Corellian Venom I

SOREN MILBI'S OFFICE, CORELLIA

Leshka stood without, as was customary, for much of the meeting, listening in as best she could as usual. Within, Soren sat across from four guests, each their own deeply distinct kind of person. 

Quellenta Oex, who had arrived first with a brand of obnoxiously vocal insistence on punctuality, was the kind of saccharine and overly positive activist that Leshka had grown to distrust by instinct. Not that the woman was unpleasant, or that she assumed any kind of malice; rather, the woman was so annoying that surely she must’ve been unaware of it, and such that lacked self-awareness were always worth the wariness. Combining a lack of sense and an abundance of wealth and clout, Leshka could not help but merely tolerate the Togruta’s presence.

Next to arrive had been the Mon Calamari, Garb Clack, a fixture here at the office and always welcome. The man was an organiser, coordinating efforts of resistance, whistleblowing, intelligence, and other valuable threads in their star-spanning network that promoted positive progress. He was donning his typical khaki jumpsuit, brown-sleeved, brown-belted, and brown-booted, and walked proud with a staff he knew he did not need, but which he certainly enjoyed as an indulgent personal effect. By his side, armoured in shoddy durasteel, with piecemeal weave and worn blue fiberplast underneath, came a man armed lightly beyond the sheer defensive capacity of his armour. She had made an effort to inquire about him, who introduced himself curtly as Rahalios, with the kind of gruff blunt courtesy befitting a mercenary or bounty hunter. On his armour were several notches, clearly a man of experience, but it had been his face that most immediately identified him as a warrior. She ushered them in.

Lastly among the visitors had come Sheena Starlind, a wealthy woman in the upper echelons of the Corellian business world, herself on the board of Corellian Merchants’ Guild. Naturally, she shoved her way through to the room and barely noticed Leshka, sitting to initiate the discussions with a suitable “Do forgive my lateness. I’ve only a brief window; shall we begin?”

Leshka remained silent, observing the four guests as they discussed their plans. She had always been the silent observer, listening and watching, taking note of everything that happened around her. She knew that Soren trusted her to keep quiet and not interfere, and she would not let him down. From her vantage point at the door, she took in the room's details, the way the light from the window played on the table, the flicker of the holoscreen on the wall, and the slight shift in body language when someone spoke. She made mental notes of everything, knowing that it would be important later on.

Deep into the meeting, Clack, speaking of the recent problems on Rishi with the Scions of Nihil, mentioned that he and his gruff escort had chanced upon an opportunity to meet with a shipwright, a man named "Oyin". 

"Word has it, from his very own mouth, that he was in the employ of the Scions of Nihil. Word also has it that nobody among these bandits knew so much as a hint of who this Mythrol shipwright was brought on by, nor who was financing him. I suppose that, perhaps, now we know. Nonetheless, he and I have arranged a meeting to discuss his work and see how willingly he might cross the board to our own industrial interests. Of course, Soren, I trust that you will want to make your own call on the issue."

Soren pondered. Wisened and aged by war and duty, Leshka could hear the patience in his sigh. "I suppose that is the best way to take it. Arrange a meeting on a remote world, neutral at the absolute worst; we can't have you slipping and falling into enemy territory again. Make sure it's safe. After that, return here, and we'll discuss the work." He turned to the other guests. "Quellenta, something to say?"

"I suppose nothing immediately relevant. Sheena, might this shipwright be able to find steady work here on Corellia?" With a nudge towards accommodation, the Togruta playfully smirked and cocked an eyebrow, summoning some goodwill from her more austere colleague. 

"I suppose, in theory, this Oyin fellow could make for a decent fit in the industrial ecosystem here. Nonetheless, we've yet to see if he is indeed a legitimately innocent individual, or one playing a long con of his own."

Discussions narrowed in and then began to fizzle, dwindling slowly until the ladies took their leave. 

"Soren, a pleasure as always. Must excuse us, though. We've a commitment that we're already much too behind on — one fortunately well beyond these dreary old docks you insist so stubbornly on using to house your operation."

Oex lingered for a moment, exchanging pleasantries with Soren before finally departing, taking Starlind with her, who offered a smile and a nod to Leshka as she made her way out. Leshka remained by the door, silently observing as they filed out one by one. 

Clack and Rahalios seemed deep in conversation as they left, already planning their mission to meet with this Oyin.

Once they were all gone, Soren turned to Leshka. "What do you make of all this, Leshka?" he asked, his eyes fixed on her.

Leshka hesitated for a moment before responding. "I don't know, sir," she said carefully. "But I think we need to be cautious. We don't know who else might be leaking information to the enemy."

Soren nodded. "Agreed. I'll look into this Oyin and see what I can find out. In the meantime, keep your eyes and ears open, Leshka. We can't afford to let our guard down."

Guards down or not, a commotion erupted outside as Sheena returned to the corridor. There, she found two familiar faces, and a top-priority target, all three flanked by a towering Weequay hunter she knew of only secondhand. Brekkan Talmo was there, greeting her, as he entered the office to meet with Soren, disrobing his cloak and seating himself down. "Big hero of the Rebellion right here," he joked, a fob in his hand. It clattered to the desk in a smooth arc and, with a smug clap, he ushered his colleagues in, who thrust the Imperial prisoner beside the doorframe of the office with a harshness that made Leshka wince, even for him.

“How’re we doing, Soren? Saw Garb just now. Good day of meetings?”

“Of course, Brekkan. What is the occasion?”

“Glad you asked.” The freedom fighter whistled, and Brekkan's droid and the Weequay threw the Imperial loyalist into the room. Alric Sevros. “Where do you want him?”

“Oh, I don’t know, how about anywhere but my office?” Soren’s eyes rolled. “What does he know?”

Brekkan flashed a devilish grin. "Everything we need to take down Admiral Vurtz and his little band of loyalists. And I mean everything."

Leshka watched as Brekkan produced a datapad and scrolled through it. "We've been tracking Sevros for weeks, and it's paid off. He has a direct line to Vurtz, and he's been feeding us intel on their movements."

Soren leaned back in his chair, studying the prisoner with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. "And what do you plan to do with him?"

Brekkan's expression darkened. "We're going to make him pay for what he's done. For what Vurtz did to my family." He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white under the gloves.

Leshka spoke up, her voice barely above a whisper. "Is that really worth the risk?"

Brekkan shot her a withering look. "Don't lecture me about what's important."

Soren intervened before the argument could escalate. "Brekkan, I understand your anger, but we need to be strategic. Imperial loyalists may be their own rebellion, and certainly a formidable threat, but we can't ignore that this is a new galaxy we're building. We need to weigh our options carefully."

Brekkan sighed heavily, his anger dissipating as he stood to pace around the Imp. "You're right. I know you're right. But, still-"

Soren nodded sympathetically before interjecting. "I understand, Brekkan. We'll keep Sevros in custody for now, but we won't make any rash decisions."

Leshka felt a wave of relief wash over her. She knew the danger revenge posed, and she was grateful that Soren and Brekkan were at least willing to consider a different course of action.

"Listen, Brekkan. Leshka and I are going to have a little chat with your Imperial friend here, as for yourselves, and this stranger you've brought into my office-" 

Brekkan looked behind him at Sluumo Kho, a formidable marksman built like a spire on Coruscant, then chimed in with resigned disdain. "It's a long story, sir."

"Long story or not, you settle your differences and head to Bestine IV. You remember Luna Soff, don't you?"

"Aye, sir."

"Get in touch with her. See what kind of relief efforts they need on that planet. The political situation there is... strange. No more chasing Imperial ghosts for now. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir." Brekkan's face tightened, somewhat drained of his passion and vigour, before he picked up his coat, snarled at the Imp, and left with a salute. "We won't let you down."

Leshka watched as they went, three strange companions each walking in uncomfortable silence, as Soren hailed her through and bid the doors sealed.

Soren spoke. "So... Commander Sevros, was it?"