Defiant | Star Wars/Rogue One

Part I

Imperial Center, known as Coruscant during the days of the Old Republic, might have been a lovely planet in a time long forgotten, beyond the memory of even the oldest creature. After millennia upon millennia of development, any natural beauty the planet might have possessed had been replaced with one great, endless city that catered to every kind of profession. There were clubs and bars for performers and servers, business headquarters for traders, and senators from nearly every known planet came together to try to make decisions that would benefit everyone. In the under levels of the city, smugglers, pirates, and bounty hunters found work from those desperate or mad enough to venture that far.

Mirax Jade had never had reason to venture into the dark lower levels. In her few trips to Coruscant, none lasting more than three standard days, she had visited only a few moderately-priced establishments, most of them crowded restaurants and bars where she could easily blend in. She'd never visited the same one twice, nor had she ordered similar drinks or meals, nor had she dressed or worn her hair the same—every precaution she could take against possibly being recognized by anyone other than the person she was meeting.

On her third visit to the city-planet, Mirax was instructed to go to a popular restaurant close to one of the busiest space ports, one frequented by pilots, mechanics, and hungry travelers just arriving and craving something freshly-made. As always, she had been given a specific time to go and specific clothing to wear. On that visit, the clothing was fitted black pants tucked into blood-red boots, a loose white shirt, and a black vest. Her hair had been separated into over a dozen small braids and pulled back away from her face with a piece of cloth the same shade of red as her boots, just as she'd been instructed. She felt awkward and off-balance with neither a blaster nor her staff at her side, but she didn't want to draw unnecessary attention.

A serving droid came to her table and placed a cup of blue liquid and a bowl of steaming green soup in front of her, cautioning her to eat with care and that, should she burn herself by disregarding his warning, the establishment would not be held responsible for any medical expenses needed to heal her. Even though she knew it was a warning that all the serving droids were programmed to give, she couldn't stop herself from offering the droid a smile and assuring him that she would be careful.

Once the droid had moved on to another patron, a deep baritone voice behind her said, "The way you treat droids never ceases to amaze me."

Mirax smiled again, taking a tentative sip of the blue drink and finding its flavor pleasantly sweet. She didn't turn to look at the speaker, but she recognized his voice from her previous visits. "The way you're able to sneak up on me never ceases to amaze me," she replied. When she sat down, the booth behind her had been empty; she hadn't heard anyone sit down and had not noticed any serving droids taking his order. She had been trained to not let anyone sneak up on her, yet every time they met, her strange informant appeared and disappeared without a sound—a talent that made Mirax suspect he was of a nonhuman, likely feline species. The only thing she knew about him for certain was that he worked for a senator who was sympathetic to the Alliance and acted as a messenger between the two parties.

"My employer has news for you." As always, he skipped small talk and got straight to the point. He spoke loud enough for her to hear, but not so loud that anyone could easily eavesdrop on them in the loud and crowded restaurant.

"Good news or bad news?" Mirax sampled the soup and found it desperately lacked salt.

The informant hesitated for the briefest moment before replying. "A bit of both, I suppose. As requested at our last meeting, my employer used a third party to hire a smuggler to move a shipment of supplies for your cause. He was instructed to take the shipment to one of the moons near Dathomir, where he would hand the supplies over to a freighter pilot who would take the shipment to its final destination. The pilot waited on the moon for three days and the smuggler never arrived. The smuggler was paid half of his fee in advance, and was promised the other half after he returned from making the delivery. My employer believes that the smuggler decided to steal the supplies in order to sell them on the black market."