Run, run as fast as you can

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

"I am here for Michael Cline."

Vissica cleaved right to the point, ignoring the casino boss's request for decorum. She leveled a broad finger in his direction.

"I recommend that you produce him."

[Sanis Prent]

The sinking feeling turned into a freefall. I grimaced openly, smoothing back my hair with one hand.

"That's...going to be difficult to do."

I wasn't sure if I was being candid or stalling. If I had enough time to think about what Mike could've done to get on the Empire's radar, did I really want to know about it? Taking a deep breath, I dropped my hands back to my sides.

"But all of this can be talked over in my spacious, well-appointed, and quiet office."

She wasn't getting the breadcrumbs, so I put the whole loaf in her hands. I glanced back to the now-more-empty machines in my gambling hall, gesturing for her to see.

"Stormtroopers in the open are bad for my business. So is whatever you are. No offense, Knight - I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

Vissica's ermine features tightened, as did the hand that previously leveled a commanding digit to the man.

"I represent the only business that should presently matter to you, Mister Prent. The Empress's business."

[Sanis Prent]

My tie suddenly got a lot tighter, until I reached up to realize the knot hadn't budged. Neither had the cynid-weave collar, though it felt like it was crushing down against me.

I'd heard about it happening. I'd seen it once. So this is what it felt like. Okay, don't panic, don't cause a scene. Nobody needs to see the boss getting man-handled in his own house. Easier said than done when I could feel the skin at my cheeks tingling and hot, and see red stars dancing at the edge of my vision.

"Mm...gh...."

I massaged at my besieged throat, willing it to open, as the rest of my effort remained on standing on my own two feet. When I could feel that effort slipping, I put up a hand to hopefully prop against the Selonian's armor.

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

Vissica allowed Prent to brace against her armor, then swallowed up his forearm with one broad paw clamping over it to hold him fast.

"Let this be a reminder that any discretion I allow you is conditional. This is unpleasant for you. It can become more unpleasant."

The Knight relented her unseen hold over the casino boss, giving him a moment to gasp back his breath.

"My name is Matatek Sel Vissica. Now we have been introduced. You may show me to your office."

[Michael Cline]

He was now on his third cup of caf since he'd downed the first - and his second Cigarra - the subtle sting of tabac helping to clear his thoughts as he rolled a flimsi card around his fingers. It was a filthy habit and he knew it, but it was a public alternative to the flask of Corellian whiskey or deathsticks in his bag. Both had become a form of self-medication to deal with his violent and disturbing dreams, to settle his nerves when he would wake up in a cold sweat from nightmares that were mimicking his actual experience at the moment in a far too uncomfortable manner.

He tapped his finger against the table and watched the port again, no movement, no changes. The last thing he had seen had been a small squad of frelling Stormtroopers entering and securing the location, enforcing the lock down. His eyes shifted back to the pad on the table, mocking him with it's silence. Nothing from the company. Nothing from anyone. The whole situation had brought into stark realization just how isolated Cloud City is when the ports were shut down. He was in a cage and the door had just been slammed shut. It was going to do him no good to sit around and hope. If, stars forbid, this actually was about him he was just letting the noose tighten. If it wasn't about him he still had no way of knowing when this would end with a finite amount of resources and an increased Imperial presence to try and keep away from.

He needed off Bespin without involving any of the above the board methods. A few weeks ago he could have called in favors through the syndicate, greased the right palms or just outright asked his employers to back him up. That had vanished in a moment and didn't look to be coming back anytime soon which left him with just one last 'friend' to call on. He stopped fiddling with the flimsi between his fingers and looked at it, a non-descript comm number.

"Just do it." He mumbled to himself to spur his action and entered the number string leaving it to ring.

"C'mon Lancer, pick up."

[Zereth Lancer]

Eriadu. This was not the sort of planet he would willingly land upon; and was unplanned at that. A gross miscalculation had happened somewhere along the long, winding journey around the rim of the galaxy and he found himself short of fuel by this leg of the journey. It was a curious anomaly and one that the Mandalorian mechanics back on Dantooine would have to answer for and fix. His path had taken him out along the outskirts of society to stay out of the eye of authority as he crept around the walls of the core in order to get from Dantooine to Terminus. The ever growing city planet was rife with inequality to be righted. Like many other planets like it, Zereth often traveled to them to right the wrongs often allowed for the sake of progress.

Creeping up to the viewport, he glanced out into the spaceport beyond. Dozens of ships were laid out taking their turns fueling up. Eriadu was a conflicted planet, nestled right on the border the old Imperial blood was having to contend with the young rebels that were springing up, no doubt influenced by the doctrine preached just across the border. No one wanted to stay here for long. Him included. The sooner he got on his way the sooner he could breath again. All that stood between him and a fight all the way back to the outskirts of society was one over-zealous inspection. He was not worried for his own safety. There was little risk to a being of his capabilities and powers, but he worried for the vulnerable beings that he would be unable to aid and protect should his mission fail.

It would be a long, defeated trip all the way back to Dantooine.

A faint chirp-chirp drew his attention. His comm system had woken up and was displaying an incoming call. He did not recognize the transmission frequency. However, there were not many that could contact him. He kept this channel very private. It was not an Eleutherian channel, which meant it could only be a small handful of allies and contacts, or it was one of the few he had given the number to. In the case of emergency. A call for help.

Dropping down into the navigators' station he flipped the comm switch and toggled on to the call, turning up the volume just in time to catch somebody speaking absently. He recognized the voice.

"Michael? Are you alright?"

[Michael Cline]

With so many seemingly ignoring him today there was an odd wash of relief that came when Zereth Lancer, a man he would have at one time called an enemy picked up. He opened his mouth to say something but found the response died on his lips. Was he alright? He still couldn't be sure that all of this was anything more than paranoia - but someone was talking to him, finally, after a day with no returned calls and no options. It meant something and the man had in that moment gone from an uncertain acquaintance to a potential friend. He leaned in, over the table and stared down at the comm in his hands, how did he explain his situation? The cafe was, so-far, empty enough to prevent people from overhearing as long as he was quiet about it.

"I'm..." He paused before continuing, "I'm not sure." He admitted candidly. "I think I might be in trouble - and I need a ride."

He shook his awkward nervousness about asking for help off and reminded himself that it was his only remaining lifeline.

He leaned in a bit closer, lowering his tone to something more private. "The company let me go this morning. Froze my assets, cut my resources and aren't returning any of my messages." Lead him into the seat kicker slowly, "On top of that..." He ran a tongue over his bottom lip, "Something's up here. Cloud City is locked down tight. Shuttles cancelled, more Imps than usual and ports shuttered, so I'm stuck."

He let a breath out slowly. Time for the shoe to drop and see if Lancer felt like he was over-reacting or if this warranted the kind of concern he was feeling. "And all of this has happened within... oh.... 16 hours of me getting back from an unplanned trip through Jovan... and Alliance Space."

[Zereth Lancer]

"The company let me go this morning..."

The navigator's chair was left empty and spinning as Zereth moved across the cockpit and began toggling switches on the pilot's console. While he checked on the status of the refueling and ship systems, he listened to a humbled Michael. One that had been brought low. There was little sign of the haughty youth that was too cool for his own good and unwilling to accept help or advice. There was a helplessness and an unknowing in his voice that fueled Zereth's movements. A quick call to ground control would have the refueling shut off early. He had more then enough to get him to Bespin.

Michael continued, rattling on as a man with nothing left but talking does. There was a lot of poor decisions admitted to, but Zereth kept his I told you so's to himself. This was not the time. This was a moment in the force, of two individuals calling out to each other. There was no other thought on his mind except to connect the dots and get to Michael as quickly as possible. So many times he had witnessed these polarizing moments, between two people, against all odds, and from across the galaxy. And too many times had he turned his head and ignored it for one reason or another. Jezreal. Ashe. Asha. He would not allow it to happen again.

"I'll be there are quickly as I can. I'm not far. I'm at Eriadu. I'll come straight down the hyperlane to you."

The weathered XS-800 groaned as the engines were powered on and began warming up. The old freighter was hardly agile enough to just suddenly rocket out of orbit. Regardless he prepared himself for lift off. Locking down the hatches, putting his things away into storage, and gathering his weapons. He would need them soon. With an eye on the viewport he watched the service crews work, and feeling a sense of impatience like he had never before in his life as he waited for them to detach the fuel lines.

[Michael Cline]

Mike found himself momentarily speechless by the reaction. There hadn't been any questions or dismissals, Lancer was coming, with expedience it seemed, to his aid. He felt an odd kinship form with his one time captor. Maybe Lancer still figured he owed Mike for that, maybe he really had become the better person he'd presented himself as when they'd shared a few drinks - either way Mike was left in stunned appreciation for the actual kindness on display - and finally able to breath a sigh of relief that felt some of the tension melt out of his frame.

He let the air stay empty and still between them for a moment more, covering the comm with one hand as the waitress returned. Mike gave her a short nod of approval for a refill and considered just long enough to catch her before she left, "And a nuna club on rye, please." he gave a small smile as she walked off and returned to the comm.

"I'll hunker down here until I hear from you again." He thumbed the comm, ready to end the call before pausing and bringing it back to speak one last thing through it, "Thank you."

There wasn't much else he could do, and with the possible Imperial patrols it was probably best he try and keep off the streets as much as possible - at least until he knew what was actually going on.

[Sanis Prent]

I massaged my tender throat under the guise of adjusting my tie, while escorting the Knight and a handful of her goons as if it had been my idea the whole time. I passed a few of my people along the way, and made sure I was all smiles. Nothing wrong here, not at all. Just ignore the seven foot tall carrion pile and her jackboots. We entered my office, and I promptly set the glass to opaque, to shield any prying eyes.

"Can I get you anything? Corellian whisky? Toniray wine?"

Ever the good host, I gestured to my small but smartly-stocked personal bar.

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

Vissica dismissed her stormtrooper escort to post outside of the office door. Alone with the casino boss, the Selonian considered his request with a snort.

"I am not thirsty."

[Sanis Prent]

Of course not. A wrangled a grimace into an understanding smile.

"Worth a try."

Well I was. Grabbing a crystal tumbler, I measured two fingers of Privaat Reserve, and carefully put the bottle away. The first sip helped sooth the swollen unease at my throat that served as a subtle reminder of the stakes. I gestured to one of the guest seats in front of my desk. The Knight didn't budge, standing as ominously as before.

"Suit yourself."

I put my desk between us, opting to sit.

"Michael Cline works for the Cumulus, or I should say, worked for the Cumulus." I scoffed, setting my glass aside.

"He's had some work issues recently, and that brings us to the meat of the issue, he's a no call / no show. Hasn't checked in."

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

Vissica's broad brow creased.

"You do not know where he is?"

Her tail thump-thumped the carpet as her broad forepaws tightened briefly into fists and released.

[Sanis Prent]

With a little irritation, I took a level off of my drink, letting the glass clink audibly against the coaster.

"If I knew that, I'd be sorting it out instead of getting the business end of an interrogation in my own office."

I shrugged.

"So it sounds like we're both empty handed. You ask me, he's halfway across the galaxy by now."

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

"No." Vissica countered flatly, her nostrils flaring slightly. "I believe he is here, and I want you to draw him out of hiding."

[Sanis Prent]

"Oh, you do?" I audibly scoffed, leaning forward to rest my elbows on the desk. "Look, even if he was here, why do you think he'd listen to me? And if he's in trouble with the likes of you and he's on Bespin, you think word won't get to him that the Empire rushed his place of employment with gunships and troopers?"

My fingers laced together.

"You took care to act quiet and act fast. You closed the ports without official decree, so obviously Mike's a bigger fish than I ever rated him. Look, why are you coming after him this hard? Work with me here."

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

For a brief moment, Vissica hesitated. Though Selonians avoided lying at all costs, there were times where it was prudent to omit, so the Knight carefully measured out how much truth was appropriate. She settled instead on answering a question with a question.

"Perhaps you can answer that yourself. What did Mr. Cline do for your organization?"

[Sanis Prent]

Easy enough.

"He was a fixer."

It was the sort of answer that explained everything and told nothing. I allowed another sip, letting the needed alcohol help to find my rhythm again.

"Look, this isn't the Imperial army or navy or whatever. There's a chain, sorta, but there's also people that you ask to do a lot of things that don't really fit in a basket, you understand? Mike, he was one of those guys. I need something found, he found it. I need a problem to go away discretely, he's the soft glove touch."

Soft glove and Mikey? Okay, probably veering off script. I grimaced slightly.

"Well, usually."

[Michael Cline]

Mike was growing increasingly nervous, and could not shake the chill up his spine that felt like somewhere someone was discussing him. He checked his pad again. No new information, no messages, but the local holonet chatter was ablaze with conversation about the lockdowns. Questions of what was happening, why was it happening and especially who it was happening because of. That chill went through him again and he took a drag off his last cigarra. He'd burnt through his whole supply since this had all started.

He could feel the nervous energy making his leg bounce under the table as the waitress came back again asking if he was ready for his bill. He shook his head and just tapped the mug for a refill. She complied but he could tell she was growing irritated, even without his empathic gifts it would have been obvious - with them he felt like she were screaming in his face to get out of there and free up the space in the quickly busying cafe. It was across from the spaceport, a spaceport that was now closed and the people expecting to use it had to go somewhere in the interim.

Nothing from Lancer yet, still nothing from the company, it couldn't hurt to try one more time right? Just to double check. He entered Mr. Prent's comm number one last time.