Drystan Marakos
Master Sentinel
The crowded streets shifted like coiling serpents; tendrils of sentient flesh - of every color & shape – boiled on its endless march. Coruscant, for all it’s lights and towering jungle, pulsed with life. From above, there was the dull roar of countless flying ships… Millions came and went with every passing day. The entire planet thrummed with a combined consciousness; through the Force, one could, at quiet times floating above it all, tap into the driving heartbeat of the world below and immerse themselves in the driving chaos…
Somewhere on the planet, there was a lovely garden surrounded by statues. They called this place, “Azalea Court”, and it was a fine place to spend a warm evening. The district itself, spanning a considerable distance, was actually nestled between two particular features: a natural waterway, beautifully decorated by a series of cascading waterfalls which (oddly enough) grew in size, and an historical opera house which had seen the rise and fall of numerous governments. This area, well-policed and obviously wealthy, was the sort of place crime rarely occurred, even in the thriving city…
That was, of course, a lie.
A small café, lit for the coming night and just beginning to see a stream of regulars pour through the door, would have been invisible to the casual onlooker – visitors and most inhabitants alike knew very little of the shady underbelly beneath their feet. Even in such a place, with no hint of trash to mar its’ seemingly serene neighborhoods, there was an ever-present dark side.
There was a small seated area outside this café. To enter, one had to pass through the gated area to the doors beyond – on most nights, a Rodian “host” would reference a visitor’s ID with a waiting list of “Approved Guests”. Seating was limited, and visits to the restaurant were well organized. It was a simple, unassuming place, with a nondescript clientele and tight-lipped proprietors who were difficult to reach at any hour of the day. Around the back of the building (which was concealed from view by a high wall), was a private exit with a gated entry and surveillance. All of these things, for those with the eyes to see, betrayed the building’s true intentions.
Tonight, conveniently, the Rodian would be absent, on account of a troubled digestive system.
With a touch and a whisper, Drystan had willed his bowels to curdle within his abdomen. What the Rodian heard were words of romance… but what she had said were words of power. And then, she had faded from his memory and left him alone, sickened on the floor of his flat. It was, unfortunately, her only opportunity – the Rodian’s employers would never have allowed him the night off otherwise, nor would he have taken one.
Tonight, it had been decided, would be the night.
And so, seated in a pool of shadow not ten meters from the front door, sat a woman dressed in the fine, conservative clothing common to wives of men in power. Obsidian hair cascaded down her shoulders, curling like the waters which churned some distance away. Her face was elegant; high cheekbones and a perfect complexion were accented by hazel eyes; peering, alert and watchful, over the smoke of a curling cigarette.
And there it was… The hum…
Her senses stretched out, expanding like a bubble to encompass the seating area… then the building… then the square…
A small rodent, scurrying along on tiny legs, powered itself through a crack in the foundation of the building directly opposite the café...
Inside the café, there was a skeleton crew; six men in total, two on the lower floor and four above…
Beneath her feet, a platform of steel eventually gave way to open air, and through this open space, a small landspeeder moved in shadow, quiet as could be…
Inside, on the second floor, one of the men was seated at a desk…
Drystan opened her eyes.
“When it happens, it will happen fast.” Had been a common saying by one of her instructors.
And she always took a little pleasure in the realization that yes… When it happened, it happened fast.
And so, she began to move.
Drawing on the Living Force which pulsed around her, feeding her with its’ warm and friendly glow, she stood and walked into the bar, knee-high boots in a marching step reminiscient of an Imperial cadence. At the movement outside, the bartender and the lone patron (a lookout, appearing to be a customer), glanced in her direction. To anyone else, these men would have posed questions… but to this woman, they only offered recognizing glances and returned to their conversation. With a wave of her hand, she wove an image in their minds that they’d seen her before…
Already welcome…
Safe…
And so it was.
Without breaking stride, Drystan crossed the distance from the front door to the staircase on one wall, and ascended. Her palm, gliding lazily up the bannister, served to conceal her power as the Force flowed from her body, down into the structure of the building, flowing between the walls like liquid.
She mounted the stairs, every step measured, and every sense alert. The men below said nothing.
Turning right, Drystan headed directly for a doorway down the hall. The door, deep burgundy in color, appeared to be wood but was actually blaster-resistant plasticine, masterfully crafted. Slender fingers curled around the door-handle, and her other hand produced a small device – circular in shape, with a stubby grip, a number of dials, and a metal pin protruding from the front; touching the tip of the device to the doorknob, she inserted it into the locking mechanism and triggered it. In a contained flash of superheated plasma, the mechanical lock disintegrated and she opened the door.
The room beyond, a boardroom, was modestly decorated with a long table and a number of chairs, a small bureau, and a few paintings of landscapes. Drystan did not recognize a single one.
Outside, the evening remained quiet as the last threads of daylight faded, and Coruscant was left to its own planetwide illumination.
Working quickly, the raven-haired beauty crossed the room to a set of draperies, each a match, which hung over the 3 windows of the room. Outside, she quickly scanned the front of the building and the entrance below. Nothing fluttered at the fringes of her consciousness, and so she proceeded to close each of the blinds, bringing the room to near darkness. With that done, she again stretched her senses out, monitoring the men in the building.
Each of them was preoccupied. She was unknown to them.
Drystan crossed to the head of the boardroom table, which lorded over six other chairs. She reached into a pocket of her coat and produced a small card… colored in the style of The First Order’s Security Bureau, with an agent’s name & number.
An agent who would likely be questioned…
An agent who would know nothing.
And these men, who plied a dark & dangerous trade in Coruscant’s underbelly, would believe themselves targets.
Her mission accomplished, the raven-haired woman let herself out the same way she’d come… Down the stairs, past the two men, still locked in conversation, out through the front entrance, and into the square… Through the beautiful garden, where she took a moment to breath… and into the night.
With a smile, her blonde hair fluttered in a warm breeze as she crossed a pedestrian bridge; knee-high boots ringing on the pavement, her curvaceous, feminine figure drawing the eye of two passing lads who watched her go.