IMPLIED ODDS
Location: Voss-Ka
Objective: Save the Mystics
Opposition:
Kinley Pryse
The galaxy works in mysterious ways. At least that’s what people like to say. Truth is, it wasn’t all the mysterious. It was always power, greed, credits, self-preservation. The people come and go, the factions change names and allegiances, but everything stayed pretty much the same in the long run.
The galaxy works in funny ways. That’s a more accurate statement. The humor wasn’t lost on Captain Pal Veda that he was here on Voss-Ka executing a
contract posted by Ephraim Labors on behalf of the Empire. Excuse me,
The Imperial Confederation. It wasn’t that long ago that he helped wreck the great
Marlon Sularen
‘s flagship
Predator, or when he joined the Jedi’s failed attempt to take back the Tython station before the whole blackwing outbreak. But the Imps were actually working
with the Jedi this time. The Black Sun and the Sith Covenant were now the “bad guys,” so to speak.
Not that Pal cared all that much. Credits were credits. Kidnapping innocent clerics wasn’t really his game, but he’d taken Black Sun’s money before on odd jobs here and there. He may even know some of the poor folks on the other side of his blaster today. Such was the nature of this life.
Most everyone was planetside at this point, including yours truly. Pal was able to navigate toward the Tower of Prophecy with little resistance, but he had his finger on the trigger and a toothpick clamped a little too tightly between his teeth. Armed fighters on both sides occupied themselves with small skirmishes, and he was pretty sure he’d heard someone yelling about
Darth Carnifex
and some droids entering the arena. That was hopefully someone else’s problem today. The ole gunslinger was traveling light, just an IB-94, a backup holdout blaster, a vibro-knife, and a couple of thermals. Not enough firepower for the real big bad. He’d let the Jedi deal with that.
As he approached the Tower, he saw a few unlucky corpses near the entrance. Unbeknownst to him, this was the handiwork of
Glissara
just moments earlier. From the looks of things, Pal was running late. The Black Sun, Sith, whoever did this, was already inside. At least he wouldn’t have to waste time explaining to the dead guards that he was actually here to help them.
Pal picked up his pace, letting his pointed barrel lead him through the entryway into a courtyard.
PEW! PEW! PEW!
That didn’t take long. Red bolts zipped by, and he immediately tucked himself behind a stone monument for cover.
“You ain’t Black Sun!” One of the pirates yelled at him from across the way.
“You good as dead, mate!” A second called out.
Well, you’re right about the first part. Pal flicked his toothpick in one direction then popped out the other side, blaster on target before the thugs could even register his move.
PEW! PEW!
Two bodies dropped like sacks of meiluroon fruit, carbon scoring on their shirts
almost covering the fresh holes in their chests. He twirled the pistol a couple of times before catching the grip in his palm and casually walking over to the henchmen to confirm what he already knew.
Dead as a youngling after Anakin Skywalker visits a Jedi Temple. You’d think Black Sun could afford better gunmen than this.
Pal retrieved the comm link from the belt of the smaller man and slid it into his pocket. Never know when that might come in handy.
Now, shall we rescue some mystics? He strode across the courtyard toward the main building, cool and casual, but always at the ready.