Continued from The Wayward Navigator.
Sector 37, Nar Shaddaa
2100
If she let herself believe it, Merian could swear she was ISB again, like the last time she’d been here.
Nar Shaddaa had an atmosphere that was unlike anywhere else. You knew it by the smell, by the ruckus, by the neons in Huttese. By the aliens from the galaxy over, each more exotic than the last, and somehow each managing to look like they had bad intentions.
It wasn’t a surprise that Commander Baize had to bow out of the mission on account of some military emergency. As much as the man tried to stay close to the action, the reality of his desk transfer never let him forget his officer duties. And besides, though she wouldn’t say it to the commander’s face, Merian had questioned the IAF’s involvement in a mission like this one from the start. The same could be said for her, she realized, but it wasn’t the same. For almost a decade she’d done this. With the blaster at her hip and her lightsaber tucked away, all inconspicuous in civilian clothes, it really was like before, barely a few years, when the Knights didn’t exist even in thought. When she was still the ISB’s secret weapon. All that was missing was Maros by her side.
Maros. Even thinking of him had Merian clenching her jaw. But he’d made his choice. And doubled down on it.
As she waited for her contact, all the knight had to do was review what they knew about the case, which was depressingly little. A gang, the Blue Novas. A bar, the Swamp. A ridiculous name, Frankie. And Talisha Rayn, the greatest astronavigator the Empire had seen in decades, who’d somehow gambled her way into their clutches. How some people could have everything and throw it all away.
If you’re already dead, I’m dragging your corpse back to Raxus for trial, she thought.
She’d been told her contact was an expert. At least they gave her that.
@Zay
Sector 37, Nar Shaddaa
2100
If she let herself believe it, Merian could swear she was ISB again, like the last time she’d been here.
Nar Shaddaa had an atmosphere that was unlike anywhere else. You knew it by the smell, by the ruckus, by the neons in Huttese. By the aliens from the galaxy over, each more exotic than the last, and somehow each managing to look like they had bad intentions.
It wasn’t a surprise that Commander Baize had to bow out of the mission on account of some military emergency. As much as the man tried to stay close to the action, the reality of his desk transfer never let him forget his officer duties. And besides, though she wouldn’t say it to the commander’s face, Merian had questioned the IAF’s involvement in a mission like this one from the start. The same could be said for her, she realized, but it wasn’t the same. For almost a decade she’d done this. With the blaster at her hip and her lightsaber tucked away, all inconspicuous in civilian clothes, it really was like before, barely a few years, when the Knights didn’t exist even in thought. When she was still the ISB’s secret weapon. All that was missing was Maros by her side.
Maros. Even thinking of him had Merian clenching her jaw. But he’d made his choice. And doubled down on it.
As she waited for her contact, all the knight had to do was review what they knew about the case, which was depressingly little. A gang, the Blue Novas. A bar, the Swamp. A ridiculous name, Frankie. And Talisha Rayn, the greatest astronavigator the Empire had seen in decades, who’d somehow gambled her way into their clutches. How some people could have everything and throw it all away.
If you’re already dead, I’m dragging your corpse back to Raxus for trial, she thought.
She’d been told her contact was an expert. At least they gave her that.
@Zay