Who Stamps Your Credits

Where the proles decried bigotry, the Empire deemed a need for control. Where the disheveled masses bellowed for freedom, the Empire recognized chaos. Where the wretched refuse were repelled to the teeming shores of the outer rim saw a piling grave site of their criminal brethren, the Empire provided a cradle of growth that could provide its legitimate citizens with the pacification they so required. And where the no-longer-famous Neimoidian ship designer, Nlad Teezer, who had personally overseen the decoration committee for his magnum opus, the Hearth's Flare Spinneret, with its ruby-hewn balustrades, colored by Mandalorian refugee children, and hand-woven tapestries of a single Massassi tree's fiber, each depicting a different peace accord, only saw the irrepressible whiteness of the Jewel of Coruscant's glossy interiors, Erisi Rendar only saw the honey-glazed holoprojection of Bespinian Sunset #12, beaming its golden, synthetic sunshine down upon her body as she reclined upon a droid-operated masseuse hammock on the lido deck.

Technically, you can't have a lido deck on a starship, as some bearded man beside her was explaining loudly to his wife, the pair rounding the pool beside Erisi's location. But, as he continued to divulge, luxury liners typically had a gathering room with a wide, domed ceiling such as this, and holoprojectors, as of course his wife did not need telling, could screen the entire ceiling in bucolic scenery such as this. That way, humans (although he used the word "people" rather than "humans") could taste any flavor of paradise, swimming under the perfumed sun of a sprawling savannah, or amidst skyscrapers alike their home of Coruscant, but beneath fluorescent moons. Even the water itself used some semblance of color projection to enhance the visual appeal of its depth and clarity. Erisi frowned as she picked her head up to get a glimpse at such a talkative man, but she did not register his appearance. She had her shades on, and she was satisfied enough that his wife only returned his lecture with a subjective "Hmm" of attention.

Erisi did not enjoy her swim. It was too much like training to keep her body active, which was not a complaint she had, but she was not exactly indulging herself in the "luxury" part of her commute any more than was necessary to assimilate herself into the bourgeoisie before her upcoming espionage. She got a "helpful" nudge from some wormy cabana boy and his large, wrinkled smile as he persistently pestered her with questions if she needed more towels, if she cared for any variety of technicolor drink with festive little decorations crowding the rim, or if she would enjoy a holofilm comedy with the iconic duo, Bibs Rockwind and Fab Coldstar, as they humorously outwitted the dastardly shenanigans of some bumbling, greedy Toydarian slimeballs, complete with some immortal sight gags of a Miralukan who would routinely walk into solid objects. It was all a bit pedestrian for Erisi's tastes, and she preferred not to be distracted. She had to keep an ear out anyway for a contact aboard who would hopefully brief her with a little more detail on her upcoming mission.

She mingled back and forth to her cabin, where she muddled over some star charts and checked what little equipment she could be certain to smuggle with her. Her limitations certainly tickled the imagination, and she'd have to be sticking a lot of bite-size components together to comprise whatever tools she might require. She waited until she became too impatient with the dressings of her own private cabin, paid for by Imperial credits, and reasoned that she was deliberately being kept waiting. That game came to fruition when she finally noticed a dinner invitation had been slipped into her room while she had been out, complete with her expected seating arrangements. Some Imperial general something or other, arranging himself as her supposed date. She really loathed the men she worked for sometimes, kind of the way she loathed the ugly creatures that threatened the sterility of the Empire.

There was not much she could do aboard the Jewel of Coruscant that she could not do at home. The vessel was named for a glittering rock after a planet that itself was like a glittering rock of ambient urban noise and light. One more jewel in a planet-wide city of similar jewels. After a few unmentionable misadventures amidst the liner's provisions, going through the motions, she finally whetted her appetite for the catered delicacies, from the now-extinct Alderaanian pheasant (quite the price hike!) and Durosian balut (the closest thing to alien cuisine on board).

Although she had only taken a glimpse of them hours ago, Erisi immediately recognized the couple she had been seated with. The gray-bearded man who had been talking with his blonde wife on deck stood and elegantly greeted her, oblivious to her status as an ISB agent. "So nice to have some company," the refined gentleman said. He was wearing some dapper suit, replete with bow tie and a short Bespin gentry cape. "I am Admiral Riik DiJendess, retired, and this is my lovely wife, Sherise." He gave a little bow. His wife had straight blonde hair that bobbed into exuberant curls on her shoulders like some holofilm actress from twenty years ago. At first glance, she appeared much younger than her husband, but she had a mature face which closed this gap. She wore a white, frilled cocktail dress. Riik only sat back down when Erisi took her seat.

Sherise had an apologetic tone when she asked, "Did you arrive alone? I'm afraid we haven't seen hide nor hair of your date, yet."

Riik patted her protectively on the arm. "Well, it's early yet. Cocktails haven't even gotten around to us. We're just here together on holiday." A grandfatherly smile crossed his face, and in the awkward silence that ensued after Erisi obligingly introduced her assumed identity, they only heard the lilting, twinkling and melancholic music that emanated at them from the walls.

"Do you enjoy Sonzart?" Riik asked.

Erisi stalled with her translucent beige drink of ****. "Yes, he's agreeable enough." She made sure to slightly slur the "Yes" and the "he" in case this presumed composer was female. Who had time for music history in this era of aggression?

"Sonzart?" Sherise asked, turning to face Riik. "I thought it was a bit reminiscent of Pak-Chal, isn't it? It's a bit slower, but I thought I recognized the melody."

A coarse, loud male's voice spoke from somewhere behind and above Erisi. "Who did you say?" Erisi turned about in her seat to see a cold-faced man with high cheekbones and flat, black hair looking at the older couple. He then met her gaze with his stern, regal nose. He gave a tempered smile. "Certainly that name isn't one of our fine human composers. Imitative of them, I'm sure, but this is a Coruscant liner. They'd never sully us with less than the best." He straightened his jacket as he helped himself to the seat beside Erisi, positioning himself rather close. This alone got the message across to her that he was her intended brief. He introduced himself as "Vladison Fennen," which sounded vaguely familiar from various, forgettable paperwork Erisi had had to read in her line of work.

Riik laughed and patted his spouse on the arm again. "Ha, ha. Musicians. Prima donnas. Just names, really."

Sherise frowned in confusion, then looked to Erisi. "I suppose it was my error," she said.

Erisi was sympathetic, but standoffish. "It's all the same to me." This sort of music was not her forte.

"We wondered if you'd get here before the entrees," Riik said merrily to the man. "Will you join me at the bar for some stronger water?" He laughed. The "water" moniker for booze was a little joke shared by many men his age.

Vlad turned his eyes up toward the ceiling as he listened to the music. "Actually, I believe the tempo is picking up. Perhaps the miss here would be fortunate to accompany me for a dance." He turned to Erisi, who looked back at Sherise with a curious stare.