Dlarit Navy Headquarters, Department of Defence
The Hub, Kar Alabrek, Tarthos, Orian System
Day 325, 29 ABY

Events had moved fast after the Peace Brigade leader, Yashais dei Izvoshra, secured the help of Sylus Vega. The discredited former mayor supplied the agents of the new Warmaster with whatever they required. Whether the crime lord’s allegiance was out of loyalty, greed, or fear was of no consequence to Bur’lorr Amnan: submission was all that was required. In the end, Vega’s ambitions would burn with the rest of this blasphemous star system.

The Hunter strode briskly through the hallway of the Navy Headquarters. Located in the Hub, the central sector of the military city Kar Alabrek, these were corridors of power for the Dlarit Defence Force; the home of the mechanical yammosks the infidels used for war coordinators. The natives did not so much as notice Bur’lorr as he passed, apart from the small handful who felt the need to salute an officer of his rank. He did not salute back.

He reached an office labelled ‘COMMANDER ARNET’. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew his oggzil and pressed it against the door’s control panel. It would be good when he was free of this disguise; he abhorred having to interact with infidel technology. A spy he may have been, but his oggzil was his greatest friend when faced with such foul machines.

The pristine white doorway slid open in silence, revealing an equally spotless chamber within. The base’s designers apparently had done all they could to emulate the clinical look of the inside of a Star Destroyer—a vessel the Hunter had firsthand experience with.

It was not natural. There was no life within these walls. The level of refinery was cold and lifeless. Dead. The only things of note were the ludicrously extravagant ornaments and paintings dotted around the room. When contrasted against the white walls, they appeared completely out of place, even to Bur’lorr’s eyes.

The level of self indulgence only made him hate it even more.

Across the room, Ran Arnet sat perched behind his desk. A thin scar ran down the near-human’s right eye, which had been replaced by an artificial bronze coloured implant; dressed in a spotless, tailor-made blue military tunic—with a few rather nonstandard alterations—Ran looked every part a man of excess. His attention was still focused on the console before him.

‘Just a minute,’ the commander called, waving a hand dismissively.

A Caamasi who stood off to one side of the room coughed, getting Ran’s attention.

The commander glanced up. ‘Oh,’ he muttered, ‘it’s you. Bur’lorr, do come in.’

The Vong stepped inside far enough that the door slid closed but did not take a seat.

Visibly tense, Ran shut down the console imprinted in his desk’s surface and fidgeted through the items on his desktop, sifting out a datachip, before he finally looked back at Bur’lorr. ‘Sol told me you would be coming.’ Ran gestured towards the Caamasi, Sol Dalen, who had been assigned as his ‘Jedi helper’.

‘Can I get you anything?’ Ran continued, looking back at Bur’lorr, but waving a hand at the protocol droid behind him. The droid set a plate down on the desk which was decorated with a range of gold and jewel encrusted decanters. ‘I have several fine Alderaanian emera wines. They’re very expensive these days.’

Off to the side, the Caamasi muttered something under his breath.

Bur’lorr glowered at the mechanical abomination and simply thrust out his hand for the datachip. It sickened the Hunter to be reminded these were the people he had to work with. ‘This contains all the access codes?’ he asked bluntly. Ran’s expression fell. The man was clearly not used to having his expensive luxuries turned down. Bur’lorr sneered at the droid again, causing the artificial construct to recoil and take an involuntary step back.

‘How rude,’ the droid hissed.

‘Yes,’ Ran said, then shook his head and turned back to Bur’lorr. ‘I mean: yes,’ he quickly corrected, ‘everything you need to access the wreckage of Obsidian Station.’ Ran had not let go before Bur’lorr pulled the chip out of the commander’s hands. ‘Sylus did not tell me much about what you plan to do up there. Is it safe for me to stay in the city?’ The man’s eyes drifted around the room, lingering for a few seconds on each of the expensive artworks he had collected to adorn the otherwise sparse office.

Bur’lorr remained expressionless. He was not here to exchange pleasantries with one so evidently self serving as Ran. The stench of the man’s greed was truly palpable. ‘You and your master will get your money,’ the Hunter snarled. He inclined his head toward Sol. ‘Khalee will provide you with the information you require.’ He made a point of using the Caamasi’s true name—or, at least, his true name as far as the Gods were now concerned.

Khalee was one of Eckla Muyel’s Jeedai converts; ones who had seen the Light of the Yun’o, the True Gods, and surrendered to the True Way. The idea still left Bur’lorr a little uneasy—the Jeedai were heretics, should they not be executed? However Warleader Tolok had convinced him. If the Jeedai were to die, it made sense to put them to use first.

To die in service to the gods was the greatest act one could aspire to, no? If this galaxy was to burn, it could at least burn repenting of its heresy. The priests did not approve, but when had the priests ever contributed anything useful during the war? It was they who had spared the Shamed One who betrayed them at Telos. It was time now to trust in the will of Yun-Yammka, and have faith the Slayer would provide his children in their time of need.