One order Dumplings and Bok Choy

[Zadge Talran]

The milk had gone sour.

Zadge stood in his kitchen in front of the open, yawning-yellow refrigerator with the open bottle of milk in hand. He sniffed at it again, recoiled, and replaced the cap with a puzzled look on his face. It seemed that time had decided to jump ahead without designated approval because Zadge could distinctly remember doing his grocery shopping only just last Tuesday. That made--the bedheaded man began to count on his fingers, oblivious to the refrigerator which had started humming in an attempt to maintain it's cold temperature--four days. Milk ought not to go sour in four days.

"I know it was Tuesday." As if he still wasn't quite sure, Zadge reached out to the countetop and pulled the bottle to his lips, taking a tentative swig. Almost immediately the skinny, knob-kneed man retched forward, spewing chunks of curdled milk across his darkened kitchen. A few cockroaches dove for cover behind a battered toaster as the vile stuff splattered against the wall with a gushy splat. Zadge shuddered and ran an arm across his mouth. "Bleeurch. Uch."

Thankfully he was a strong-stomached sort of guy, and once the milk was stowed back in the fridge, Zadge set about reheating some old rice. There was no soy sauce, but he had mustard and pepper and once he mixed it up a little bit it didn't taste half bad. It was enough to still his mawing belly, and he mm-ed a bit as he padded back out to his living room. The friendly glow of a computer screen awaited him and the pasty skinned male plopped into a worn chair, easing his backside into the pleasantly carved groove in the seat.

Though Zadge Talran had been living on Coruscant for nearly nine years, his crumbling apartment did not show it. The place was bare and dusty, with peeling wallpaper on the places where the wall hadn't been punched in and no lightbulbs to speak of. Each room seemed to lean slightly, as if they were tired, and it created the sense of a house of cards, just waiting for the slightest gust of wind to send it a tumbling down.

The only corner that showed any sign of human habitation was where Zadge now sat, a desk and chair and three computer screens which were the only source of light in the dank room. The man was systematically taking bites of rice, glancing at a sheaf of papers, and typing rapidly onto his keyboard. Once in a while he would pause, squint at one of the screens, and then shake his head, muttering to himself as he typed manically.

Three years ago a miracle in the shape of a girl named Benny had tumbled into Zadge's admittedly pathetic life. While their relationship had stilted after only a few months, Benny's rebel friends had taken a firmer hold on his heart. Being useful to someone was an entirely new feeling for Zadge and he was soon involved in protest movements and minor saboteur operations. Suddenly his skills with a computer weren't considered 'sissy'. Suddenly he had people actually asking him to do things. He was contributing. A stolen file here, a piece of information there. It was easy, really, and Zadge enjoyed it, agreed with it.

He was working on something now, for a friend of his who was trying to track down an old contact who had quite suddenly and suspiciously disapeared. Well, actually, it wasn't so much a "friend" as it was a "friend of a friend". Of a friend. Zadge hadn't actually met the guy but someone at one of the rallies had passed the query on and that was all it took for Zadge to hunker down at his desk for endless hours.

So far he hadn't unearthed much, but the man wasn't phazed. Sometimes it took a little longer, especially with such vague information. It had been two days but Zadge felt sure that it wouldn't be much longer.

A dull knock form the door momentarily distracted him; flinchin a little, the man grunted and continued to type. When the second knock sounded he glanced up irritably. Had he ordered take-away and forgotten? "Co-ming." Zadge called. He glanced around, looking for his robe, which was nowhere in sight. The boxers he was wearing were clean, although he wasn't sure he wanted the delivery person to see him in nothing but blaster patterned undies. "One sec!"

As a last effort, Zadge grabbed a pillow from the old couch and held it in front of him, shielding his delicates from view, and padded barefoot over to the door. "Sorry man, forgot I called, how much do I owe you?"

[Estelle Russard]

The delivery man passed by, oblivious to Estelle's presence, as he navigated the corridor. Eyes searching door numbers, then flicking down to the bill slip in his hand and up to the doors again. He did not notice her, and would not even had he been less preoccupied. Estelle, standing tucked back in a shadowed recess of a stairwell landing, was next to invisible in her dark clothing and black woollen balaclava. She watched his progress - her attention sharpening as the young man, pillow-clad, exchanged credit chits gratefully for the arrived chinese food.



Double counting his money, and shaking his head at the meagre tip, the delivery man passed Estelle without notice for a second time.

Zadge had just gotten his first whiff of steaming oriental spices from the open cardboard spout, the hot, wet vapour pungent with ginger and szechwan when a second knock sounded at his door. Again he padded across the room, again with the pillow in place and opened up.

The corridor was empty.

Or, for a split second he thought it was empty. Leaning just slightly forward to take a peek down the hall's length, he was rewarded with a blaster pushed rudely against his forehead. He heard the distinct and unwelcome hum of the weapon arming up. Wordlessly, Estelle stepped forward, Zadge in mirror action stepped back. Russard used her foot to slam the door shut behind them.

In a voice that was not her own -- a technically modified affect that Talran immediately knew to be from a small device pressed to the cleft in the throat -- Estelle demanded answers:


"WHAT IS YOUR INTEREST IN JAMES BRETTON?"

She pushed the blaster a little harder against his head so that it made his neck start to ache.


"YOU BETTER START TALKING, NERFDUNG"

[Zadge Talran]

He had heard stories like this from some of the rally guys. Until now Zadge had always kind of rated them right up there with freak accidents and root canals; they were terrifying, but they always happened to someone else.

As the masked, blaster-weilding psycho pressed said blaster into his throat, Zadge simultaneously dropped both his pillow and the thin strip of terriyake beef that he had been poised to devour. The man was now, if it were possible, even paler than usual. In the dimness of his apartment, his scrawny, trembling self was positively pathetic.

"Uh..." Zadge's glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose, but he made no move to adjust them. "Uh..." For some absurd reason he suddenly felt eight again, trying to come up with a reason to stop his older brothers from punching him. Ridiculous because, one, he hadn't been remotely close to home for almost ten years and, two, when one got punched, as opposed to shot, one didn't die.

As the cold pressure of the blaster pressed against his skin with more determined intent, Zadge made the most potentially stupid decision of his short (make that very short) life. "He's an old friend! I... I had a class with him when I first moved here! Lost touch. Wanted, wanted to..." he took a breath and his stomach heaved, making a sort of gagging laugh that horrified him. "Catch up!"

[Estelle Russard]

The little goof was lying. Why did they do that?

Estelle liked this situation even less than Zadge did. She had been taught to only draw her weapon if she intended to use it. Hence the blaster in hand.

Word that he had been snooping about, asking questions that could lead to awkward revelations regarding her own recruitment into the Rebel Alliance had been brought to her attention. And something had to be done.

James Bretton had been the very reason she became a rebel spy. He had been her boyfriend before his death at the hands of the Inquisitoriate forces two years earlier. They had met originally at Tarkin University, where Estelle had returned to study, establishing for herself a water-tight double life...and here was Talran waltzing along with all his inconvenient inquiries set to possibly pull the plug on it all. That was not to be allowed to happen.

"YOU SURE YOU WANT THAT TO BE YOUR ANSWER?" The metallic voice was concise.

While it was not a stretch that this fellow with teriaki sauce congealing around his fingertips was an old friend - the manner in which he had been conducting his search for James was not natural. He had been sleuthing about making what he probably thought were discreet investigations. However, he had not been subtle enough, as was obvious by Russard standing in his living room with a primed blaster.

"YOU WANT THE LAST THING YOU SAY IN THIS LIFE TO BE A LIE?"

Five seconds while Zadge thought about that.

"WHO SENT YOU, AND WHY? YOU GOT THREE SECONDS, THEN YOU'RE DEAD."

[Zadge Talran]

A whimper escaped his lips, and at the same time Zadge wasted exactly 2.5 of his alloted three seconds frantically trying to get his mind to stop screeching nonsensical laments and kick into some sort of order. "No, no, no!" He swallowed, only to have the space under his tongue fill with the pre-vomit saliva again. "Nobody sent me, I have no idea what you're talking about..."

Aware that his voice had risen to an almost incomprehensible soprano, Zadge coughed and tried to steady his shaking knees. He would collapse, he was certain, in a few seconds with the way his legs were weakening. Or else he's collapse because he'd be dead. Either way, laying on this filth-coated floor in skivvies was almost assuredly in his forseeable future.

Zadge was horrified to find that he wanted to cry.

He placed his long-fingered hands on either side of his head, pressing hard against his temples. "Listen, I'm just worried about the guy, t-t-that's all. I ha-haven't heard from him for a long time, and, and, and when people just dissapear, on C-coruscant, nowadays... I don't know what you're talking about, honest. I just, I'm not, I don't..."

[Estelle Russard]

The blaster held steady, as did the gaze Estelle had locked onto Zadge.

She didn't have time for this song and dance.

Bringing up her other hand, which till now had hung harmlessly at her side, Estelle touched the small metal cynlinder cupped in her hand to Zadge's exposed neck. Talran felt the faintest pricking of his skin. And then dropped like a sack of rodder-spuds to the floor.

********************

Twenty minutes had passed by the time he opened his eyes again. Estelle was no where in sight. After the sickly sensation in his stomach, that had been what Zadge had noticed first. Secondarily he noticed the thick nylon wire that bound his hands behind his back, his feet to two legs of his chair and his chest tightly in place against its frame. Any struggle made the wire instantly bite into the soft flesh of his upper torso, wrists and ankles.

Russard was in the bedroom, he now realised, and by the sounds that reached the bound Talran, was searching thoroughly through his things.

[Zadge Talran]

"Hey!" Although he wasn't sure it was smart to be yelling at his assailant, waking groggy and bound in his own apartment after having a blaster shoved against his adams apple was enough to push Zadge to do away with niceties. Sometime during his shift from blubbering hostage to hogtied prisoner, Zadge had lost his glasses. The man squinted at the dark haze that was, he thought, the hallway which led to his bedroom. There was no movement. Zadge tried to lean forward, but the few centimeters that were possible were painful and quickly convinced him to sit tight.

Again, Zadge yelled. "Hey! What are you doing?" There was nothing incriminating in his bedroom, unless dirty magazines and socks had been blacklisted in the last twenty-four hours.

What the was going on?

[Estelle Russard]

The boy had unfortunate taste in boxer shorts - he was a big fan of prints. Blasters, x-wings, martini glasses..

Estelle would have found it a trifle endearing had she not been steeling herself to the fact that he was most likely her enemy and would have to somehow be 'removed'.

The search had turned up nothing of consequence so far. She took the datapad leaning against Zadge's bedside table, intending to take it to Morgan Evanar to examine. Behind it were several magazines, all Blaster Digests, thankfully. She'd already checked the Gladiator Girls. Ugh. Russard fanned through them on the off-chance she'd find a name or number that might lead her further to understanding Talran's interest in James. So it was with vague surprise that a folded peice of paper floated out from between the pages extolling the virtures of repeater rifles.

Zadge sat up straighter as Estelle returned to the room, an new urgency to her manner.

"TELL ME ABOUT THIS LIST! WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE, WHAT IS YOUR INVOLVEMENT?"

[Zadge Talran]

Things had rapidly gone from bad to worse. Zadge instinctively jerked back as the mechanical-voiced figure descended upon him in a fury. The chair he was strapped to flipped over, and his head cracked on the floor loudly. Zadge winced and shook his head.

"They're friends, they're my friends." He tried to remember what was on the list Estelle held in her hand. As far as memory served him, it was just that; a list, of a few names and a location. Innocuous, at best, and hardly incriminating--unless one were familar with such names. It was becoming very clear what had happened. Somehow, be it through carelessness or (and Zadge hoped he was wrong) betrayal, the Imperials had stumbled across their little ring of Rebel sympathisers. This had led them here. He let out a frustrated, terrified growl.

"It's a party invite! That's it! A rave, down at a warehouse!" Zadge rocked the fallen chair back and forth, the cords around him rubbing into his exposed skin. His bound hands were starting to go numb beneath him.

"Look can you please, can you please just shoot me! I don't like suspense!

[Estelle Russard]

Estelle knew the names. Knew who they were and where their sympathies lay.

Finding this list, here, was either very bad, or very very bad.

Very bad if Zadge was a rebel himself and these were his friends - if she could find out about them, so easily, too, could the Imperials. The thought gave her a chill.

Very, very bad was if she was looking down at an Imperial plant strapped up in such an undignified fashion. The names on the list were already in danger.
There was only one way to tell, and Zadge would be the one to tell her.

Only he didn't know it yet.

"A PARTY" she echoed and tucked the paper into her pocket.

Estelle knelt over Zadge for what seemed like forever, both of them knowing he was already dead if she so chose.

"FORGET JAMES BRETTON. STOP YOUR SEARCH. THERE IS NOTHING TO FIND. YOU DONT WANT ME TO COME BACK."

Slipping a pearl handled blade out of her sleeve, she cut first the nylon around Zadge's chest. There was a thin crimson line where it had been. She then flipped him, and the chair with him, onto his side and sliced the bindings about his wrists. She would leave him to free his ankles on his own.

Estelle then slipped out of Zadge's door.

Outside, in the fresh air of the Coruscant night Russard did not think she would have long to wait. Zadge would want to warn his friends of the nights events - whether they be Imperial or Rebel would remain to be seen.

[Zadge Talran]

He waited one minute. Sixty seconds on the floor, head throbbing, chest aching, heart racing...

... And his front door stayed shut.

"Frell. Frell. Frell, frell, frell." Zadge shot to his still-unsteady feet, rubbing at his chaffed wrists as he blindly pounded down the seedy hallway and into his bedroom. The lamp was overturned, drawers removed from his bedside table and overturned onto the bed itself, the matress of which was split neatly down it's length. The man didn't stop to look at the damage. He grabbed the nearest pair of pants and a tight, red band shirt before hurtling back into the living room.

Zadge dropped to his knees, hands sweeping the floorboards with trembling insistence. Finally, four or five feet from the toppled chair, the fingers of his left hand closed around his glasses. These were shoved back into place on his nose with little ceremony. If he were lucky, he figured he had maybe ten minutes before the first person on the list was paid a visit.

Leaping over the chair where moments before he'd been captive, Zadge hit the keyboard of his computer, bringing it to life. Eyes glued to the screen, his fingers a flurry of activity, the man breathlessly entered in the sequence of commands that he'd hoped would never have had to be used' if someone were to return in his absense they'd get no information from the computers.

Confident that he'd made no errors (it was the one area where he never doubted himself), Zadge turned and hurtled out the door, not bothering to go back when it bounced open again. As he ran the man punched a code into his comm unit. He didn't stop running.

A muffled male voice answered. "...H'lo?"

"Get out of your apartment NOW!" Zadge screamed into the reciever, turning left and charging down a flight of duracrete stairs, wet from an overflowed water drain. There was the sound of movement from the comm; Renton getting out of bed.

"Zee? S'that you? What're you on about now?"

"Ah!" He yelped as he narrowly avoided running into an elderly Rodian as he dashed out of the alley and onto a street which, on weekends, was home to a busting intergalactic marketplace. This was a roundabout way of getting where he wanted to go, which was exactly why he needed to take it. "Now, get out now, we've got some people coming to crash the party! I'll meet you and and others in five minutes!"

That done, Zadge turned the comm off, dropped it onto the pavement, and grabbed a length of pipe from a passing construction worker. The hefty man stared dumbly as the scrawny, panting guy smashed the pipe down onto the unit, which sparked and soon became an unidentifiable pile of plasic and wires. "Thanks." Zadge said, handing the pipe back and kicking the bits aside before sprinting away.

He didn't want to to think what would happen if he was too late.

Ten minutes later Zadge was dashing helter-skelter up a ramshackle flight of stairs in a nondescript cafe, taking them two at a time. He reached the top, where a battered door led to the roof. Bursting through, his shoulder a battering ram, the man frantically glanced around. A wave of sheer relief washed over him as a small group of three or four people, staring at him with a mixture of worry and confusion, walked forward to meet him.

Renton, a bald, open-faced young man wearing a thick leather vest, watched as Zadge doubled over, grasping his knees. "What the frak is going on, Zee?"

"T-they know," Zadge gasped between breaths, sweat pouring down his forhead and fogging his glasses. "Imperial agent came... they know!"

There was a collective, doomed silence. This was very bad.

[Estelle Russard]

She had followed him at some distance, her swoop-bike hovering over and under the low-level overhangs of the building facades, keeping tabs on Zadge with her long range tracker. Her precautions were unnecessary, however, as Talran never looked behind him once. He was panicked and though he meandered his way through the city, which showed some anticipation of pursuit, it had not been enough to loose her.

He was in one terrible hurry, that much was clear.

Russard saw him enter a cafe. It was one she recognised and had even frequented a time or two. Many of the students in the area liked this place. Its lattes were cheap and the owner didn't make you buy food if you wanted to sit for longer than an hour and study. He was one of those sweet old grandad types, glad to see all these kids 'making something of their lives'. Before pulling into the parking area with her bike, she removed her balaclava and her dark sweater. Upon taking a seat inside, she immediately determined Zadge was not there. Locating herself carefully so that she could see the front door, the door to the kitchen and a rickety staircase which led from the main room to an upper level - where, in all liklihood Talran had bolted to. Russard remembered at the last minute to remove the voice alteration device from her throat. It would not do for Talran to realise it was she who had terrorized him only a short time ago.

The location Zadge had led her to was a good sign, Estelle thought. It pointed to the possibility that he was warning his friends and not reporting to his Imperial bosses. She'd know for certain soon enough when he reappeared and whose company he was in.

She ordered a black tea and a custard torte and waited.

[Zadge Talran]

"How much did they find?"

"The list for tomorrow night's meeting."

"Son of a hutt."

"That's why we burn things like that!"

"I know! I'm sorry! I just got it a few hours ago," Zadge was stopped by Renton who blew a sharp whistle. Everyone turned to the young man, who stood with his arms on his hips.

"Enough. Reu, Sadi," Renton nodded at the two females in the group, sisters who'd lost their family in the Alderaan incident. "Go home, if the coast is clear you get rid of anything that might put you in danger. Then call anyone who's been to the meetings in the last six months."

The girls nodded and left without another word. Zadge's heart stilled to something close to rapid; Renton had an innate calm which allowed him to deligate under pressure. It was why all of them trusted him, would have done anything if he just said the word. "Jonna, you go back to Zee's, keep a lookout. And you," Renton slung an arm around Zadge's shoulders and led him back towards the door. "You need some water and I need to know exactly what the frak happened."

Zadge nodded and stumbled down the stairs, Renton close behind. The two quietly settled into a corner table and Renton waited until Zadge had taken a few breaths before heading to the counter to order a couple of drinks. Zadge looked around the cafe, trying to keep his sweeping gaze slow and casual.

What was he expecting, a masked figure?

Renton returned, and handed him a glass of water with lemon cordial, eyeing him carefully. He sat down in the other chair and leaned forward, espresso balanced neatly in a little saucer. "Now give me the details, but do it softly and chuckle like you're telling a joke," A wide grin split Renton's face and he nodded, thouroughly confusing Zadge.

"What--" He began. Renton shook his head, his eyes flickering over Zadge's shoulder for a split second. His smile never wavered as he spoke.

"There's a woman who keeps glancing over. It's real subtle, but you aren't that good looking, Zee."

[Estelle Russard]

They had come down the stairs. The girls first - faces tense, determined to not make eye contact with anyone in the cafe. The men came next. One solo and moving quickly like he was on a mission. All three exited the cafe without pause. Then came Zadge and his companion, probably the cheif of the whole little band. These two took up a seat at a nearby table - close to her, but too far for her to hear their conversation.

Her relief at her drawn conclusion that Zadge had come to warn his friends made her a trifle careless - the man with Zadge had seen her interest in them.

It was time for her to leave as well.

She downed the last two bites of the torte, chasing it down with the dregs of now-tepid tea and got up from her table. Leaving enough credits to pay her bill, she paused at Zadge's table for just a moment.

"Excuse me, Im sorry to interrupt you" she said almost shyly, "you aren't Adam Reigns are you?" The blank look Zadge gave her was answer enough. Estelle gave a nervous laugh, feigning embarressment. "I didnt think so, but you really do look just like him. He was an old childhood crush." She added by explanation, and left it at that with a smile and a shrug.

It was a bit lame, but it was the best she could think of for the moment to explain her veiled interest.

It would have to do. Estelle had a report to make to her handler and get his instruction on where to go from here. What to do about this Zadge Talran. The immediate danger of her connection to James Bretton was eased, Estelle felt certain all investigation into her boyfriends disappearance would cease for the time being. But, this new rebel cell was another thing altogether.

Tonight - had she been an Imperial operative - all these five individuals would have become targets of the Inquisitoriate. As easy as that. The thought made her feel sick to her stomach.

Exiting the cafe, it took Estelle a moment to start up her bike and allow herself to be swallowed up in to the traffic of Imperial Center at night.

Kazaar's place was a twenty minute drive away at this time of night.

[Aurelias Kazaar]

Kazaar was pulling himself up towards the ceiling one last time.

With a *grunt* he got his chin just above the bar in the doorway; then lowered himself down to the floor. He released the bar, then shook his arms t'keep the muscles loose.

His time in the Rebel brig had given him plenty of time t'get himself into the best shape he'd been inna while. The former bounty hunter had never really let himself 'go' anyway (the job didn't afford it) but prison gave ya two options...work out or sleep and ya didn't always get t'do the latter (something Kazaar didn't always get anyway).

He'd spent plenty o'time in 'The Yard', stretching and lifting weights in the tightly controlled environment. When he'd been locked in solitary, the warden still let him work out alone on a separate schedule than the other inmates. It'd actually been pretty nice t'be all alone while working out. The silence of the workout room, plus whatever music he wanted t'play...that was the kinda workout Kazaar wanted.

Smazzo music always worked better than th'usual poodoo that was played during workouts...got Kazaar's blood rolling, plus the percussion was always nice t'listen to. Wasn't the best music t'drink to...Nah...that was Tattooine Blues...that sad music always broughta tear to Kazaar's black eyes...even if he wouldn't admit it at times.

But that kinda music...that was worth cryin' to.

Kazaar's muscles bulged as he stretched 'em, the white tank top he wore stained with sweat.

He hadn't been in this apartment too long, having only arrived on Coruscant four months ago. It still didn't always look lived in...'cept for the bed with the (badly) folded sheets, the table with plates resting on it, plus the torn couch and chair.

That didn't count for th'closet where Kazaar had stashed about a quarter of his arsenal from The Flying Dutchman (maybe a little less than that) and an assortment of shoes, pants, shirts, and socks.

And, of course, the boxes of cigars and the multiple six packs of brews.

He pulled off his shirt, tossing it in the clothes hamper 'The Kid' had insisted he get.

"You've got to, at least, attempt to look civil, Kazaar," Estelle'd said when they'd checked out the place, "My father is paying for this after all."

It was true, the 'great' Jason the Younger...industrialist, millionaire, Imperial was paying for the place, plus some of th'expenditures Kazaar came up with. After Estelle's ordeal at the hands of Ghlar Timandar, Kazaar'd been offered two jobs: the first...bein' Estelle's bodyguard and driver (babysitter as Kazaar called it, to which 'The Kid' smiled).

The second (more importantly), Estelle's handler. In reality, the two of 'em served as each others handlers...Kazaar made 'The Kid' tougher, while Estelle kept th'loose cannon not so loose.

Or tried to at least. 'Least that's what 'The Bossman' and The Black Man kept sayin'.

Kazaar didn't buy it at all, he loved workin' with 'The Kid', but knowing Belargic...he was keepin' Kazaar outta the game so he could make sure Kazaar wasn't entirely nuts.

Good luck there, the former bounty hunter thought with a smirk.

But they'd get their due...'least TBM would.

But now their mission (which they had no choice but to accept) was t'find what rogue elements on Coruscant were (discreetly of course) and of they'd be willing t'be a part of the Rebellion.

Wasn't a bad mission...but still pretty damn boring.

Kazaar lit up onna dark cigar and pulled out two beers. He opened the both of them, taking a long swig from th'first.

The second was for 'The Kid', whose swoop bike pulled up t'Kazaar's place with a *whine*.

A minute later and she walked in, her nose crinkling slightly at the acrid smell of smoke. Kazaar only smirked.

"Ya know, Kid," he stated, handing the bottle to her, then turning for the refresher, "This place ya dad got still has some faulty plumbing...pipes keep rattlin' and all.

"Come check it out."

The two walked into the refresher where, indeed, the pipes did rattle when Kazaar turned on the sink. Loud enough...t'keep any bugs the Inquisitors might've put in there at bay.

"So..." Kazaar said, taking a puff and a drink, "What'd ya find out?"

[Estelle Russard]

Kazaar tended to talk in an understated style most the time, but when they slipped in to conversations about their work, he seemed to drop a few decibles quieter. Russard had to lean forward to both hear him and to reply in kind.

"Our guy's one of us" she stated softly.

Kazaar nodded his head in that perfunct manner that conveyed Yep. Continue.

"He has friends." This changed things. Not just a lone nuisance poking his nose into things he shouldn't - now they had a cell to deal with.



Dark, thoughtful eyes clipped sideways toward her, seeking confirmation that he'd heard right. The pipes rattled loudly beside them.

Estelle confirmed with a nod of her own.

"They think the Imps are on to them. I gave them a scare tonight"

Kazaar grinned wickedly and snuffed.

"Its not funny" she said, annoyed, and kicked his foot. "What should we do? Im afraid they'll panic."

[Aurelias Kazaar]

"Then," Kazaar said simply, finishing his beer and taking another puff from the cigar, "We gotta make sure they don't."

He set the brown bottle on the sink, then dabbed the end of his cigar. A long, grey-white piece of ash fell into the sink, scattering to bits when it struck the marble.

"Think 'bout it, Kid...If I find out my cover's fracked, I bug out quickly. So whadwegonnado?"

Estelle paused a minute, thinking. An answer came to her quickly, "We need to figure out who these guys are and where they can go."

The former bounty hunter gave a wolfish grin and nodded.

"We know th'cafe and we know th'apartment. If they're students, they'll prolly set up some sorta look-out t'keep and eye on things..."

The grin got larger as Estelle finished his thought.

"We find out who he is, then get him t'take us to his friends."

"I figure," Kazaar gave his trademark smirk, "We do things your way and scare th'hell outta 'em.

"That oughta get 'im t'talk."

[Zadge Talran]

Meanwhile...

Zadge hunkered down against the door of the speeder, his glasses pressed against the edge of the window as he strained to see anything that was possibly harbouring sinister intent. Besides a stray plastic bag that was tumbling about, caught on a drain and being blown around by the updraft, and a few passersby walking with determined gaits, there was nothing.

Beside him, Renton took a long drag on his stim and rolled his eyes.

"Are you waiting for me to hold your hand to cross the road, sweetie?"

Zadge glared at his friend, who merely smirked and blew another puff of smoke his direction. Another moments hesitation and then Zadge opened the speeder door, crossing the street at a fast clip before slowing to walk up the stairs to his apartment. He took each one very carefully, his ears intent on any sound which might signal another visitor.

The man's fears were dashed when he entered through the open door, throwing it shut behind him and whirling in impressive speed to startle the empty air that hid in the space behind it. "Ha." Zadge said, more to relieve the eerie silence; funny how only hours before he'd thought the quiet had been 'peaceful', and now it seemed 'ominous and demented'.

Renton had figured they had a short window to return to the place before the Imperials came back. Enough time for Zadge to grab a few things, make sure there was nothing else in the apartment that would prove to be tells.

He quickly swept through the apartment, grabbing all his ID, his watch, his extra glasses, and--removed from it's taped spot on the back of a random ceiling panel--a dust-coated blaster. The last he tucked into the waistband of his pants, and for a moment Zadge felt quite dangerous. A yell from an upstairs apartment made him jump though and Zadge left quickly.

"What do we do now?" He asked Renton as he entered the speeder again, tossing his things onto the floor at his feet.

"We go to Dayboy's place. Safest place on earth. Uncle's in the Imperial Navy."

Renton tossed the butt of his stim out the window as the speeder hummed to life and took to the skylanes.

[Estelle Russard]

They'd arrived outside Zadge's apartment building just in time to see their bespectled quarry run out of his building - hands loaded with, what Kazaar indelicately referred to as all his crap - and bundle himself into a waiting speeder.

The two Agents, both clad in their black's, idled in their speeder four parked vehicles back. Back at the apartment, Kazaar had showered and dressed in minimal time so that Estelle had been impressed with how quickly he had switched from sweaty, shirtless workout man to sleek-clothed lethal weapon, his newly shorn black locks slicked back making him appear even more efficiently dangerous than before. She hadn't asked then, but she'd noticed the scars on his back and chest. And he'd noticed she noticed. But this was not the time for such discussions. Kazaar spoke bringing her thoughts back to the here and now.

"And the rabbit bolts" Kazaar said smugly, trademark cigar clenched between his teeth.

Estelle was busy getting available Intel on the speeder's make, registration and owner from the crafts datacomp. Nothing of "redflag" status popped up on her screen. Good, the driver was keeping a low profile. That was one positive to his credit.

As Renton's speeder veered out into the busy spacelanes, Aurelias nudged theirs out to follow suit.

"And on down the rabbithole" Estelle rejoined, keeping the speeder ahead in her sights.

[Zadge Talran]

They drove in silence, Zadge wincing every other corner as Renton narrowly avoided crashing head-on into oncoming traffic. The man seemed not to notice his passengers discomfort, and merely worked the airbrakes with mastered finesse.

Thirty minutes later they screeched to a halt between a caterers van and a vintage Sunscream IV. Renton exited the speeder with the stunning, languid ease that permeated his character. Zadge tripped on his shoelaces.

Dayboy, as it turned out, was not a boy at all. She was a wiry, dark-skinned girl sporting a buzzcut and multiple tattoos (which she showed off in a skin-tight tanktop). The woman was a stark contrast to the apartment she resided in. It was beautiful, in the Mahogany-panelled, marble-halled, crystal tumblers sense of the word. It was evident that Dayboy was her uncle's favourite niece.

"Yeah man," She said with a grin when Zadge remarked so. "Just think what it'd do to him if knew who my real friends were."

There were already a few people lounging about. Zadge skulked warily in the doorway as Renton pulled Dayboy aside and held a whispered conversation. The girl's eyes grew stormy and she glanced over his shoulder at the skinny guy in glasses who jumped at the slightest noise.

She doesn't think I belong here. A polite smile tugged at his lips...

...and promptly flew away along with the rest of his body as he lunged across the room. Renton and Dayboy stared at him, puzzled. Zadge pushed his glasses up his nose and swallowed his heart. "Someone's at the door." He hissed, glaring at the massive, carved baricade. Indeed, a persistant rapping sounded again. Renton glanced at Dayboy.

"You expecting your uncle?" Dayboy shook her head and reached to the back of her pants, where a blaster, tucked in the waistband, was secured.

"Ain't expectin' no one."