First Reply A Short Drop and a Sudden Stop

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

Kinley Pryse is the reason "do not touch" signs exist​

There were worse ways to die.

Kinley Pryse was fairly certain of that. She couldn't think of any at the moment, but statistically speaking, there had to be.

The gallows stood in the center of an old Imperial plaza, surrounded on all sides by gray duracrete buildings, hanging banners, and enough stormtroopers to make a person wonder whether the Empire had anything better to do with its afternoon. Apparently, when the local authorities decided to make an example out of someone, they really committed to the performance.

Kinley appreciated that.

If she was going to be executed, the least they could do was draw a crowd.

And they had.

Workers crowded along balconies. Merchants stood outside their shops. Children had been hoisted onto shoulders for a better view despite what Kinley considered some questionable parenting decisions. Imperial soldiers formed a perimeter around the gallows while an officer stood beside her with a datapad in hand.

Kinley's wrists were bound behind her back. Her hat was gone. That irritated her more than the rope around her neck. The Imperial officer cleared his throat.

"Kinley Pryse. You have been found guilty of theft of Imperial medical supplies..."

Kinley grinned. That had been a good day.

"...smuggling restricted goods through an Imperial blockade..."

Her grin widened. That had been an even better day.

"...the unlawful possession, transportation, and sale of classified military equipment..."

Kinley gave a small nod to herself. Technically, she'd only sold some of it.

"...three counts of impersonating an Imperial officer..."

"Four," Kinley corrected.

The officer stopped. His eyes slowly lifted from the datapad. Kinley smiled sweetly.

"You missed Kessel."

There was a long silence.

Somewhere in the crowd, somebody laughed. The officer's jaw tightened before his attention returned to the datapad.

"Four counts of impersonating an Imperial officer."

Kinley looked pleased.

Accuracy mattered.

"Destruction of Imperial property. Assault upon Imperial personnel. Resisting arrest. Escaping Imperial custody...."

"Twice."

Another pause.

Kinley shrugged as best she could with a noose around her neck. "The first holding cell was poorly designed." The stormtrooper standing nearest her turned his helmet slightly. Kinley couldn't see his face, but she was reasonably certain he was trying not to laugh.

The officer was not amused.

"Escaping Imperial custody on two occasions," he continued through clenched teeth, "conspiracy to defraud an Imperial customs office, falsification of shipping manifests, bribery, sabotage, possession of illegal weaponry, and the theft of a shuttle belonging to an officer of the Imperial Security Bureau."

Kinley sighed wistfully.

"Oh, I liked that shuttle."

The officer lowered the datapad.

"Do you find this amusing?"

Kinley looked at him. Then at the crowd. Then down at the trapdoor beneath her boots. Her gaze eventually returned to the officer. "Little bit."

His expression hardened.

"For these crimes, you have been sentenced to death by hanging."

That wiped some of the humor from her face. Not all of it, but enough to feel. Kinley swallowed and felt the rough rope shift against her throat. Alright. Maybe there weren't worse ways to die. Her eyes drifted across the plaza. No Flint. Not that she'd expected him to come charging through the crowd himself. That wasn't exactly Flint's style.

Still...

She had rather hoped the old bastard had gotten her message. Kinley took a slow breath. The executioner stepped toward the lever.

"Any final words?"

Kinley thought about it. There were probably profound things a person was supposed to say at a moment like this. Something about regret. Redemption. The fleeting nature of life. Kinley had never been particularly good at profound. She smiled.

"If any of you find my hat, I'd like it back."

The lever dropped.

The floor disappeared beneath her, and then…

CRACK.

Something struck the gallows. The rope snapped loose. Kinley hit the wooden platform hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs as blaster fire suddenly erupted somewhere beyond the square.

Stormtroopers shouted. The crowd scattered. Smoke began pouring across the plaza.Kinley rolled onto her back, coughing, the severed noose still hanging loosely around her neck.

For several seconds she simply stared up at the sky. Then that familiar grin slowly crept back across her face. She pushed herself onto one elbow as chaos erupted around the gallows.

Someone had come for her. Kinley had absolutely no idea who. But she was already starting to like them.

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Pax Velloran]

A SHORT DROP
PUBLIC PLAZA | EXECUTION PLATFORM

Kinley Pryse ​

Pax had expected the list to be shorter.

He stood several rows back from the gallows perimeter with the rest of the crowd, hands tucked comfortably into the pockets of his coat while the officer above worked through what had apparently been a remarkably productive criminal career. Theft. Smuggling. Classified military equipment. Impersonation. Escape from custody. Four counts of impersonation, apparently. Pax watched the officer make the correction with the faintest tightening at the corner of his mouth. Somewhere nearby, someone laughed. He didn't, though he was beginning to understand why finding Kinley Pryse had been considerably easier than finding anyone willing to admit they knew her.

The rope around her neck presented the more immediate concern. Getting close enough to the gallows had taken the better part of two days, one borrowed maintenance credential and a modest contribution toward the gambling debts of a man responsible for inspecting the platform before public use. What he had done once he reached it had been much simpler. The compound was industrial, unobtrusive and intended to weaken reinforced synthetic fibers.

More importantly, Pax had tested it twice.

He had even accounted for the thickness of the rope.

The officer lowered his datapad. Pryse asked for her hat. The lever dropped, and Pax watched her disappear through the platform.

Nothing happened.

His eyes narrowed as the rope snapped taut beneath the gallows. One second passed, then another. Pax slowly removed one hand from his coat pocket.

Three.

That was unfortunate.

Apparently, Imperial procurement had chosen today to exceed expectations. His hand had just disappeared beneath the edge of his coat when a sharp crack carried across the plaza and the rope finally gave. Everything after that happened much faster. Pryse struck the platform as blaster fire erupted somewhere beyond the square, turning an orderly execution into shouted commands, scattering civilians and stormtroopers suddenly trying to decide which problem deserved their attention first. Smoke rolled between the buildings while Pax allowed the crowd to carry him sideways toward the edge of the plaza.

That part, at least, required no preparation.

By the time he reached the opening he had picked out earlier, Pryse was moving again. Good. He had gone to a fair amount of trouble to prevent the Imperials from killing her; it would have been irritating to discover that the platform had managed it instead. Pax slipped between two fleeing spectators and passed behind a merchant stall as another volley sent people ducking for cover. The service passage beyond remained clear. From there, two turns would put them into the rear concourse and give Pryse considerably more places to disappear than anyone following could reasonably cover.

He reached the side of the gallows through the smoke and found her with the severed noose still hanging around her neck. Pax looked at it for perhaps half a second longer than necessary. The manufacturer had promised three seconds. Kinley Pryse had just spent considerably longer than that hanging from the result.

There would be a complaint.

"Pryse."

He caught her by the arm and pulled her toward the opening in the perimeter before one of the stormtroopers remembered that the condemned woman was still supposed to be condemned. "Unless you've developed a sentimental attachment to the plaza, I'd suggest we go."

Pax glanced once toward the chaos behind them, then back to her.

"And quickly."

 

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

The safest place in the galaxy is wherever Kinley Pryse just left.​

For several long seconds, Kinley Pryse had discovered that hanging was significantly less fun than the stories made it sound.

There had been the drop. Then the sudden, violent snap of the rope tightening around her throat. Then nothing but pressure, panic, and the rather alarming realization that whoever was supposed to be rescuing her had apparently miscalculated.

Kinley kicked once….Twice….

By the time the rope finally gave, she had reached the very firm conclusion that she was never allowing anyone to put anything around her neck again.

Ever.

Then the platform slammed into her back.Air returned to her lungs in one painful gasp just as the plaza exploded into chaos.

Kinley coughed, rolled onto one elbow, and tugged uselessly at the severed rope hanging around her neck.

"Could've done that a little sooner," she wheezed to absolutely no one. Then someone appeared through the smoke.

"Pryse."

Kinley barely had time to look up before a hand caught her arm and hauled her toward the edge of the gallows.

She stumbled after him, still coughing, eyes narrowing as she took in the stranger dragging her through the smoke like this was all part of a perfectly ordinary afternoon.

Then she actually looked at him. He was handsome. Of course he was.

Kinley smirked despite the burning in her throat. Somehow the one doing the rescuing always seemed to be handsome. She wasn't sure if that was some law of the galaxy or if near-death experiences simply improved a man's face.

"Unless you've developed a sentimental attachment to the plaza, I'd suggest we go."

Kinley glanced back. Stormtroopers were shouting. People were running. Blaster bolts flashed through the smoke. The gallows she'd been standing on moments earlier was rapidly disappearing behind a wall of confusion.

She considered the question. Another blast cracked somewhere nearby. Kinley ducked instinctively.

“I think I can learn to live without it."

She hurried after him, reaching up to pull the severed noose free and tossing it aside without so much as looking where it landed.

"And quickly."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm going."

Kinley ran a few more steps before looking sideways at him again. She didn't recognize him. That wasn't necessarily unusual. There were plenty of people Kinley had forgotten over the years.

Usually because she'd owed them money.

Still, most of those people weren't in the habit of showing up at executions to save her.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"So, stranger…" The smirk returned, though her voice was rough from the trauma to her throat. "Who exactly are you?"

A blaster bolt struck the wall somewhere behind them. Kinley flinched and picked up the pace. This wasn’t the best time for introductions but Kinley had learned long ago information was sometimes the key to safety.

"And before you answer, if you're the one responsible for that rope breaking…"

She paused, her brown eyes glaring at him.

"Eventually." Her eyes narrowed. "We're gonna have a conversation about your timing."



Pax Velloran

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Pax Velloran]

A SHORT DROP
PUBLIC PLAZA | SERVICE CONCOURSE

Kinley Pryse ​

Pax glanced sideways at her when she asked his name. She was keeping pace, which was reassuring considering that less than a minute ago she had been dangling several feet above the ground by her neck.

"Pax Velloran."

Another bolt crossed the mouth of the passage behind them and struck somewhere out of sight. Pax didn't bother looking back. The crowd had done its job, the smoke had done rather more than he had expected, and anyone trying to recapture Pryse now had several hundred frightened civilians moving in every direction to contend with.

Her complaint about the rope earned slightly more consideration.

"Yes."

They rounded the merchant stall and reached the narrow service passage Pax had picked out earlier. He produced the borrowed maintenance credential from inside his coat and pressed it against the reader beside a recessed door. For one unpleasant second the panel remained red before the lock finally released with a muted click.

"I was promised three seconds," Pax said as he pulled the door open for her. "I've made a note."

He waited until Pryse was through before following and pulled the door shut behind them. The noise of the plaza dropped immediately to a muffled confusion of shouting, alarms and distant blaster fire. It wasn't safety, exactly, but it was closer to it than the gallows.

Pax slipped the credential back into his coat and started down the corridor. "In my defense, you were supposed to be inconvenienced. Not strangled."

A brief glance toward the reddened skin around her throat suggested the distinction might not impress her.

The corridor opened into a wider maintenance concourse ahead, pale utility lighting falling across service carts abandoned when the shooting began. Pax slowed only long enough to check the adjoining passage before motioning her through. Two more turns would put them behind the commercial district and into the transit levels. After that, anyone looking for Kinley Pryse would have an entire city to search instead of one plaza. They made it halfway down the concourse before Pax spoke again.

"You stole an ISB shuttle some time ago."

He glanced toward her, giving her a moment to decide which particular entry from the afternoon's recital he meant.

"I'm hoping you remember the officer."

Pax stepped around an overturned service trolley and continued toward the rear concourse. "Not the shuttle. Him. Whether you saw him, spoke to him, stole the thing out from under him. Anything you remember."

There was no accusation in the question. By this point, the theft itself was almost beside the point.

"The Empire was very clear about whose shuttle it was."

He looked back at her.

"They were also very clear about when he died."

A brief pause.

"Seven months before you stole it."

Pax let that sit between them as they reached the next junction. Whatever answer Pryse had, he doubted hanging by the neck had improved her powers of recollection. There was no particular advantage in pressing her for it while half the district was still looking for them. Besides, there were more immediate concerns.

"I have somewhere we can disappear for a few hours," he said, slowing near the mouth of the adjoining passage. "But I've already made rather a lot of decisions on your behalf today." His gaze flicked briefly toward the remains of the noose around her neck. "With mixed results."

Pax looked back down the corridor.

"So. Where were you trying to get to?"

 

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

Kinley Pryse has broken more hearts than laws, and thats saying something.​

The way he said it made him sound less like a rescuer and more like a dissatisfied customer planning to have a very serious conversation with the manufacturer about why the rope had taken so long to snap.

Kinley grinned at the thought.

Very little fazed Kinley Pryse, which was at least partially responsible for the fact that she was still alive. When you ran in the circles she did, you learned quickly that the galaxy came stocked with every possible variety of strange. You could either learn to appreciate people's eccentricities or spend your life losing business over them.

Kinley preferred the former.

"They were also very clear about when he died."

A brief pause.

"Seven months before you stole it."

"That explains the stench, then."

The possibility that she had accidentally stumbled into the middle of some Imperial cover-up might have eased the guilt of stealing from a dead officer, assuming Kinley had possessed any guilt about it in the first place.

She did remember him, as it happened.

She also had the distinct impression that remembering him was currently worth something, and only an idiot gave away valuable information for free.

Kinley Pryse was many things. An idiot was not one of them.

"I'm sure I could recall a thing or two. After a drink."

She rubbed at her throat and winced. Now that the immediate threat of hanging had passed, she was becoming acutely aware of just how much being nearly strangled hurt.

"So. Where were you trying to get to?"

"Off this rock." She paused as if thinking of her next plan. "And then to a hat store."

Her ship was still here, assuming nobody had managed to steal it while she was busy being publicly executed. If they could reach it, they had a way offworld.

And more importantly, Kinley could begin addressing the truly catastrophic consequences of the last few days.

The loss of a perfectly good hat.




Pax Velloran

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Pax Velloran]

A SHORT DROP
SERVICE CONCOURSE

Kinley Pryse ​

"Off this rock is manageable."

Pax had transport waiting well outside the district, far enough from the plaza that the sudden appearance of an escaped prisoner shouldn't immediately complicate matters. The route there avoided the larger checkpoints and most of the streets anyone sensible would be watching. It had been arranged before he'd ever taken his place in the crowd.

"The hat, I'm afraid, is your problem." He paused. "Though, I might know someone."

They continued into the wider service concourse, putting another set of walls between themselves and the plaza. The alarms had grown quieter with the distance, though the occasional report of blaster fire still carried through the corridors behind them. Pax let a pair of hurried utility workers pass before continuing.

"A drink can be arranged." The faintest suggestion of a smile touched his expression. "Given the circumstances, I'll even buy."

He let them make another few meters before adding, "I've got a way off-world waiting for us. If you've got something better, now would be a good time to say so."

The choice was left there.

Ahead, a service lift opened and disgorged a maintenance worker pushing an overloaded repulsor cart into the concourse. He made it two steps before noticing them, his eyes lingering first on Pax and then, inevitably, on the bruising around Pryse's throat and what remained of the noose. Pax produced the borrowed credential before the man could decide whether any of it was his concern.

"Plaza access is closed," Pax said.

The worker glanced past them toward the distant alarms. "I gathered."

"Rear transit?" Pax asked.

The man hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "Lift's locked down. Stairs at the end, then left."

Pax gave him a small nod and stepped aside to let the cart pass. The man hesitated for another second, took one more look at Pryse, and apparently decided that whatever explanation might follow was unlikely to improve his afternoon. He pushed on without asking. Pax watched him disappear around the corner before slipping the credential back inside his coat.

"Useful man."

They continued toward the stairs. The service corridor grew busier as they went, interrupted by recessed doorways, maintenance alcoves and the occasional open access panel where someone had clearly abandoned whatever they had been working on when the alarms started. A few people lingered near the entrances to adjoining passages, watching the confusion from a safe distance and pretending not to stare as Pax and Pryse passed. Nobody seemed especially eager to ask questions. That suited Pax just fine.

Pax eased his pace as they reached the stairwell, allowing Pryse to come alongside him.

"I've got a route out and transport waiting," he said. "After that, we can worry about the drink."

He glanced toward her.

"Unless you've got somewhere else in mind."

 

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

There is an Imperial file on Kinley Pryse. It just says DON'T.​

Kinley glanced sideways at him, then toward the stairwell ahead. For the first time since the plaza, she seemed to actually consider the question instead of throwing out the first sarcastic answer that came to mind. She reached up and tugged irritably at what remained of the noose around her neck, grimacing as the rough material dragged against already bruised skin.

"Your transport sounds considerably better than my current plan, which mostly involved running until someone stopped shooting at me."

Her gaze flicked back toward the corridor behind them at the distant echo of blaster fire, then returned to Pax.

"Since you seem to have planned all of this considerably better than I did, I'm willing to trust your judgment for the next few minutes."

She rubbed her irritated throat and winched, letting her hand fall down. She probably should stop fidgeting with the bruises or they would get worse.

"Don't get used to it."

The corner of her mouth twitched despite herself.

"And I'm holding you to that drink."

Kinley nodded toward the stairs and fell into step beside him.

"Lead on."


Pax Velloran

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Pax Velloran]

A SHORT DROP
SERVICE CONCOURSE

Kinley Pryse ​

Pax regarded her for a moment. The vote of confidence was unexpected, temporary, and qualified enough that he suspected Pryse would deny ever having given it if things went badly.

Reasonable.

"I'll try not to abuse the privilege."

He pushed through the stairwell door and started down, the heavier construction swallowing what little remained of the noise from the plaza behind them. "And I haven't forgotten the drink."

The stairs carried them away from the busier concourse in long switchbacks of duracrete and steel. Here, there were fewer people to contend with. A pair of workers passed them going the other direction, talking quietly over a handheld receiver until they noticed Pryse's bruised throat and the remains of the rope. Their conversation stopped. Pax continued past without acknowledging the attention, and after a few seconds the voices resumed somewhere above them.

By the next landing, even the blaster fire had faded. What remained was the distant pulse of alarms and, somewhere beyond the stairwell walls, the muffled voice of a public address system repeating instructions that neither of them could quite make out. Pax reached for the next door, then stopped. The announcement repeated. This time a few words carried clearly enough through the metal.

Transit access. Temporary closure. Security response.

He left the door shut.

"Of course."

Pax took the next flight instead, descending another level before producing the borrowed maintenance credential once more. The reader beside the lower door accepted it without protest. At least they hadn't figured that part out yet.

Beyond it, the corridor was narrower and plainly meant for maintenance staff rather than pedestrians. Exposed conduits ran along one wall, while stacked containers and an idle maintenance droid occupied most of the other. Pax let the door close behind Pryse and adjusted their route without ceremony, taking the quieter of two passages when they reached the next junction.

"The first stop isn't far."

Pax had left a civilian speeder well away from the plaza, somewhere ordinary enough that it was unlikely to attract much attention on its own. It wouldn't get them off-world, but it would put some useful distance between them and the search before they had to worry about anything more complicated. The ship was farther out, deliberately removed from anything that could be traced back to the execution.

They passed beneath another bank of utility lighting and into a broader passage, where the alarms behind them had begun to give way to the ordinary noise of people going about their business. The service corridor grew busier as they went, interrupted by recessed doorways, maintenance alcoves and the occasional open access panel where someone had clearly abandoned whatever they had been working on when the trouble started. A few people lingered near adjoining passages, watching from a safe distance and pretending not to stare as Pax and Pryse passed.

Nobody seemed especially eager to ask questions.

That suited Pax just fine.

Ahead, a service lift opened and disgorged a maintenance worker pushing an overloaded repulsor cart into the concourse. He made it two steps before noticing them, his eyes lingering first on Pax and then, inevitably, on the bruising around Pryse's throat and what remained of the noose. Pax produced the borrowed credential before the man could decide whether any of it was his concern.

"Plaza access is closed," Pax said.

The worker glanced past them toward the distant alarms. "I gathered."

"Rear transit?" Pax asked.

The man hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "Lift's locked down. Stairs at the end, then left."

Pax gave him a small nod and stepped aside to let the cart pass. The man hesitated for another second, took one more look at Pryse, and apparently decided that whatever explanation might follow was unlikely to improve his afternoon. He pushed on without asking.

"Useful man."

Pax slipped the credential back inside his coat and continued in the direction indicated. By then there was enough distance between them and the plaza that he could ease the pace without feeling as though every second surrendered was likely to put a squad of stormtroopers around the next corner.

He glanced toward Pryse. "You mentioned a drink."

There was the faintest trace of amusement in his expression.

"Pick somewhere with a back door."

Whatever she remembered about the dead ISB officer could wait until there was a table between them, something in a glass, and considerably fewer Imperial soldiers within shouting distance. Pax had waited months to confirm that particular inconsistency.

Another hour wasn't going to hurt him.

 

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

Kinley Pryse once stole an Imperial Star Destroyer. She returned it because the cupholders were terrible.​

Kinley Pryse knew a thing or two about finding places where respectable people wouldn't be caught dead. It was practically a professional skill. After all, respectable establishments tended to ask inconvenient questions, like whether she intended to pay her tab or why there was an Imperial warrant for her arrest. Fortunately, the lower levels of the city had no shortage of establishments willing to overlook such trivial details.

She directed Pax toward a particularly unpleasant corner of the commercial district, where the buildings leaned a little too close together and the streets smelled of engine exhaust, stale alcohol, and whatever questionable substances were leaking from the drainage grates. Neon signs flickered above narrow storefronts, advertising everything from cheap lodging to companionship of varying legality.

Wedged between a shuttered repair shop and a pawn broker was a small cantina called The Crooked Mynock.

The sign outside was missing several letters. One of the windows had been patched with a sheet of mismatched transparisteel, and the entrance was partially concealed behind a stack of empty shipping crates. It was exactly the sort of place Kinley appreciated. The drinks were cheap, the clientele was questionable, and the bartender had probably committed more crimes than half the people currently wanted by the empire.

Better still, it had a back door.

Kinley pushed through the entrance with the confidence of someone who had absolutely no intention of being thrown out. Inside, the lighting was mercifully dim. A collection of mismatched tables occupied the cramped floor, their surfaces scarred by years of spilled drinks, cigarette burns, and the occasional blaster bolt. A battered jukebox played something vaguely resembling music from the far corner. The air was thick with smoke and the unmistakable smell of alcohol that had probably been watered down several times before reaching anyone's glass.

A pair of Weequay were arguing over a game of sabacc near the entrance. Three humans occupied stools along the bar, while a particularly large Trandoshan slept with his head resting on a table. Nobody looked up when they entered.

Perfect.

Kinley made her way toward a booth tucked into the darkest corner of the cantina, where a cracked leather seat offered a clear view of both the main entrance and the narrow passage leading toward the kitchens. She knew from previous experience that the passage ended at a service exit opening into the alley behind the building.

She slid into the booth with a satisfied sigh, immediately regretting the movement when the bruising around her throat protested. For the first time since her spectacularly unsuccessful execution, Kinley allowed herself to relax. Well, as relaxed as she got. The swagger and confident bravado was always there, but underneath it her shoulders relaxed just a fraction of an inch.

She still looked like someone who had recently been dragged through a public hanging, which was unfortunate because that was precisely what had happened. Her clothes were disheveled, her throat was a particularly ugly shade of purple, and her beloved hat was still missing.

That was the real tragedy of today's events.

She glanced around the dingy little establishment, then turned her attention back to Pax with the faintest hint of a grin.

"Welcome to paradise."

Pax Velloran

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Pax Velloran]

A SHORT DROP
"PARADISE"

Kinley Pryse ​

Kinley had chosen the booth Pax had been looking at since they entered. From her seat, she could watch the main entrance and the passage toward the kitchen. He would have taken the same side. Instead, he settled across from her and let the choice pass without comment.

The bartender came over after a few minutes, Pax was just happy to sit still for a moment. He ordered two whiskies and a glass of water, paying while the man was still at the table. When the drinks arrived, he moved the water nearer Kinley and took a small sealed medical packet from his coat. He had a number of things he liked to keep ready, just in case. This was one of them. Inside were a cleaning cloth and a dressing; he set it beside her glass and left it unopened.

"Might not be perfect, but should at least prevent any more chafing," he said.

Pax lifted his whisky.

"To paradise."

He took a drink as the bartender returned to the bar. In the corner, the voices around them ran together, interrupted now and then by the kitchen door. Pax kept his datapad in his coat a little longer. Kinley had asked for a drink before she told him anything about the officer, and he wasn't about to rush her.

When he did bring out the datapad, its light picked out the rims of the glasses. Pax opened the personnel record attached to the shuttle and turned the photograph toward her. "Is this him?"

 

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

When Kinley Pryse walks the streets, kings and queens step aside.​

Kinley looked down at the medical packet, then back at Pax. "Rescue, drinks, and medical supplies." One corner of her mouth lifted. "Careful. I might start having expectations."

She picked up the packet before he could mistake the teasing for a refusal. The cloth stung when she dabbed it against the scraped skin beneath her jaw, and her smile briefly tightened. There were probably more dignified places to tend to an injury than a booth in The Crooked Mynock. Fortunately, nobody had ever accused her of being dignified.

When he raised his glass, she lifted hers, reaching for the water instead of the whiskey. "To disappointing the people who try to kill us." The water burned all the way down, but she drained it, suddenly aware at how thirsty she truly was. Kinley swallowed carefully, blinked once, and lowered the glass.

By the time Pax turned the datapad toward her, she had set the used cloth aside and worked out how to secure the dressing without wrapping anything around her throat. That would never happen again, at least until she figured out a way to avoid being choked, even by pesky Force users. She leaned forward, studying the photograph.

The humor faded a little.

"Yup"

Kinley reached out and tilted the datapad to cut the reflection from an overhead light. She took another moment before nodding. Her gaze moved from the photograph to Pax.

"He caught me beside the shuttle. Asked what I was doing, so I told him there'd been a maintenance request." Her mouth twitched. "Usually helps if you sound annoyed about being there. Nobody wants a conversation with someone who might give them paperwork."

She settled back against the cracked leather. The waiter came by with another glass of water, which she reached for immediately. Kinley took another small sip of water, watching the man in front of her over the rim of the glass. There had been rather more shouting involved than that in the interaction, but details were expensive, and she wasn't sure what her price was yet.

"For the record, he was very much alive when I left. Angry. Quite specific about what he wanted done to me. But alive."

She nudged the datapad back toward him, leaving a fingertip resting beside the photograph. It wasn't that she had qualms about killing an imperial officer, but accuracy mattered.

"You went to a lot of trouble to ask me that." Her eyes stayed on his now, intently. "Who is he to you, Pax?"

Pax Velloran

A Smooth Criminal