A long, exasperated groan escaped Bril’s lips as he looked over the stack of papers on his desk. Four days of sifting through the public records of Zratis Arms Corporation had gotten him nowhere. As a Shadesworn and former member of the Arconan Summit, he was well aware that, in addition to serving as the clan’s primary armorer, it also allowed them to clean credits earned through more illicit activities. He’d expected to find evidence of the books being cooked to look legit, but the level of convolution was staggering, to say the least. It’s like they were keeping secrets from each other, as well.
“Frakking ‘Clan of Shadows’,” he muttered to himself while massaging the bridge of his nose. He wanted to call it a night, to crawl into bed where Minnie and Femi were already asleep after a long day at the new pet park that had recently opened a few minutes away. But he owed it to the people of Korda to continue digging, to play his part in uncovering who was responsible for smuggling weapons into the city en masse. And so he did, combing through the papers until he found a name he recognized.
“Well … that’s interesting.”
Right there at the end of a long list of past and present investors was the name Marick Tyris Arconae, the current Exarch and holder of more titles than he had horns. Bril had never met him despite their myriad connections. If he was an investor, then he likely could shed some light on the company’s dealings.
The next morning, Bril = departed on Ibaka - TIE/RP Reaper - for the Lunar Training Facility on Arx Minor. He wasted no time in heading for the Exarch’s office upon entering and greeted the droid attending the reception desk with a nod.
“Golden Envoy Bril Teg Arga to see the Exarch, please,” he stated, maintaining a professional tone.
<@189568236201705472>
The receptionist Droid moved its spindly arms to mimic a human wave.
“Greetings,” it paused, optical receptors scanning and processing the Zabrak. “Dr. Bril Teg Arga,” it finished mechanically.
Another pause. “The Exarch has been expecting you. Please proceed to his office. Second floor. Down the hall to the left.”
A long, sectional desk with multiple monitors and terminals sat beneath large viewports overlooking both planet Arx and the rest of Arx Minor. The cable management at the desk was impeccable, with no excess or clutter anywhere to be seen. Thanks to the current Exarch’s preferences, there was a place for everything, neatly organized, and plenty of room for temporary documents, plans, or projects to be worked on. The adjacent room had a holoprojector for local presentations of missions or data. There is also a holocam station set up for the Exarch to send or record or send out mission briefings to Envoys in the field.
Marick sat behind the desk, mulling over a series of files he hadn’t reviewed in…quite some time.
Memories of his time as Shadow Scion.
Memories of the time before everything had gone wrong.
Wuntila was gone. He was all that had remained to pick up the pieces.
Journey before destination, yes, but it had not been easy to get to where he now stood. Still, the past was still a real as any truth, and responsibly for it were still the responsibility of the present.
It had been too long, it seemed, since he took a closer look at ZAC’s operations.
The first thing Bril noted when he entered the room was the Exarch’s attention to detail. Every item in the room, even down to the placement of small knick knacks decorating the room. For the former Shadow Scion to be this meticulous in the arrangement of his office said a lot about him and his approach – it came as no surprise, then, that the Envoy Corps ran as smoothly as it did.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, sir,” he began, dipping his head in a slight bow. “I’m sure you’re busy, so I’ll make this brief so I can get out of your hair.”
Bril produced a datapad and gestured to the holoprojector in the next room. “Do you mind?”
Marick rose smoothly from the desk, no wasted effort in the action. “Feel free,” he said with a gesture towards the projector. “It is no problem at all- happy to provide whatever insight I can offer.”
Bril nodded in thanks and used his datapad to the holoprojector, which connected nigh-isntantaneously thanks to the strength of the Exarch’s office connection. The projected image of a large shipping crate appeared in full color in the space between them. The crate opened only to dissipate, reassembling into the shape of three different weapons: a sidearm blaster, a rifle, and a heavy repeater.
“A large cache of these weapons were seized before making it into Korda, the sister city to our beloved capital. No doubt, they were headed to Korda’s lower district, where the most disenfranchised communities struggle to eke out a living each day.
"But what’s most concerning is this,” he paused, spreading two fingers apart on the datapad’s screen to blow up the holoimage of one of the weapons. Of course, any identifying logos or serial numbers had been shaved off, but the smugglers forgot one thing: a small rectangular piece about the size of a grain of sand hidden within the rifle’s components.
“You may already be familiar, but that is a Kelmari-edition control chip used to reduce the off-gassing rate of Tibanna-based energy weapons.”
Although Bril was sure that the Arconae had already made the connection, he continued. “Manufactured and distributed by Zratis Arms Corporation. Since they’ve done such a good job of cornering the market of weapons manufacturing in our system, it concerns me that such a large weapons cache nearly ended up as the next match to reignite tensions between the myriad criminal factions of the city. Your name came up as one of Z.A.C’s investors back in the day, so I hoping you could offer information to help my investigation.”
Bril’s observed the Exarch carefully not just with his eyes, but with his highly attuned Force sense as well.
Marick’s presense in the Force was likely…a dissapointment if Bril had been anticipating more. Just an average, gray-toned signature that could have easily been mistaken for anyone on Arx or even the core worlds.
His face didn’t give away much either. He looked as calm as if he were being shown the days weather forecast. His eyes, however, focused intently on the screen before him, thoughts churning with a stoic intensity.
He seemed to remember something. He turned without a word and moved back towards his desk. He probably should have motioned Bril to follow, but he was already in motion, opening up a new window in his terminal and clicking through a sequence of keys and strokes on the keybad.
“Fascinating,” he said, though his voice was monotonous, dry, but easy to hear. “I had seen something come through from an old contact that had been working in Korda to oversee operations. We lost touch during the attacks…which likely means there is now a vacum of power we overlooked. It would have flown below the Marshal’s radar, and with so much recovery work still being done across the planet…”
The Arconae trailed off, growing thoughtful. “Looks like we will need to re-establish our oversight in Korda. And get to the bottom of whoever is doing the smugling. They must be brave, stupid, or a combination of both to risk the ire of the Shadesworn…”
Bril didn’t need a signal to follow once he picked up on the fact that Marick was onto something; he could practically hear the gears turning in his man’s head.
“Fascinating, indeed,” he said to him while leaning slightly over Marick’s shoulder to have a better look at the screen. “Using our preoccupation with reconstruction was an ingenious way to ensure we didn’t catch this. And with the … dissatisfaction some of our people have had with our leadership in light of the recent catatrosphes, it was only a matter of time before someone made a bold move to undermine us, even subtly.
"I’ve been active in Korda for the better part of half a year now, doing what I can to establish meaningful connections and uplift the people there. I could see if any of my contacts there know anything about this. Do you think you could use your resources to follow this paper trail?”
Marick thought for a moment, eyes sharp but focused elsewhere. They returned to the current room a moment later and he nodded. “Yes, that part should be no problem. Do you have time now for a trip, or would another time be better?”
He checked his wrist-pad, idly noting his schedule and using his fingers to re-arrange a few things, even as he spoke.
There was a subtle twitch at the corner of Bril’s mouth following Marick’s reply. His normal, goofier side nearly broke through the veneer of professionalism he he’d taken to using during his brief stint in Clan Arcona’s highest ranks. He recognized that his age made people doubt his ability to lead at times, so carying himself more like someone befitting such a high station amongst the Shadesworn did help to inspire more confidence in him. But boy was it exhausting having to maintain what wasn’t a facade per se, but just a sliver of his true, most comfortable self.
He shook his head, stifling the desire to react giddily to the prospect of going on a mission with his elder Shadesworn. “I can accompany you now,” he said, “It’ll be better for everyone involved if we take care of this now. What’s the plan, sir?”
“Understood. We can take the Encanis II,” he stared flatly, yet with no hint of arrogance. He was simply stating a data point that was true- nothing more. He gathered a few things, pulled on a grayscale cloak, and started towards the exit and elevator, as if confident Bril would keep pace.
Walking with his hands behind his back, Bril greeted each person they passed with a smile and a nod. “You know, I’ve only seen you … around, a handful of times,” Bril said, attempting to make small talk. “You must have a more hands off approach to Arconan affairs these days.”
Marick didn’t interact with any personnel that passed beyond a nod or a glance of acknowledgement. “Even were I not Exarch, there is the orphanage on Selen and our clinic on Ol'val that need me more than the Serpentine Throne does.” His eyes seemed to go distant as they entered the hangar, where the Exarch’s ship looked…like it did not get out much.
Next to it, however, was a matte black Infiltrator edition Star Courier. The Encanis II was Marick’s preferred method of travel, only using the Urbanae when on formal Exarch business.
As they approached, guardsman saluted. Marick did not seem to pay them any mind as he continued speaking. “I never wanted to be Shadow Lord,” he explained. “And when I was, I certainly did not want to be perpetually shadowed by fellow Arconae and those that came before me. Lottson deserved the same.”
His boots barely made a sound up the entrance ramp. As the door closed behind the duo, shutting out the guards, he continued to speak low in his calm monotone. “That said, when Arcona needs me, I will be there. Like now.”
Bril smiled. “I’m really glad to hear that, sir,” he replied. It was a relief to hear that Marick, with all his accomplishments and high stations (including his most recent christening as Darth Amarok), had maintained his desire to help and protect the most vulnerable of their people.
“The citizens of Lower Korda live in squalor while their neighbors live in prosperity above the surface,” he began, making no effort to hide the disdain in his voice, “The inequity is baked into the way the very city is designed. Myself, a handful of wealthy Kordans who desire change, and a lot of regular folks have been putting in the work to make a difference there but this … this could ruin everything we’ve worked for.”
Stepping onto the ramp, Bril’s armored footfalls were loud in contrast to Marick’s, alchemically enhanced durasteel plating of ancient Iridonian design rattling lightly as they ascended into the Encantis II proper. The shuttle’s design was impressive, to say the least. Despite the gravity of their current mission, he couldn’t help but smile when thinking about how much Minnie would love to have a chance at flying it.
Marick nodded, the only visual indication that showed he was listening as his attention flitted between all the small minute details of the ship, almost as if daring something to be out of place or not where it was supposed to be.
“I’ve read many theories on how to ‘solve’ for economic inequality,” he replied quietly as he offered the second seat in the pilots area to Bril. He punched in his security clearance codes.
“Gideon- *Nav*igate a course for Korda on Selen.”
“You got it, boss-man. Oh, hey, who is your friend here? He looks new. Got sharp horns, too. Think I could take him in a sword fight?” the ships artificial intelligence responded excitedly in a bassy, mechanical, but feminine tone.
Marick, to his credit, did not sigh or suspirate. He simply blinked once and took the controls. “Seeing as you lack a body, I find that hardly likely.”
“Details, boss-man…but got it, setting ‘course of course.”
As the ship took off, Marick turned to look at Bril. “Apologies, the ships upgraded AI was a…gift from Alethia. As with most things that woman does, it of course came with the double-edged blade of being a blessing and a curse.
You know I’m right here, helping fly your ship for you, right?
"Details,” Marick countered without looking away from the controls. As they left the dock on Arx Minor, he sat back as the ship entered the short range hyperspace jump.
“Anyway. I’ve read the theories on wealth inequality and its relationship to residential zoning. Usually the problem is in the bureaucracy and red tape. That is usually something we can get around on Selen…thanks to our status as Shadesworn. The balance, of course, was shifted after the attacks.”
He paused. “Do you have an idea what could be done to help improve the situation for the Korda?”
In the past, the answer would be simple: eliminate those in power and replace with trustworthy or loyal leaders. That was the old Marick, however. Perhaps there were other ways.
The artificial intelligence’s banter brought an amused grin to the zabrak’s face, but that was soon supplanted by.a more worried look after he heard a particular name … “Alethia?”
He looked as if he’d seen a Force Wraith. The last time he’d seen the woman, it was after nearly causing an intergalactic incident between his own clan and Scholae Palatinae. That meeting involved a lot of berating — and alcohol.
“She’s not going to be meeting up with us today, is she?” he asked, “Err, not that I’d have a problem meeting up with her it’s just … you know, she might not exactly be happy to see me.”
He inhaled.
Right, Marick had asked him a question.
“With the help of my young student, Morra, I’ve managed to convince a number of Korda’s ultra-wealthy to help lead the charge in the redistribution of wealth to the city’s least fortunate, as well as donating to civil infrastructure projects and a clean air and water initiative in the city’s subterranean district.”
Marick nodded along, but otherwise his face remain a stoic mask. He glanced at Bril as he seemed to tense at the mention of Alethia. Curious.
“I don’t think she’s happy to see anyone, but fair,” he replied easily. “I had not planned on involving her, but there are few who would know how to handle a situation like this better. Of course, she likely to tell me to infiltrate the local government, run for office, insert myself into the pipeline and repair the infrastructure from a grass roots level. Or something. I can call her on comm to confirm…”
He saw a quick look of panic in Bril’s eyes, but calmly removed his hand from the console. He might have smiled, but it could have been a trick of the lightng. Hard to tell with how how neutral his expression seemed to always remain.
Asani had educated him in the ways of the “prank” but he was still but an iniatie.
“Anyway,” he continued. “That all sounds like a plan, but are there any road blocks? Activist, gang leaders, bankers…?” He did not want to outwardly say the words, but he knew that idealistic plans for government rarely worked without some kind of action to motivate the changes that wanted to be seen.
“Quite a few, I’m afraid,” he replied. “Of course, there are many native Kordans who believe our assistance will bring more trouble than good, and I can’t say I blame them given the history of attacks,” Whether the Shadesworn (and Force Users in general) helped more than they harmed was a question with which he often wrestled; so far, there had been no clear answer. “Then, there’s the pushback from the criminal element, and the city’s rich elite. My investigations led to an attempt on my life a few months ago.
"It’s an uphill battle, for sure, but one I think is worth it.”
Marick nodded as the ship exited hyperspace, and the familiar sight of Selen winked into view. “For all our knowledge, for all our power…equity and equality are forever a perpetuating problem,” the Arconae agreed. “But doing nothing is the only wrong move.”
“Right,” he concurred with a nod, “hopefully you’ll have more success than I have, though. I’m sure word that a former Shadow Scion has taken an interest in their affairs will go a long way in getting Korda’s wealthy elite to cooperate.
"What do you say we shake a few trees and see what falls out?”
Bril turned his gaze to the shuttle’s viewport to watch as Selen steadily grew larger as they approached.
Marick didn’t correct the Doctor that he was a Shadow Lord as well. He was more well known as Scion, and his Consul term had been short, but ultimately ended in a victorius war effort.
Of course, that legacy had a giant scar across it…as in order to earn the trust of Grand Master Pravus, Marick had done…unforgivable things. He could spin it however he wanted, but in the end, he had hurt people. The ends had justified the means. Worse, he had placed the future of the Brotherhood over the Clans when he betraye the fleet.
Yet, that act had finally propelled him to a position where he was able to stop the purge against the undesirables. He course corrected the Inquisitorius to an intelligence agency instead of a gestapo. He had spent lives to save lives.
But he’d been doing that since he was barely twenty. He wanted to say it got easier with time, but he still stayed awake at night thinking, wondering.
When we take a life, we take nothing of value
*Life before death, journey before destination, strength before weakness.*
Diametric ideals. Who was he, now, compared to who he was then?
All he could do was take the next step. One at a time. It was clear that the people of Korda needed help.
“Kirra would say: ‘if you shake the trees too hard, you’ll disrupt the natural progression of the acorns, so be careful’,” a smile ghosted the corner of his mouth. “But yes, lets see what we can do.”
The ship made it’s ascent to towards the coordinates Bril had provided for Korda’s landing docks.
Marick’s psionic presence in the Force was still, but not like a placid like, but like vast stretches of empty space. The void. It was a sensation he’d grown accustomed to sensing due to his adoptive brother, Foxen, whose mind he sometimes referred to as a “black box” or, more flippantly, “the filing cabinet of doom.” Although likely due to different circumstances (because who else in the galaxy could say they had similar experiences to his ori'vod?), Bril could tell the former Shadow Lord was similar to Foxen in one important way: he preferred order, especially over his own mind. But just when he was beginning to think there was nothing more to be felt, no chance of him gleaning more from someone whose prowess in the Force overshadowed even someone as talented as himself, Bril felt a brief flash of warmth flare up at the same time he spoke the name …
“Kirra,” Bril repeated while ruminating on the sensation. He knew it well. “That must be family of yours?”
Marick gestured calmly, and a picture displayed on the vidscreen to the right of the cockpit. It was a holograph image of Marick braiding Kirra’s hair while Atyiru braied his.
“My daughter, yes,” he said quietly. There was no expression on his face to read, but his eyes did seem to brighten at the mention and thought of her. “Everyday she reminds me that there is more to life than just existing. Both of them,” he let the comment trail off as the ship docked and he rose from the cockpit, slick as quicksilver, no motion wasted. HIs hands slipped into his long coats pockets.
“Care to lead the way? I will keep my Force precense masked to hopefully not concern anyone. You know the locals so I will follow your lead.
“What a beautiful family,” Bril said while looking at the picture. His lips pulled into a smile as his eyes fell to Kirra, a genuine expression of happiness for the fact that his superior had managed to have a family in spite of all the craziness that the galaxy through at its inhabitants, especially people like them. But beneath that display of happiness loomed something else, something bittersweet. Perhaps his mind could use more discipline like his counterpart, because a thought he hadn’t thought of in a few weeks crept to the surface. Kirra’s beaming smile was replaced by Jisula’s … his beloved JiJi who may never be.
Suddenly, he was back in their living room, holding the woman whom he hoped to one day marry in his arms while she cradled the head of their sweet, sweet daughter’s head in her lap in the same way she had done his own a thousand times before. The Nautolan-Zabrak hybrid’s sleepy eyes closed, and she uttered the words that had lived on in his dreams since the Force first saw fit to bless his ears with them:
“I love you Baba. I love you Iya.
Marick’s voice brought him back to the present and to their mission, and he looked over to him.
"Hm? Oh, right,” he nodded, “Sounds good to me.”
Unbeknownst to him, Bril had done more than let a stray thought slip into his mind, but he’d subconsciously pushed glimpses of what he saw out, accompanied by the feeling of him somehow having gained and lost something in learning about that possible future. Whether Marick himself had noticed any of it, was anyone’s guess.
-c-
Bril stepped off of the shuttle and placed a hand on his utility belt while he walked. Their arrival in Upper Korda certainly drew the attention of passersby, though not as much as one would in the more rural parts of the island. People here were more used to seeing Shadesworn, but it went without saying that the curious looks carried the unspoken question, “why are they here?” None dared question them, though; at least, not until they reached the sprawling estate of Tlichepal, the wealthy Selenian businessman whom Bril and Morra visited months ago.
Four guards – two dowutin dressed in fashionable tunics in the typical Kordan style with armorweave jumpsuits beneath, and two sentinel droids carrying large blasters – approached them.
“Seems like he’s upgraded his security,” Bril commented.
The dowutin on the left spoke in a gruff voice while glaring at both of them. “What do you two want?” he asked.
“We’re here to speak with Tlichepal. I’m a friend.” The dowutin guards looked at each other with incredulous expressions, prompting Bril to speak again. “Just give him a call on your holos. He’ll tell you as much. But hurry, we’re here on important business.”
They did just that, reaching out to their boss via holo. A detailed hologram in full color of a slender, well-dressed Selenian man materialized from the small disc in the taller dowutin’s hand. His long, brown hair with streaks of gray was pulled into a high ponytail fastened in place by an animal shell; he wore a brightly colored tunic and large plugs in his earlobe fashioned from the iridescent green carapace of the mahexitl, an extremely rare species of Selenian scarab scarcely seen across Selen save for the most important rites and ceremonies of its indigenous population. The man turned while taking a bite of some brightly colored fruit, and cocked his head to the side with a lifted chin while looking at Bril and Marick.
-c-
“Ah, the young knight. What can I do for you, Bril? It must be important if you’ve brought a former Shadow Lord with you,” he said, his tone a bit more attentive than the typical lackadaisical way in which he spoke.
Marick didn’t react to being identified. He had spent the majority of his adult life being ‘known’. The question would be which version was being called on. Darth Amorak was beyond The Gray Fang, and both were different than the Ghost of Ol'val or Arcona’s Black Flash.
He wore a long gray cloak, white shirt, black fatigues–all unassuming. And while most of his weapons were concealed he did not actually hide the conversion lightsaber hilt on his waist.
He simply met Bril’s ‘friends’ eyes and nodded slightly, his face an unreadable mask.
“It has to do with the Korda situation,” Bril began, but before he could finish, he sensed a spike of tension in Tlichepal’s mind that accompanied his tightening lips. “What is it?”
The Selenian aristocrat crossed his arms and rubbed two fingers together, considering. Then, he gestured for them to follow. “Not here,” he said while turning to quickly cross the stone walkway leading to a pair of ornate wooden doors coated in fresh lacquer made them shine in Dajorra’s light. The doors were a different color than what he remembered from his last visit. They were lightly colored before, but now they were a much darker brown that almost looked black when viewed from the right angle.
“Doing some remodeling?” asked Bril while gesturing to the doors with a nod.
“Yeah, you could say that,” Tlichepal said curtly as his two dowutin attendants stepped forward to push the doors open just enough for them to step through. They closed it once they’d passed.
This was Bril’s first time actually stepping foot inside Tlichepal’s estate, and it did not disappoint. A thoughtful blend of the rustic charm he loved about traditional Selenian living, and the decidedly contemporary use of sleek, efficient construction methods. One thing that struck him as they walked was how empty the place felt. In the five or six-minute walk to their destination, they encountered only one other being: a gonk droid that shimmied past them while uttering a repetitive series of chirps and whirrs.
They arrived at a large metallic door at the end of a long hallway. Tlichepal stepped forward and held his face close to the rectangular panel to its right, causing a narrow beam of green light to shine in the center of his eye before spreading across its entire surface. When the panel chimed to convey a successful match, the door unlocked with an audible click before sliding open. The door shut behind them when they entered, cutting them off from the outside world.
Bril frowned. “What is all this?”
-c-
Tlichepal ran his hands through his long hair and gently massaged his scalp with a sigh. “An assurance of privacy, Bril,” he explained, “One can never be too careful, especially with would-be assassins running about.”
His meaning rang loud and clear. It came as no surprise that he’d heard about the attempt on Bril’s life; Tlichepal was well-connected, especially in Korda, and the attempt on his life had been anything but discreet. The zabrak shrugged. “Kick a hornet’s nest enough, and you’re bound to get stung eventually. Which is why we’re here. Someone has been smuggling weapons into Lower Korda, and we’re concerned about it igniting the proverbial proton keg.”
“Oh, come on,” Tlichepal said, scoffing lightly, “people have been moving guns through weapons for years. That’s nothing new.”
“These are military grade. Serial numbers match those of AAF arms used during a Brotherhood-wide conflict a few years ago,” Although he didn’t mention which specific conflict, Marick would certainly pick up that he was referring to the Transcendence War. Bril turned to his older compatriot. “Sir, can you elucidate what kind of person it would take to pull something like that off? How powerful and well-connected would they have to be to steal Arconan – Brotherhood – weapons?”
Of course, Bril knew the answer, but he was exploring the implications for a particular purpose.
When the mention of would-be assassoins was mentioned, Marick did not so much as blink. His entire body went still as a wild animal. Not tense, just static.
When we take a life we take nothing of value Life before death
The moment passed. His eyes did do their cursory study of every exit and entry, every vent, window, or possibly vector of surprise attack. Old habits died hard.
“Incredibly difficult,” Markick said without missing a beat. “Bribes, coercion, blackmail are all common tools of the trade that keep the galaxy running. The Shroud Synidcate has a tight hold on Brotherhood space, and the difference for them is that they are not limited my typical means or methods. What good is a pistol to the head when a Syndicate operative from the Brotherhood can crumble your blaster pistol with their mind, without so much as a gesture.”
A stylujs from his coat pocket levitated up into the air and spun in a few circles, despite Marick keepiong his hands folded behind his back. The styljus retreated back to where it came from in his pocket. “It would take someone of signifigant power and influnce to get past a Shadesworn-backed AAF. Let alone the Brotherhoods Shroud Syndicate.
"Pardon, my name is Marick Tyris Arconae, Exarch of the Brotherhood, Shadow Lord Emeritus,” he added calmly. There was no boast or pride in the titles. Just a statement of fact, like he was providing his shoe size and measurements to a tailor.
He extended his hand.
The longer the former Shadow Lord spoke, the more uncomfortable Tlichepal became. Although he hadn’t realized it, he had started to shift in place, and his eyes lingered on the floating stylus for a long moment before his eyes flicked back to Bril – as if looking for an out of some kind. He found none with the young zabrak. Why? Well, because Bril knew that sometimes you had to apply a bit of pressure to get the results – the answers – you needed. In his line of work, that was doubly so.
Tlichepal hesitated at first, but eventually extended his hand. “Tlichepal,” he replied, “And you make a convincing point. This is all off the record, of course, but … I have heard whispers that some of my peers have been reaching out to AAF officials, making closed-door deals. I scratch your back, you scratch mine — that kind of thing.”
Bril stepped forward, eyes narrowing. “Do you have any names?”
The Selenian man averted his gaze. “I really shouldn’t get involved,” he muttered.
“You already are. And I’m giving you the opportunity to spare innocent people a lot of pain and grief.”
Tlichepal sighed while pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright, alright … I’ve heard that one of my peers has taken quite an interest in the AAF following the Battle of Brimstone. Her name is Oxiana du Vhey. She lives in Upper Korda’s wealthiest district, Nages Heights. If anyone is going to get you the answers you seek, it’s her.”
Marick shook the hand firmly but then let it drop. “Standard practice, and something we always allowed as long as fair trade was still maintained and no accords were broken,” he confirmed.
His face remained its netural mask, but his glacial eyes tracked on Brils exchange and then shifted back to Tlichepal.
Oxiana du Vhey the name filed instantly into the rolodex of data he kept stored in his mind.
“Thank you kindly,” the Hapan said with a fain bow of his head.
“You’re welcome,” said Tlichepal sternly, “Now, if that’s all you needed, I have business to attend to. I trust you two can see yourselves out?”
Bril nodded. “A pleasure doing business with you as always, Tlichepal. I’ll be in touch.” After that, the zabrak turned to Marick and nodded, stepping passed him while gesturing for him to follow.
Once the two of them were off of the aristocrat’s property, he turned to address his compatriot. “I’ll start looking into Oxiana. See what i can dig up. I can send you anything I find … if you’d like to remain involved in the investigation, that is.”
Marick studied Tlichepal as they left, every detail commited to memory wether he wanted it to or not. As Bril spoke, his eyes shifted focus and he switched context to the conversation at hand, filing away all the other information. “Yes, I think I’d like to be more involved,” the Hapan nodded.