Character
Aithche had long resigned herself to the fact that her chosen profession meant frequenting dives and holes of all types. The current bar she was heading for was probably on a local law enforcement watchlist, mostly a warning to anyone to stay away unless you were coming in with a full platoon. She would also hazard a guess that it served some purpose for local officials not wanting to get their hands dirty. Shutting it down would have achieved nothing, just shifted the business a few blocks west or east.
Her nose wrinkled as she crossed the threshold and started descending the steps. She mentally added CBRN to the list of threats she probably faced there. The mingled scents and smells of two score alien species and unwashed humans was like a slap to the face. Aithche had smelt worse in places like Sump where the toxic marshes could corrode the lungs of any trooper unlucky to breathe in the gases. Ice Bears on Kragmeer (she'd always objected to such a monstrosity getting the innocent description of 'bear') and their lairs had been almost as bad.
A few years ago it would have been easier. The First Order's intelligence operatives tended to speak softly but carry a big stick. A platoon of stormtroopers on readiness alert or an Imperial cruiser in low orbit tended to be a pretty big stick. Those were the good old days. Now she was burning bridges she couldn't afford to, staying two skips ahead of creditors, and running out of aliases and covers to use.
Crossing paths with Aver Brand had not been on her agenda. It was still too early to know whether it was a lifeline or garotte. In the short-term it meant she actually had credits to spend, not just overdrafts on accounts about to be shut. It meant fuel for a freighter, it meant a chance at a second life that wasn't going to end being strangled or shot in a back alley when the wolves finally tracked her down.
The worst thing about starting again from scratch was finding the right people. Aithche had always been told the key to success in business was being a good middleman. It was bloody difficult when one had a price on one's head. Arranging meets was always stressful, it got worse when you didn't trust the fixer and weren't happy with the location. Even the vibroknife in her boot, the mesh armour under her clothing, and the blaster at her hip didn't make her feel relaxed.
She chose a seat with its back to the wall, trying to avoid the smell of the Quarrens at the next table. She tugged at her pink neckwarmer, hoping her contact would spot the marker and make themselves known.
Her nose wrinkled as she crossed the threshold and started descending the steps. She mentally added CBRN to the list of threats she probably faced there. The mingled scents and smells of two score alien species and unwashed humans was like a slap to the face. Aithche had smelt worse in places like Sump where the toxic marshes could corrode the lungs of any trooper unlucky to breathe in the gases. Ice Bears on Kragmeer (she'd always objected to such a monstrosity getting the innocent description of 'bear') and their lairs had been almost as bad.
A few years ago it would have been easier. The First Order's intelligence operatives tended to speak softly but carry a big stick. A platoon of stormtroopers on readiness alert or an Imperial cruiser in low orbit tended to be a pretty big stick. Those were the good old days. Now she was burning bridges she couldn't afford to, staying two skips ahead of creditors, and running out of aliases and covers to use.
Crossing paths with Aver Brand had not been on her agenda. It was still too early to know whether it was a lifeline or garotte. In the short-term it meant she actually had credits to spend, not just overdrafts on accounts about to be shut. It meant fuel for a freighter, it meant a chance at a second life that wasn't going to end being strangled or shot in a back alley when the wolves finally tracked her down.
The worst thing about starting again from scratch was finding the right people. Aithche had always been told the key to success in business was being a good middleman. It was bloody difficult when one had a price on one's head. Arranging meets was always stressful, it got worse when you didn't trust the fixer and weren't happy with the location. Even the vibroknife in her boot, the mesh armour under her clothing, and the blaster at her hip didn't make her feel relaxed.
She chose a seat with its back to the wall, trying to avoid the smell of the Quarrens at the next table. She tugged at her pink neckwarmer, hoping her contact would spot the marker and make themselves known.
