Few decisions in Ives' life would prove to be as thoroughly self-destructive as the mundane choice of passing the threshold of a cantina doorway.
Theplace hadn't officially opened its doors, but Ives had let it slip that his employer, Callo Sasker, had called him in for a meeting. The Umbaran local business savant operating in the grey-zone of legality, and presumably the owner of the cantina, had been Ives' employer for the past month. He'd been a brutal taskmaster, and their relationship didn't extend beyond the paychecks Ives had to claw from the greedy bastard's hands. It wasn't normal for Callo to summon Ives like this.
Ives found the man reclining in a booth at the far end of the an otherwise empty cantina. He was surrounded by a full crew this time. In place of his usual armoured bodyguard were a ragtag group of aliens and humans, about a dozen, all dressed in ill-fitting suits. These would be his associates.
Despite the uniforms of corporations they looked nothing like legitimate entrepeneurs. Too many scars, scrubbed tattoos, and distinctly too brawny for a diet of office-lunch takeout.
"What, that pipsqueak's joining your crew, Callo?" one of the thugs in the booth--a weequay at the booth's edge--mouthed off as Ives approached. "Sorriest excuse for a human I've ever seen."
That wasn't inaccurate. Ives had barely had a full night's sleep the entire week. It hadn't even been half an hour since he'd hastily shaved off the accumulated stuble from pulling several double shifts in a row to regain some semblance of presentability. He must have looked a mess.
Ives' tensed. He looked to his boss, not sure exactly what he was seeking.
Callo didn't say anything, didn't even really outwardly react at all. He was looking busy, reading a report on his datapad, but Ives sensed the man was observing him. This meeting had a distinct intentionality to it that tugged at the edge of Ives' paranoia.
"I mean look at the kid. Scrawny as an urchin dragged in from the lowest gutters," the Weequay continued, drawing a chuckle from the others in the booth.
The Weequay had a self-satisfied grin on his mug. He was reclined against the cushions, enjoying the approval of his peers propping him up.
Ives clenched his fists, straightening to his full height as best he could. He must've looked ridiculous--a short scrawny kid trying to play tough. He moved on the Weequay, who was too busy laughing at his own joke, and gave the thug a right hook that sent him spiralling off his seat. He'd moved on instinct. Somehow, that punch had seemed correct, expected even.
The room went silent. Sasker had reigned his associates in with a gesture before they'd even jumped to their feet. The datapad sat ignored on the table. He was actively watching now, they all were.
The Weequay cursed, grabbing at the table to hoist himself up, but Ives didn't let him. He delivered a swift while the Weequay was still down, and jumped him. Blow after blow, he kept raining punches on the thug, who'd barely put up his hands to shield himself.
"That's enough," Sasker finally said when the Weequay looked near to losing consciousness. The corpo had said it casually, but his voice had carried an unquestionable sense of authority.
Ives forced himself away, wiping numb and bloodied knuckles on his jacket. As he got back to his feet, he managed to catch his employer giving the faintest nod.
Theplace hadn't officially opened its doors, but Ives had let it slip that his employer, Callo Sasker, had called him in for a meeting. The Umbaran local business savant operating in the grey-zone of legality, and presumably the owner of the cantina, had been Ives' employer for the past month. He'd been a brutal taskmaster, and their relationship didn't extend beyond the paychecks Ives had to claw from the greedy bastard's hands. It wasn't normal for Callo to summon Ives like this.
Ives found the man reclining in a booth at the far end of the an otherwise empty cantina. He was surrounded by a full crew this time. In place of his usual armoured bodyguard were a ragtag group of aliens and humans, about a dozen, all dressed in ill-fitting suits. These would be his associates.
Despite the uniforms of corporations they looked nothing like legitimate entrepeneurs. Too many scars, scrubbed tattoos, and distinctly too brawny for a diet of office-lunch takeout.
"What, that pipsqueak's joining your crew, Callo?" one of the thugs in the booth--a weequay at the booth's edge--mouthed off as Ives approached. "Sorriest excuse for a human I've ever seen."
That wasn't inaccurate. Ives had barely had a full night's sleep the entire week. It hadn't even been half an hour since he'd hastily shaved off the accumulated stuble from pulling several double shifts in a row to regain some semblance of presentability. He must have looked a mess.
Ives' tensed. He looked to his boss, not sure exactly what he was seeking.
Callo didn't say anything, didn't even really outwardly react at all. He was looking busy, reading a report on his datapad, but Ives sensed the man was observing him. This meeting had a distinct intentionality to it that tugged at the edge of Ives' paranoia.
"I mean look at the kid. Scrawny as an urchin dragged in from the lowest gutters," the Weequay continued, drawing a chuckle from the others in the booth.
The Weequay had a self-satisfied grin on his mug. He was reclined against the cushions, enjoying the approval of his peers propping him up.
Ives clenched his fists, straightening to his full height as best he could. He must've looked ridiculous--a short scrawny kid trying to play tough. He moved on the Weequay, who was too busy laughing at his own joke, and gave the thug a right hook that sent him spiralling off his seat. He'd moved on instinct. Somehow, that punch had seemed correct, expected even.
The room went silent. Sasker had reigned his associates in with a gesture before they'd even jumped to their feet. The datapad sat ignored on the table. He was actively watching now, they all were.
The Weequay cursed, grabbing at the table to hoist himself up, but Ives didn't let him. He delivered a swift while the Weequay was still down, and jumped him. Blow after blow, he kept raining punches on the thug, who'd barely put up his hands to shield himself.
"That's enough," Sasker finally said when the Weequay looked near to losing consciousness. The corpo had said it casually, but his voice had carried an unquestionable sense of authority.
Ives forced himself away, wiping numb and bloodied knuckles on his jacket. As he got back to his feet, he managed to catch his employer giving the faintest nod.
