Drexel had been on Terminus for some few days, meeting various contacts and organizing various events. The location of the planet, near the crux of two major hyperlanes, made it a bustling world, perfect for blending in. It's bustling metropolis only added to that, making it easy to move unobserved if you knew where to go and how to get there. Drexel had been to Terminus many times, had a tiny apartment stashed away in addition to a few contacts he could crash with as necessary. The Outer Rim Coalition's dominion over the planet made it the ideal location to seek out and recruit those who would be prone to standing up against tyranny. In fact, if not for his mother, Drexel might join up with the Coalition himself.
But now most of his missions were accomplished. He had secured a contract with a gunrunning gang in the lower city, recruited a pair of extremely effective slicers to the cause, and purchased a lot of slightly outdated fighters for use by the SSLAN. His last task would take some finessing, and had indeed been in the works since he had arrived. He spent a good few hours each day barhopping -- it sounded like a luxury, but really he had just been advised by his contacts that it was a surefire way to get noticed by the spooks in the Outer Rim Coalition. The cocktail waitress he had spent the night with the evening before was a bonus to his primary mission. That mission? His mother, [member="Eris Volcata"], had sent him to establish some manner of clandestine contact and forge a relationship between the fledgling Sanctuary Systems Liberation Army and the Outer Rim Coalition.
They would be powerful allies, she had said, and dangerous enemies. There was some concern among high command that ORC might try to make inroads into First Order territory -- ordinarily a boon for a group like SSLA, but high command's research suggested that given the bad blood between the First Order and the Coalition and its friends in the Galactic Alliance, people who might otherwise respond to a message of democracy and freedom might resist efforts by associated groups out of spite.
Geopolitics was complicated. It was a game of competing interests and careful balances. Breaking the galaxy into ever-smaller pieces, each less predictable than the larger group that came before. The least predictable were individuals. If Drexel had learned anything in his time with the SSLA it was to never underestimate the capacity of people to make choices that looked bizarre to an outside observer but were actually entirely reasonable in context.
People were weird, in other words. Universally weird.
He cupped his glass of ale, sloshing the dredges of his glass around in the bottom for a few moments. He was sitting in a dark corner of the cantina, keeping his eye on the bartender who had promised to give him the high sign if a contact of interest came in. Terminus -- it was a strange world, but it suited him fine. He raised a finger and a cocktail waitress came by as he drained the last bits of his ale. "No Layla tonight?" he asked as she took the glass and placed it on the tray.
"She's off -- think she's going uptown with her boyfriend. Another?"
Drexel couldn't help but smirk. "Yeah -- another. Thanks, uh -- Crissa, is it?"
"You got it."
But now most of his missions were accomplished. He had secured a contract with a gunrunning gang in the lower city, recruited a pair of extremely effective slicers to the cause, and purchased a lot of slightly outdated fighters for use by the SSLAN. His last task would take some finessing, and had indeed been in the works since he had arrived. He spent a good few hours each day barhopping -- it sounded like a luxury, but really he had just been advised by his contacts that it was a surefire way to get noticed by the spooks in the Outer Rim Coalition. The cocktail waitress he had spent the night with the evening before was a bonus to his primary mission. That mission? His mother, [member="Eris Volcata"], had sent him to establish some manner of clandestine contact and forge a relationship between the fledgling Sanctuary Systems Liberation Army and the Outer Rim Coalition.
They would be powerful allies, she had said, and dangerous enemies. There was some concern among high command that ORC might try to make inroads into First Order territory -- ordinarily a boon for a group like SSLA, but high command's research suggested that given the bad blood between the First Order and the Coalition and its friends in the Galactic Alliance, people who might otherwise respond to a message of democracy and freedom might resist efforts by associated groups out of spite.
Geopolitics was complicated. It was a game of competing interests and careful balances. Breaking the galaxy into ever-smaller pieces, each less predictable than the larger group that came before. The least predictable were individuals. If Drexel had learned anything in his time with the SSLA it was to never underestimate the capacity of people to make choices that looked bizarre to an outside observer but were actually entirely reasonable in context.
People were weird, in other words. Universally weird.
He cupped his glass of ale, sloshing the dredges of his glass around in the bottom for a few moments. He was sitting in a dark corner of the cantina, keeping his eye on the bartender who had promised to give him the high sign if a contact of interest came in. Terminus -- it was a strange world, but it suited him fine. He raised a finger and a cocktail waitress came by as he drained the last bits of his ale. "No Layla tonight?" he asked as she took the glass and placed it on the tray.
"She's off -- think she's going uptown with her boyfriend. Another?"
Drexel couldn't help but smirk. "Yeah -- another. Thanks, uh -- Crissa, is it?"
"You got it."
[member="Deacon"]