Last Chance: Myn and Lara - pt. 14


I can't believe I was so stupid, Myn chastised himself as he peered through a crack in the shades over his window. The Intell people had given him a thorough briefing about how to maintain a cover, and among their chief points lay that he ought to avoid old friends and acquaintances, and never draw attention to himself. In the last five minutes, he'd managed to fail both of those objectives, on top of the ones from earlier in the day at the cobbler's and tailor's.

The crowd on the far corner of the street was not diminishing, but at least it was less focussed on the most dangerous man he had yet met during his stay. Somewhat mollified, he stepped back and let the shade fall closed. What a day.

After lunch, Myn had bid farewell to Axel Drey, and rented a speederbike to help him get around. He then spent the rest of the day continuing his preliminary investigation all over the city, obtaining more data for his meeting with the internal investigator the next day.

With every interview, the evidence had solidified further, and the shape of the corruption became more apparent. It all pointed to a single commander and his network of cronies: mostly officers who currently or at one time had worked under him. It seemed reasonable that he'd introduced them to this particular shakedown technique, and then loosed them on Coronet City, likely taking a cut of the proceeds. The more background Myn gathered, the more determined he became to put an end to it.

By day's end, the variety of business contacts provided by Orine Vaylla and Lasca Terrine had provided enough details to pack his datapad with raw material. Myn had felt good about his day's work as he returned the speeder back to the rental lot.

It was well after dark by the time Myn had collected his deposit, and he was fascinated by the spectacle of the nightlife awakening. The streets of Coronet City seemed to come to glittering life after dark, the atmosphere around the various clubs and tapcafs pulsing with movement and music. Young people, dressed for a night on the town, glittered like diamondfish in the deepening indigo air. Around the larger crowds stood scattered beggars, cadging loose creds from the club-goers.

Myn had been walking past one of the busiest corners on his way back to the hostel when he was accosted by one of these supplicants. He looked down into a pair of pale, watery eyes, set in a tanned face marked by indelible lines of hardship and anger. Myn had frozen: he knew this man. Captain Pol?

Davir Pol had been the second-in-command of Myn's own unit back when he had first signed up with the Corellian Planetary Defense corps. He'd been a sharp second to Major Kinvoss, and well-respected by the men. Pol had been injured on a mission on Smuggler's Moon: his back taking the most of a concussion grenade's explosive force, his spinal cord had been damaged beyond repair, and the man had been crippled for life. Myn stung with the realisation that he'd never even thought to wonder what Pol would do once he'd been discharged.

Yet there he'd been, begging on a street-corner, wearing a ragged peacoat over his stained and holed sweater, his wasted legs covered by a thin blanket, bound down to the ancient hoverchair he rode. Myn had not been able to hide the shocked expression on his face as he met Pol's eyes.

What was worse, the man had recognised him. "Donos?" the beggar had asked, his disbelief evident in his rough voice, "Myn Donos?"

The sound of his real name had snapped Myn back to himself. His hand dove into his pocket and emerged with a handful of credit chits. This man had been a companion in arms, even if Myn couldn't acknowledge it out loud, he had to do what he could, but that didn't include compromising his cover. With an effort Myn had hid his thoughts well, shaking his head and offering the man a shrug, even as he'd dropped the handful of cred chits into the man's half-outstretched hat. "No, sorry," he'd said shortly. "You got the wrong guy."

The ex-military man had squinted in confusion, but then given a lift of his own shoulders that echoed Myn's, nodding. "Sorry then, sir," he'd said, his eyes losing that faint glimmer of hopeful recognition, and Myn had winced internally. He had forced himself to quickly move away before Pol could re-evaluate his features. Faintly in the distance, as his booted feet beat a tattoo on the duracrete of the street, he'd heard a gasp of shock, and then a shout of thanks, as his generosity was discovered.

What is it about me and old soldiers? Myn had asked himself as he stalked off down the street, sliding out of the way of knots of clubbers. He pondered why it was that he seemed haunted by all these possible futures for himself, for he had to admit that opportunities for a retired warrior were very few, especially if he'd been injured or judged obsolete in his line of work. Axel Drey had hidden himself in the bottle, and fought daily for control of his addiction. Davir Pol had become a mendicant on the streets of Coronet City, struggling for a meagre life. And me? Where will I be when I'm done flying, Myn had wondered, Or when flying's done with me? No answer had been forthcoming.

Myn was scowling as he entered the hostel, and slid his identcard into the slot next to his door. Pushing aside his concerns for his own future, he revisited the more serious issue of how many mistakes he'd made today. As he wearily readied for bed, Myn promised himself to adhere more closely to his adopted persona, and hoped that today's blunders hadn't been noted, forgetting that the most deadly mistakes are those you don't know about.

For, in his near-panic to put distance between himself and Pol, he had missed the swirl of a familiar grey cloak bending to talk to the paralysed ex-soldier. He had also failed to note the figure's subsequent trailing of him back to the hostel, and if he'd watched out of his window for just a few moments longer, he might have seen her enter the building across the street. The sign above the door denoted it as Coronet City's spaceport precinct headquarters of the Corellian Security Agency.

~*~


part 15

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