[Archivist’s note: The tourist board for Travix Prime have asked us to stress that most of the sentiment expressed here is exaggeration or hyberbole. They would like to express that Travix Prime is a very nice place to visit indeed, and will be even more pleasant once they have finally installed running water in their hotels.]
Upon our shuttle’s jump out of hyperspace, I was finally able to have a good look at Travix Prime in the flesh and my fears of it being a complete and utter craphole were confirmed. Not only did the oceans look like some immense cosmic being had used them as a galactic toilet, but we had to wait ten full minutes for their space traffic control systems to register our presence. As it would later transpire, their control tower staff were having their coffee break. Needless to say, the planet’s first impressions did not leave a good mark on me.
“Check this out,” said Dorshak, as we entered the atmosphere. He was still in the position of having yet to grasp the concept of deodorant, unfortunately.
“What?”
“A report from the ISB.” He said. “It’s about a bunch of crazies called the ‘Black Sword Posse’, supposedly operaatin’ in this sector…”
The Black Sword Posse. As an Imperial agent, I immediately recognized the name: I knew them as a splinter band of Mandalorians, bloodthirsty and psychotic even by their standards, causing as much havoc as they could essentially for fun, often working for a particular client just so they could use the profits to cause even more destruction. At the time, they were responsible for dozens of acts of terrorism, massacre, and wanton violence in this area of space, and given that the Empire’s hands in these parts were already tied with the likes of the rebels, the Hutts, and various pirates, there wasn’t much we could do about them.
“Oh well.” I said, trying to project confidence. “I can’t imagine them bothering with this little mudball, and even if they are here, they wouldn’t dare try to antagonize the Empire, no matter how many screws they have loose.”
I took a peek out of the viewport as the shuttle came towards the primary spaceport of Travix City, looking upon the incredibly majestic site of vomit yellow-colored expanses of dull savannah dotted with the occasional boulder, with noxious-looking clouds hanging against the green clouds above. I could only imagine the tourist brochures: think Raxus Prime isn’t a disgusting enough hellhole? Come and see how low the galaxy can really sink! Please bring your own paper bags.
“Sir, we’ve arrived…”
I undid my seatbelt as the shuttle settled down in the spaceport’s private sector, having been told that the sympathizer in question would be waiting for me there. As I walked down the ramp of the shuttle, expecting some fat, chubby man who looked about as threatening as an astromech droid painted pink. People who requested protection from the Imperial bureaus usually looked like that or skinny males afraid that the water cooler would eat them.
Instead, I found myself facing some sort of indescribable eldritch abomination, some sort of man-sized creature with clawed hands and two scythe-like forearms projecting from its shoulders, with a cluster of tentacles hanging from its mouth as beady empty eyes stared straight into my soul. I attempted to reach for my blaster, but was paralyzed with fear as this monstrosity walked up to me…and shook my hand.
“A pleasure to meet you, good friend.” He said in a pleasant, upper-class voice, as I finally noticed the monocle he was wearing. “Lord Verenton, at your service.”
“Er…hello.” I said, as I found Dorshak staring at the thing beside me in utter disbelief. “I take it you were the person we were sent here to protect?”
“Absolutely.” He breezed, as he motioned towards a luxury limo-speeder parked nearby. “Would you mind getting in?”
“So, Mr. Verenton…may I ask you for your first name?” I sat in the back of the limo-speeder as it skimmed through the streets of Travix City, which were surprisingly clean-looking, even if quite empty.
“Lord.”
“Your first name.”
“That is my first name. My actual name is…” He made some sort of incomprehensible gurgling sound, “but Lord Verenton sounds so much more respectable, don’t you think?”
“So, may I ask why you require the Empire’s protection?” I asked. I was also curious as to why an alien of all things would go the Empire for help.
“My family own the crystal mines on this world that have provided the backbone of the local economy for generations.” Said Verenton. “Naturally, I’ve never been one to turn away potential business allies, so I supplied local Imperial authorities—they didn’t deem this world important enough to directly occupy, you see. My family also has some friends in your own Political Inspection Bureau…after all, my father told me that being a gentleman is the first step to success.”
“I see.” I nodded as the speeder left the city boundaries and began to make its way up a mountainous rocky road. “But you still haven’t answered my question. What make you request my presence here? The local Mandalorian band?”
“They’re a part of this, yes.” He said grimly. “I’ve come under attack from assassins, my food has been poisoned, my personal space station sabotaged, and those accursed, uncouth Mandalorian thugs have been assaulting my employees at the mines in most disagreeable ways.”
“Do you have any leads? Any suspects?”
“None at all. I am, after all, a gentleman. I can’t conceive of anyone who would want to eliminate me.”
“Hmph.” I said as the speeder approached a large mansion built on a cliff with a spectacular view of the city and the plains around it. We entered the gardens, which I’m sure were once quite impressive, but now looked like a Rancor had made them its playground before someone decided to gratuitously muck around with chemical weapons there. Either Verenton had been skimping on the gardener’s salary, or whoever was out for him really didn’t like his flowerbeds.
“Sorry for the mess, old boy.” He said as we got out. “Given the situation, maintain pleasant appearances here has been difficult.”
“I see.” I nodded. “Mr. Verenton, once we get inside, I’ll have to access your records for potential suspects…”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like some delicious Quarren tea first? My cook makes the most exquisite cream cakes to go alongside them.”
“No, I’m fine.”
“You’re sure? Wouldn’t you sample some of the vintage ice cream I have here? I guarantee you wouldn’t regret it.”
“No, thank you.”
“In that case, are you sure you wouldn’t reject a humble cucumber sandwich?”
“Mr. Verenton, please. I’m here for your own protection, so don’t try…”
“Sir! Get down!”
I ducked as jetpack-wearing armored individuals came hurtling towards the mansion, laughing manically before launching missiles from their jetpack and rocket-propelled detonators from the oversized rifles they wielded. A protective shield around the mansion flared up as the missiles impacted right into them, before the airborne miscreants turnaround and shot away, chanting some sort of bloodthirsty war song.
“Damn Mandalorians.” I breathed. “On second thoughts, Mr. Verenton, is there any strong liquor you can offer me?”