An Unexpected Guest

[Dasquian]

Silenus Corporation - Farfalla's Diamonds - Ruusan System

When he blinked, Peregrine still saw the ghost of Hoth's Brand on the inside of his eyelids. The primary star of the Teraab sector was some distance away, but staring into the sun for a quarter of an hour was enough to leave a dark blindspot. He blinked again, willing the blindspot at the centre of his vision away, but it followed his eyes wherever they went, eclipsing stars and asteroids alike, until he squeezed his eyes shut and darkness was everything he saw.

There was absolute silence in the observation deck of the Silenus Corporation's base facility, but creeping into that silence Peregrine heard the burn of engine thrusters. His eyes flicked open, back to the span of space that he had been watching without any real reason, except for the lack of anything else to do. There had been nothing to watch – only the endless, listless drift of the asteroids – but now, in the mid-distance, there was something new. He frowned as he watched the ship move closer, its pilot navigating easily through what could be a treacherous path. Only someone with the right star charts, and clearance, could make it through to the facility itself. Neither Emelie nor Xavier were due back for another two days at least.

Exhaling a slow breath, Peregrine lifted his helmet and pulled it on with a single, tired gesture. Whoever was about to dock with the facility, someone had to be there to welcome them – and more importantly, to make sure they were supposed to be here in the first place. Reluctantly, he made his way to the hangar bay just in time to see a small transport easing its landing gear onto the deck, under the watchful eyes of a handful of Silenus security personnel.

[Bartleby Orem]

It was nothing more than routine, really. He had been given a bit more responsibility the longer he was onboard the Dauntless, and from his initial days after Mili's abandonment, he had come relatively far. So to speak. It was something to do - this work with the Alliance. What he'd been before never meant much of anything to him now. Mili had seen to that. Mili. Milivikal. Would he ever see her again?

At least his duties with the Alliance kept him busy enough to never allow his mind too much time to wander. It always went back to her. Always.

As his small transport settled down onto the decking of the hangar bay, he leaned back in his seat. The computer could finish the rest of its' shut-down procedures, and with one final stretch Bartleby Orem swiveled his seat around, using the momentum to rock himself up to his feet.

The task given to him was a simple one; renew the contract the Alliance had with Silenus Corporation - of course keeping it a quiet matter. Easy enough.

A grumble to no one in particular - and for no reason at all really - Bartleby made his way from the small cockpit. The boarding ramp had already begun to descend, and hefting the ever-present attache case he kept with him, he began the short trek down the ramp. His uniform, once the familiar black of Imperial Intelligence, was now the ash grey of the Alliance.

He rather enjoyed the Alliance. He looked better in the uniforms they provided, he thought.

[Dasquian]

Collectively, the men and women of Silenus tensed. Spending months at a time stationed in a remote asteroid field bred a unique kind of anxiety, verging upon paranoia. They wanted a familiar face to emerge from the ship, but almost simultaneously they also wanted - even more keenly - someone new, someone hostile. Peregrine could see it in their eagerness to draw arms, though he left his own pistols holstered as he strode free from the group. He didn't speak until he was close enough to avoid raising his voice, each word filtered through the crackling vocaliser in his helmet.

“Who are you here to see?”

His eyes flicked over the stranger's uniform and felt his pulse quicken; its cut and colour were unmistakably that of the Rebel Alliance.

[Bartleby Orem]

Concise and to the point, Bartleby lifted his chin a little, pursing his lips and giving a curious hrmph while studying the man before him. He waited a moment before answering, transferring his case to the other hand.

"I'm here to meet with Mr. Synik."

[Dasquian]

The case was drawing its fair share of glances from the security guards. The fact that they all knew that Xavier Synik wasn't within a hundred parsecs, right now, was putting them on edge. Peregrine gave a faint nod.

“You must be early, then – or very late. What's your name, sir?”

Instinct told him a little courtesy would go a long way with this one, certainly further than pointing a whole host of blaster rifles at him. That wasn't the way Silenus did business.

[Bartleby Orem]

Orem blinked, gave a frown, but otherwise answered the question.

"Bartleby Orem."

Cautious glances at those assembled told him all that he needed to know for now. Which admittedly was not very much at all. It was the words that'd been spoken to him that hinted well enough to Synik's absence.

"I suppose it would be unnecessary to inquire on Mr. Synik's... availability."

[Dasquian]

There was a vague familiarity to that name, the kind that was about as easy to grasp hold of as smoke. Peregrine glanced across at the rest of the welcome wagon and one of the security grunts nodded an affirmative. If Bartleby Orem was an expected guest, odds are he was important. At least, important with regard to the fact that his custom was quite possibly paying the wages of all the men and women currently pointing blasters at the man himself.

“We have a clients lounge you can make use of, until the boss gets back. Follow me...”

[Bartleby Orem]

Bartleby gave a nod, gripping his case imperceptibly tighter as he started off after his greeter. It had not escaped his attention, the armor the man wore - nor the distinct helmet over his head.

It reminded him of his years with the Empire, so faithfully serving that massive governing body without question. But, that faith was gone, and in its' place a somewhat far more lackluster opinion. Certainly not outright hatred, his feelings toward the Empire were simply uncaring. His loyalties lay with one person now, and that person had left him in the care of the Alliance. And so he would belong to them until she came back for him. No matter how long before her return; days... weeks... months... even years. He would wait.

At first he'd been regarded with a healthy amount of suspicion as his time in Imperial service had given him an extensive enough reputation in Rebellion circles, but time had softened those feelings, and he'd been given more sensitive duties until now being tasked with overseeing many of the Alliance's quieter arms dealing. A task that Bartleby took to with strange ease, he fell into his new role without trouble or hardship.

As he followed his guide from the hangar, Bartleby kept a sidelong eye on his changing surroundings. Once they were alone in one of the joining passageways, he spoke.

"A rather conspicuous choice of garb, Mister... "

[Dasquian]

The lounge was low-lit and for all they might have been slung out in an asteroid field at the fringes of civilised space, to all appearances they could have been stood in a fancy cocktail bar on Coruscant at that very moment. If there was one thing Emelie Shadowstar prided herself on, it was keeping a good bar. The shelves were lined with all sorts, though there were no other customers present, just a bartender who was keeping himself busy by very slowly cleaning what was already spotless.

“Conspicuous?” he looked down at himself. “Yes.. I suppose you're right.”

Booths meant to provide equal parts comfort and privacy lined the walls, at a distance from the bar. He gestured to one of them, not bothering to fill the pregnant pause that Orem had left, expecting to be given a name.

“Have yourself a drink and something to eat while you're waiting. On the house, of course.”

[Bartleby Orem]

A raised eyebrow, but Bartleby chose to say nothing of his unanswered query. Instead he slowly turned his head to look at the booth his guide had indicated, gave a sound that was something between a snort and a hrmph.

"Of course," he finally got out.

This was not what he'd expected at all. A touch of the old, ever-present annoyed expression that he had once worn constantly turned the corners of his mouth downward, but he gave no other indication of dissatisfaction.

Finally, he turned back to the man.

"What would your... recommendation... be then."

[Dasquian]

He might have shrugged, if that sort of gesture had been likely to show as anything more than a meaningless shifting of his shoulder-pads. “Fresh batch of caff beans from Garqi came in yesterday. The bosses keep the coolers well stock, but you'll be wanting to keep your mind sharp, I suppose. For the meeting.”

His eyes drifted back to Orem's case. “I can put that somewhere secure, if you'd like.”

[Bartleby Orem]

Orem gave a curt shake of his head.

"Unnecessary. I will keep it with me."

For a brief moment he seemed to think on the man's recommendation, then finally blew a long breath out between clenched teeth. He hoped to not be kept waiting long.

"Caff would be... agreeable.

"Thank you."

[Dasquian]

The caff didn't take long to brew. Peregrine brought a cup and the pot but abstained from pouring the stuff himself. People could be obsessive about caff to the point of ritual. He stood just outside of the booth and gave Orem some space to ponder over which exotic brand of sugar to use, whilst looking as inconspicuous as he could in a set of trooper armour.

“You've come from the Rebel Alliance.”

It wasn't a question so much as a statement.

[Bartleby Orem]

"Astute observation."

Without missing a beat, Bartleby poured his caf. It wasn't hard to know that he was coming from the Alliance. His uniform was evidence enough, and that he was here to renew contracts meant that these people had seen Alliance uniforms before.

He ignored the sugars and creamers available; they ruined a good cup of caf, and one might consider it sacrilege to even consider using them.

Old habits and mannerisms were hard to die as he looked up and to the side, regarding his host. There was a tick at one corner of his mouth.

"Perhaps you will tell me what my favorite color is next?"

[Dasquian]

Peregrine looked back over his shoulder at Orem and though the man couldn't see it, he was grinning inside his helmet.

“Imperial grey?”

[Bartleby Orem]

That gave him pause, and Bartleby - in the act of bringing his cup to his lips - hesitated. A neutral sort of look was returned to his host, but his eyes were searching. Looking for anything that would tell him something about this man.

The cup was slowly returned to the table.

"Now what would make you say that."

[Dasquian]

“Just a hunch.”

He didn't recognise Orem from his time with the Alliance, but new members came and went, lived and died, with each day. It was a guess, albeit not entirely uneducated.

“Ex-Imperials.. they've good a galaxy-wear look about them. Too many years with their spines held rigid as durasteel, a little groove in the temple from the all too frequent salutes and a personality about as monochrome as a Nagai's pasty white arse.”