of course, he knew that this was the man he had been sent to retrieve, but he didn’t know how else to begin the conversation.
Katrila inhaled deeply as she sensed the approach of the presence she had tried to escape by ducking into the cantina. It seemed peaceful, but as a Sith she knew peace was a lie. Her Seeker’s practice enabled her to recognize the complex currents of energy flowing within someone’s aura, and power surged like a riptide under this one’s surface.
As Bril drew near, she placed a hand on Loran’s arm in a silent signal to follow her lead. The doctor’s anxiety splintered her paw like briar thorns.
The man’s voice cut through the smoky air. “Dr. Loran Mier, right?”
“I suppose the answer depends on who you are,” replied Katrila, positioning her body between the other two. She eyed the golden-plated figure that towered five inches above her. The intricate ethnic designs etched into the durasteel armor, the weave of dyed fabrics flowing from its pauldrons, the antique design—they all belied the appearance of a Lower City bounty hunter on a planetary pharmaceutical corporation’s payroll. Then she saw it the broach hanging from his neck. Her eyes narrowed as she focused on the spiked golden ring bearing the insignia of the Dark Jedi Brotherhood’s Envoy Corps. “…Brother.” The loaded appellation rolled as a purr from Katrila’s lips as she subtly nodded her head toward the broach.
This development was interesting. It could evolve from a complication to an opportunity. On the other hand, it could cost her a job and bludgeon the underworld reputation she was working so diligently to repair. Somehow, the Sith had advanced to the Equites while eschewing Brotherhood politics; all it cost her were regular research trips to Horizon Station and appropriate tributes to Plagueis’ Dread Lord. Whether this man turned out to be friend or competitor, perhaps the time had come to emerge from the generative darkness of the obscurity.
Katrila’s adoption of a more defensive posture didn’t escape Bril’s keen perception. The space between them steadily became laden with the weight of the apprehensive feelings that he sensed passively in the Force, which were abated only slightly by her acknowledgement of his Envoy broach. To those outside the Brotherhood, it was little more than a fancy trinket, but it accomplished what he’d hoped it would with her. Her gesture of obeisance earned a curious tilt of the head. Although he often made similar acts of deference to his superiors and those he respected, he still found it odd if not outright uncomfortable when others returned the favor. Especially those who could very well be an enemy rather than an ally.
“I’m one of the good guys, of course,” replied Bril evenly, keeping his hands where the pair standing before them could see, though it never strayed too far from the ornate hilt hanging from his belt. “I have credible information that someone intends to kidnap Dr. Mier to secure his research,” he paused to shift his gaze to Loran, “His bounty hasn’t gone public, yet. It’s only a matter of time before some really nasty characters coming looking for him.”
“I see.” Katrila responded coolly, shifting her weight to the other leg. The subtle maneuver might give the appearance of relaxation, even as it primed her for action at a moment’s notice. The routine was practiced, borne from a hypervigilance that had kept her alive since her childhood on Togoria. Trusting others was a dangerous game she rarely indulged, but the broach complicated things. Brotherhood ties meant something, even if they didn’t guarantee loyalty. “We both have Dr. Mier’s interests in mind, then.”
She raised the glass of spicebrew to her lips, sipping carefully. It left a ring of condensation on the bar. “Of course, the meaning of ‘good’ tends toward the flexible.” Never removing her green eyes from Bril, she waved a furry hand to summon the bartender and gestured with the other to a booth in the corner. “And philosophical discussions only improve with a tipple. Won’t you join me in a drink?”
Trust, but verify.
Although she couldn’t see it, Bril narrowed his eyes from behind his mask. “Do we?” he asked, making no attempt at hiding the incredulity in his voice. “For all I know, you could be one of the good doctor’s would-be kidnappers.
"I don’t drink on the job, but the offer is appreciated, nonetheless. Let’s begin with our clan affiliations, shall we? Clan Arcona.”
He still hadn’t given his name yet. That was a privilege that would come once his togorian counterpart proved herself worthy of knowing such intimate details.
Katrila’s tail twitched, the only sign of her slight irritation at the insinuation. It was true, in a sense, but the researcher made his own choices. “Plagueis,” she said, her voice level despite the growing tension. Clan affiliations over names added another layer to the delicate games they were playing. She sipped the spicebrew again before gingerly returning the glass to the bar. “And, for that matter, you could be, too.” Her eyes locked on the visor of Bril’s mask with an intensity that belied her calm exterior.
Her eyes softened above an uncanny smile that crept across her face. She continued speaking after a beat, her tone measured: “Rest assured, the good doctor’s wellbeing aligns with my objectives.” She gestured subtly to Loran, who shifted uneasily beside her. “Now, I can respect the professionalism of not partaking, but I’m certain we can find a way to clear up all this confusion.”
Even for someone wearing armor, Bril’s posture became noticeably more rigid when Katrila shared what clan she was from. “A Plagueian, huh?” he began after a long pause, “My former clan has quite the … unsavory reputation. Let’s hope you’re one of the good ones.”
Bril took a moment to remove his horned helmet, clipping it his waist and shaking loose a head of well-kempt coffee brown locs that fell past his shoulders. A number of horns peaked from between the thin bundles of hair, the most prominent of which protruded from the two corners of his forehead, bordering his hairline.
“I’m going to take Dr. Mier into protective custody on behalf of the Envoy Society. Your services are no longer needed here, Miss … I didn’t catch your name.”
Dr. Mier shook his head. “Excuse me, I’m right here, you know. I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t even know who you are. You could be – wait. What is that?”
Loran gestured toward the locket Bril had been holding since he arrived, the same one with the initials engraved into its argentine surface.
“I found this amongst some of your belongings at your office. Your former office. It told me where to find you,” explained Bril while holding it out to him. Loran snatched it away while glaring at the young zabrak.
“What do you mean it told you? You know what. I don’t want to know,” Loran turned to Katrila and spoke with a decidedly more pleading tone. “Can we leave? Please?”
Katrila opened her mouth to respond, but the scientist cut her off. His aura flashed like heat lightning when he confronted the armored interloper—and again when he snatched the necklace. He had some life in him yet. The interplay would have amused her, as long as it was directed at Bril and not her, as long as Bril’s pretension of arresting her charge remained theoretical.
“Momentarily, Doctor,” she said, patting his hand. “We don’t want to be rude, do we? We have to say goodbye to our companion before I fly you to your new office.”
Katrila’s eyes flicked over to the Zabrak as she emphasized the personal pronoun. “With all due respect to the Envoy Corps and our exalted Exarch, Dr. Mier has refused your protection, so…” She paused, furrowing her brow as her voice trailed off. What about a pharmaceutical corporation on one planet interested the Envoys, anyway? Even with a bounty, albeit one that hadn’t posted yet, the case seemed below the society’s purview. “As I said, he has secured other employment. His new employers are associates of mine. I’m confident they would be open to a mutually beneficial arrangement.” She squeezed Loran’s hand again, releasing it this time. “And Dr. Mier might be, too. But where are my manners? Katrila.” She pursed her lips. Disclosing her name carried a risk, but it seemed preferable to a bar fight with lightsabers.
The slightest twitch of Bril’s eyebrow occurred in response to Katrila’s emphasis on the word “I”. She was going to make this difficult – more difficult than this needed to be. As much as he understood that she was likely just as determined to complete her mission as he was with his own, he nonetheless wished she would just acquiesce to his request. He could just compel her to obey or even make the suggestion seem like it was her own idea. But not only was he not confident in his ability to pull off such an involved Mind Trick, he wasn’t particularly comfortable with the thought of violating the woman’s autonomy that way, even if she was a potential adversary.
“Dr. Bril Teg Arga, Starosta of the Dajorran Marshals,” he commented, briefly shifting his gaze to Dr. Mier. “And who are these employers?”
Headshots and leadership rosters flashed through Katrila’s mind as she heard the Zabrak’s name and position. She had made a habit of regularly reviewing the dossiers of other clans’ leadership, but now she was drawing a blank. It made sense, though. Clan Arcona enjoyed a reputation as benevolent rulers of the Dajorra System. Either way, the Starosta had likely come prepared to defend his purpose with force, if necessary, and she had to assess his resolve.
“ViroTech Industries,” she said, each syllable measured. “As defense and security contractors, they develop biological mechanisms to serve the interests of clients across the galaxy.” She easily rattled off the company’s marketing boilerplate, safe for mass consumption unlike their products. “You can see how Dr. Mier would prove a valuable addition to their team.”
Loran shifted uneasily at the mention of ViroTech. But, fingering the locket he held in his hands, his expression returned to one of steely resolve.
“I understand the importance of your mission, Dr. Arga,” Katrila continued in a diplomatic tone befitting an Envoy. “But ViroTech’s resources and connections will ensure his research continues well into the future.” She offered a sly smile as if to punctuate the upcoming reiteration. “I’m sure the Envoy Society can appreciate a collaborative approach that benefits everyone.”
Before Bril could respond, movement down the bar registered in Katrila’s peripheral vision. She craned her neck to the side to scan the room a brief flash of armor led her to a figure pushing his way through the crowded cantina toward the negotiating threesome. She darted her eyes back toward Bril as her hand grasped the black, spiked hilt hanging from her hips. “Don’t you hate uninvited company?” she asked flatly, nodding to the approaching being.
Bril’s eyes narrowed.
“Virotech Industries? The same company that sparks a new protest practically every few months?” he questioned, “Allowing him to work for them would benefit everyone except the people they peddle their poison to.”
Although the biomedical sciences were far from Bril’s area of expertise, he was plenty smart enough to spot the inconsistencies present in the stories pumped out by Virotech’s PR department. Where there was smoke, there tended to be fire, and no amount of closed-door settlements and disappearances of vocal critics passed off as unfortunate coincidences could fool the young Sentinel investigator.
“Dr. Mier will be escorted back to the Dajorra System where I can ensure he is kept safe, and so he can put his research to good us—.”
Bril’s eyes shot to their right, toward the cantina’s entrance and the armored behemoth stomping his way toward them. When the figure produced a weapon Bril recognized as an electrohammer, and two Magnaguard droids appeared on either side of him with their electrobatons activated, Bril quickly placed his helmet on his head and turned to grab Dr. Mier by the collar.
“Hey! What the frakk do you think you’re doing?!” he shouted while struggling against Bril’s hold.
“Keeping you alive,” he said tersely, “Let’s move.”
While scanning the cantina’s interior for another way out, he spotted a twi'lek male and a weequay female headed toward a rear exit. Perfect. He didn’t look to see if Katrila was following. She had flashed her saber earlier, so perhaps she intended to fight them? Regardless, he was moving with or without her.
Katrila sighed in a mix of frustration and concern as Bril dragged Dr. Mier toward the rear exit. Her mind raced, knowing she had to keep Mier from slipping away with the Arconan. The thug with the electrohammer and droid escorts posed a significant threat, but the real challenge lay in preventing Bril’s absconsion with the doctor.
As Bril grabbed Loran by the collar and began to drag him toward the rear exit, she focused her attention on one of the approaching magnadroids. Though she sensed no imprint in the Force like she would have with a sentient being, the electric signals powering the droid’s movements and crackling on the ends of its batons charged the area. Probing her will around the MagnaGuard’s clanging legs, Katrila theatrically yanked her arms. The droid crashed to the floor in front of its master and companion, the baton firmly in its grip swiping several glasses and plates off the bar to shatter. That’ll do for now, she thought, quietly pushing past the gasping hoi polloi congregating around the bar to investigate. She took large, purposeful strides to catch up with Bril and Loran, now almost through the exit.
“I admire your instincts, leaving the party before things get out of hand. But the Dajorra System seems a little far.”
“Are you kidding?” Bril replied while they hurried through the exit with Katrila in tow, “Nothing in this galaxy is really far because of hyperspace travel. Especially in my shuttle.”
Once they were both outside, Bril turned back to the door, never letting his grip on Dr. Mier go. He extended his free hand and used his mastery over Force telekinesis to mold the metal of the door into a ship that rendered it inoperable.
“That should buy us some time,” he said.
Loran pulled himself from Bril’s grip. “You don’t have to drag me the entire way. I’m more than capable of walking on my own, thank you.”
Outside in the alley, the humid afternoon air was thick with that distinctive urban odor as city life hummed just beyond it in the streets. Though the cantina’s telekinetically welded rear entrance kept the fracas securely inside for now, hushed thuds and shouts evidenced a continuing commotion.
Katrila stepped in front of Bril, blocking his path forward. “Then ViroTech headquarters won’t prove an inconvenient detour. I hear the investor’s laboratory tour fun and educational.” Her green eyes steeled, staring directly at the Zabrak.
Katrila rolled her eyes at Bril’s insistence on tagging along, at his condescension. Understood? Please. “Watch all you want. And after Dr. Mier has been handed over and ViroTech’s payment clears, you can do whatever you want.
"But you’re not jeopardizing my credit account or my reputation. So we’re taking my ship, you won’t make any trouble, and you’ll play along with what I say. If you can handle that, we’ll get along swimmingly.” She returned presumed authority with presumed authority. Behind her eyes lay a certain callousness. She was serious, and there was little she wouldn’t do to safeguard what she had accomplished with her business.
“I’m not leaving my ship here,” Bril replied, “I’ll follow you in my own. And if you try anything funny, I will catch you.”
He took a step to the side, and gesture for her to lead the way. “After you.”