Last Chance: Myn and Lara - pt. 7


The ersatz CorSec officer asked Rij where might be a decent place to grab a bite, and the friendly puller recommended a working-class eatery just down the block. "It's not too bad, especially when you consider the price."

He waited till the puller's back was turned, then left enough credit chits on the counter to cover his drink. Even if 'that's the way things are," Myn thought, That doesn't mean I have to participate in what is obviously extortion.

In a smooth motion, Myn slid off the stool. He thanked the puller for his time, and pulled his shades out of his pocket before stepping back out into the street. He didn’t notice the considering glance he got from a shadow-shrouded figure near the door, nor did he notice when that same figure followed him a few moments later.

~*~

Comfortably full of the food of his old homeworld, with that ingrained feeling of rightness that comes from breathing the same air and feeling the same gravity as he had been born to, Myn Donos felt more relaxed than he had in a good long while. The sun had slipped below the horizon, and the sky began to sparkle with many tiny lights, more ships than stars just yet, but Myn could fondly recall the brilliance of the stars seen from this perspective, and he was eagerly awaiting the oncoming night.

He returned to the Crater, which was considerably more lively now that night had fallen. There was barely elbow room at the polished bar, but Myn got a nod of acknowledgement from Rij, and another tall glass of that fine micro-brewed lomin at his elbow a few seconds later.

The formality of even his off-duty uniform marked him as an authority figure, and he soon had plenty of elbow-room as his neighbours vacated, looking for less-official company. Myn sipped his lomin and kept his ears open, listening in on the few snippets of conversation that passed his way. Some shippers were complaining about the Triad's new regulations regarding minimum shipping payments, and in another corner, two sabacc players were arguing about the flux timing settings on the table.

It's a pretty normal little cantina, Myn noted. I wonder if that's what draws her here?

The idle curiosity brought to mind the image he'd last seen of her, as she informed the caller where to leave messages for her. He still hadn't commed back though, unsure of what exactly he should say. This is such new ground for me.

There was no denying that his heart had leapt when he'd seen her almost-familiar face, and heard her voice, now roughened somewhat with a rather convincing Corellian accent. He didn't know really who she was, but there was no denying she had a powerful effect on him.

"Who is she?" he was asked, the question startling him out of his reverie. His eyes snapped to his left, where the speaker leaned against the bar, almost touching him.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked in return.

"Whoever you're thinking about," the woman replied. She shucked off her grey cloak and draped it over the stool. "Who is she?" Her lips were very full, and pouted somewhat as she smiled up at him. Myn had the definite impression this woman would not like the answer.

"What makes you think I'm thinking of anyone?" Myn evaded the question.

She shrugged, and the whiteness of her rounded shoulders caught his eye. She was clad in a clingy tank of shimmery grey fabric, which contrasted nicely to her pale complexion and very dark hair. She was attractive in a lush sort of way, a woman who was all curves, but as Myn observed her, the image of Lara's slender neck and fine-boned form came immediately to his mind's eye, providing clear contrast. He rather doubted this girl would be of any use in a cockpit or a firefight.

Aware that she was actually being scrutinized, the woman tossed her hair back over her shoulder, preening under Myn's eye. "Well, if you're not thinking of anyone, I'm sure I could provide you with something to think about..." She emphasized the come-on by pressing closer, and sliding a hand along his forearm where it rested on the bar.

Myn smiled and gave a genteel nod, but shifted a little on his stool to put some air between them. "I was thinking of someone, actually," he said. "She's a regular here, sort of, and I was hoping to meet up with her."

"One of Rij's friends?" the woman asked. "She your girlfriend?"

Myn shook his head. "Not really. Not yet, at any rate. She's an old friend, and we're just going to have to see what happens."

Only marginally discouraged, she gave him a coy look, and cocked her head to one side. "Well, if she stands you up..." she slipped a card into his hand, and then slinked away in search of better prey. Myn flipped the card and caught the woman's name. "Orine Vaylla, Comfort Services," he heard, even as he read the words.

Another stranger had approached. Clad in worn but comfortable looking clothes, an older man had taken the seat to his right while he was in conversation with the woman. "She's just feeling you out, son."

"I noticed," Myn replied. "Do I want to know what 'comfort services' means?"

"I expect you can figure it out, CorSec," came the languid reply. "She's hoping you'll accept product in lieu of creds. A squeeze for a squeeze, if you follow my frequency."

Myn stiffened, reminded about the coercion that was apparently ingrained into the local policing. "I'm not from around here," he stated. "Things are very different at Centrepoint."

"That where you're from?" the man asked in a flatly uncurious tone of voice. "Well, that would explain it."

"Explain what?"

"Why you're here instead of over in the CorSection, drinking with the other jackboots." There was a bored hostility to the man's tone, and Myn bridled at the derogatory term. But before he let his temper flare in response, which might be what this fellow was looking for, Myn remembered another piece of advice he'd received from Face: if someone seems antipathetic or outright antagonistic, but things haven't deteriorated, try introducing yourself. A name and a friendly handshake can defuse a touchy situation.

"Ardmin Jodone," he said, half-turning to almost face his gruff-voiced neighbour and offering a hand.

The man's bushy eyebrow shot up and a quirk of a smile curved one corner of his mouth. "Axel Drey," he was informed as the other man's hand settled into his with a firm, testing grip. Their eyes met in intent assessment. Axel had a weathered face set into genial lines, but there was a hardness to his eyes that he recognised: this was a man who'd seen combat.

"Glad you two managed to introduce yourselves," Rij said as he filled Axel's glass, once they’d settled back into their seats. "Officer Jidone served with CPD too, didn't you?"

Myn nodded, and Axel gave that enigmatic half-grin again. "Hrm. What branch?"

"General forces. Distance targeting, some recon."

"Huh." Axel grunted, "Had you pegged for a flyboy."

Myn smiled slowly, hiding his sudden stiffness. "Nah. Sniper," he replied. "I do a lot more flying these days than I ever did with planetary defense," It was true, after all, and since CorSec performed all sorts of system patrols, it was not surprising to find a pilot in the green and black uniform. Still, he wondered what had tweaked the older man's attention.

Axel peered at him from under his grizzled brows. "Sniper. Not everyone can do that sort of work."

Myn met his gaze frankly. "I did for a few years. Then I wanted to do something else, so when my tour was up, I opted out."

The thickset older man didn't respond, but locked eyes with Myn as he rolled his sleeve a short way, and Myn caught sight of a distinctive tattoo partially hidden by wiry hairs. The sigil was easy to make out: a sun-shape pierced by a vibrodagger, with three drops of blood engraved with the letters C S F.

Myn looked up with a renewed sense of respect for the older warrior. "Sunblade. Hardest-working unit in the Special Forces," he observed. "Gaer iskar e: Fight on."

The older man's cheek twitched at the sound of his unit's motto. "Yeah, Gaer iskar e, until they yank your option, saying you're too old. I'm young enough to fire a blaster."

Myn nodded his understanding. His father had had no few friends in Axel's position. It was one of the things that had persuaded him not to continue to pursue the ground forces career: even years of meritorious service wouldn’t reward an enlisted man any sort of job security.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked.

"I never say no to a drink, CorSec."

Myn was secretly amused by the nickname, because it reminded him of Corran Horn, who was turning out to be his behavioural model for this role he had to play. It was interesting that the squad members who called Corran that usually did so out of the diminutive pilot's hearing, as he had the famed Corellian temper to go with his superb piloting skills.

The two men drank in companionable silence after that, and the night progressed comfortably.

Myn was gladdened to see the brilliant sky when he finally left to return to his spartan quarters. The familiar constellations of home. He felt a pang of curious gratitude that his world was still here to be savoured like this, and told himself he'd have to make more of an effort to return from time to time, just to remind himself what it was all about.

Of course if things work out with Kirney, he thought as he strode down the street, I'll have that much more cause to pay a visit from time to time.

~*~


part 8

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