[Coruscant] The Old Calendar

[Honest Moe Uilor]

[SENATE OFFICE BUILDING - 1623 local time]

Another normal workday was slowly coming to an end in the Assembly Wing, where the legislative branch responsible for the daily running of Coruscant was located. While it was normally teeming with activity, most civil servants had already gone home or were in the process of doing just that; casually making their way through the now almost deserted hallways, too preoccupied with their own affairs to pay any real attention to anything –or anyone- else.

One of the people who were still very much at work, a Rodian who was wearing the distinct yellow uniform shirt of Jambala’s Courier Service, couldn’t really be bothered by the lack of acknowledgment though. He knew that couriers were such a common sight in the Senate Office Building that no one ever paid them any real attention anymore and, as he whistled the tune of a commercial for breakfast cereal, the man was just happy no one held him up with conversation; the box he was carrying was starting to get heavy, it was getting late, and unless the recipient of the box would sign his papers he wouldn’t even get paid for the delivery.

The Rodian would be in luck though, albeit barely. Having delivered parcels to the office of Lady Atelia Luce on two previous occasions, the silver-plated protocol droid who just exited the office recognized him and held open the door so he could walk straight into the room without stopping. Inside, he found the elderly legislator just putting on her coat in preparation to go home.

“I have come to deliver something, Lady Luce.” As he spoke, the Rodian put the heavy box onto the elderly woman’s desk; grateful to finally be able to put it down. Needing just a moment to take his breath, he placed his hands onto her desk and leaned forward for just a moment as he turned his attention to the woman. “I’m sorry, you had this coming for a long time.” He had always been of the opinion that, for an elected official, Lady Atelia held a disappointing contempt towards him. The patronizing look in her steel grey eyes had always been enough to convince him of that point, and even now he realized that the elderly legislator wasn’t even listening to his attempt to apologize.

Either way, he wasn’t paid to like the woman; all that mattered was the delivery and, as Lady Atelia stepped towards her desk to sign for the box, the Rodian took a deep breath and stepped aside.

It was well known that the Senate Office Building was perhaps the most highly secured building in the Upper Levels of Coruscant; it was simply impossible to smuggle a weapon or explosive into the building, and it wasn’t worth the risk either. However, during his previous two visits to the office of Lady Atelia the Rodian had noticed that the elderly legislator opened her parcels with a sharp, almost ridiculously small decorative vibroknife that she always kept on the right-hand corner of her desk, right next to a picture of her family. A deadly weapon, albeit used for decorative purposes and to open parcels, that was now firmly within the Rodian’s left hand.

Perhaps the only saving grace was that Lady Atelia Luce died without even knowing what hit her. The silver-plated protocol droid never had time to raise the alarm either; being short-circuited by the same knife that killed its owner.

===

The investigation into the death of Lady Atelia Luce would be conducted by the Criminal Investigation Department of the Coruscant Security Force in cooperation with the Senate Guard. Within three days of the murder, the Major Crime Unit of the Underworld Police was authorized to raid the territories of some of the largest gangs and criminal organizations in the Underworld, instigating massive unrest within the Lower Levels after arresting several prominent key figures.

Lacking compelling proof and without any witnesses, what few leads the Criminal Investigation Department could actually follow all turned out to be dead ends. While not for lack of trying, the investigation into the death of Lady Atelia Luce was disbanded after three months and the dossier was effectively shelved as a cold case.

 

[Basca Terrix]

Basca knew she was being an nerf herder, but as a freshly minted Officer - no more a lowly recruit or an over ambitious newcomer - she felt she’d earned that right through the grueling basic training that the CSF put their tenderfoots through. Presently she was busy torturing a gang of recruits with tales of a crime lord named Mungo Bona who specifically enjoyed kidnapping and torturing his enemies, especially those from the Coruscant force, with organic Vong technology.

“There’s this thing called the Embrace of Pain. You’re basically tied up inside it, upside down no less and are supposedly by brought to the brink of death by the sheer pain alone. This happens over and over until-”

“Officer Terrix that’s enough,” said Lt. Sarlin, an older and highly decorated Lieutenant who would go on to become her direct supervisor and mentor later in life. He thrust a box of flimsy files at her. “Go put these in the cold case closet.”

Dramatically rolling her eyes, hating to be embarrassed in front of the recruits, she gave him a curt nod, knowing better than to mouth off and strolled down the corridor, box in hand. After Basca had placed the box inside the closet, out of curiosity she opened the very first case file.

Lady Atelia Luce's murder had occurred only three months ago. That was hardly cold. Luke-warm maybe, but cold?

With a derisive snort aimed at no one in particular, or maybe the Chief who’d made the decision to shelve the case, Bas pulled out Luce’s flimsi file and marched back to Lt. Sarlin’s. As he sipped a cracked mug full of stimcaf, she tossed the paper upon his desk, knocking off a couple of pens and a pack of cigarras.

“What gives? This is hardly a cold case.”

“Drop it up, Bas.”

“She’s a senator or some kind of law-maker. Why would such a high profile murder be shelved so soon? It makes no sense."

Lt. Sarlin gave her a world-weary grimace. “Just let it go, Bas.”

But no. Like a ferocious Vornskr, she’d already sunk her teeth into the details, the seed of a theory germinating. This wasn’t just a cold case. This was a cover up.

And it was just the kind of challenge Officer Terrix was hoping for.

[member="Nesota Kynnovan"]

 

[Honest Moe Uilor]

There was a small diner called “Tillisk’s” on Level 1290 of the Underworld, located at the intersection of Second Street and Fooj Boulevard. It was named after the Trandoshan proprietor who settled down there three years ago, a gruff veteran of the Omega War who had a reputation for not taking any balderdash and simultaneously held true to one important but surprisingly pacifying rule he expected everyone to follow; politics remained outside. Over the years some people learned to respect that lesson in a heinously hard way, but it was effective enough to get the point across.

It wasn’t that Tillisk didn’t care, but he hadn’t come to the Underworld for more needless violence and after the gruesome trench warfare of the Omega War he was simply hard to really impress; the three young gang members who were playing darts at the far end of his diner certainly weren’t going to scare him, and neither would the two police officers of the Coruscant Security Force who were standing between the barstools at the business end of his counter. In fact, in lieu of their words he only held onto the knife more defiantly.

“Don’t make me say it again, Tillisk.” One of the police officers spoke up and despite the facial mask, which amplified his voice, it was clear that he wasn’t joking. “Drop the knife, I’m not fooling around.”

As the Trandoshan raised the knife, the other police officer turned her attention to the protocol droid who was standing motionless behind the counter. “What are you waiting for? Translate it.” While her voice left the amplifier of her mask, she could see how her partner began to tense up. He was older and the much more experienced one between them, and as he spoke up once more with “This is your last warning, Tillisk!” she began to realize that the protocol droid wasn’t translating anything and that the Trandoshan would not back down.

Mere moments later, the knife came down and Police Officer Nesota Kynnovan resigned herself to her fate with a soft sigh; watching as Tillisk rapidly began to cut the pickles he’d laid out on the kitchen counter. When they had placed their lunch order for two large hamburgers and two extra strong stimcaf, she repeatedly stated that she didn’t like pickles. All she could do at this point however, was watch in defeat how the Trandoshan put them onto the hamburgers anyway before wrapping them into plastic. As he turned around and placed them onto the counter, he even looked proud while the droid started to scan them.

“Master Tillisk says pickles are provided by the Scorekeeper, it would be dishonourable to refuse Her gift.” As the protocol droid translated Tillisk’s unspoken words, the Trandoshan gave them both a nod and returned to the kitchen; leaving them behind with the droid. “That will be sixteen credits.”

Before Nesota could say anything her mentor, Sergeant Teagan Cardan, spoke up in surprise of the price. “Sixteen credits for two hamburgers and stimcaf?” While he spoke up however, he reached out and grabbed his own order. “That’s just criminal...” With those words however, he began to walk towards the door; leaving Nesota behind at the counter to pay for the entire lunch order. The baffled young Coruscanti turned her attention to her departing mentor for a moment, then back to the protocol droid, and then back to the Sergeant once more as he walked through the door.

A little over one minute later, a grumbling Nesota made her way outside as well and found Sergeant Cardan leaning against his parked BARC-speeder while eating his hamburger. Sitting down on top of her own speeder and removing her facial mask, the Coruscanti just indignantly stared at her mentor, who pretended nothing was wrong about a free lunch, before she shook her head and turned her attention to the food in front of her. Her lack of enthusiasm was more than obvious in her voice though, as she spoke up with a somewhat bitter “Let’s go to the Gungan on the corner of Fourth and Thorne next time.”.

She tried to ignore Teagan who, in between two mouths full of hamburger, bluntly expressed his dislike of seafood.

About twenty minutes passed when the relative serenity of their lunch was rudely interrupted by a direct priority call from the Precinct. While, despite her objections, Sergeant Cardan had insisted that “we’re at lunch” and turned off his radio when they pulled up at the diner, Nesota was nevertheless glad that she’d kept hers active when the call came through.

“Sergeant Cardan and Police Officer Kynnovan, the Captain requests your assistance back at the Precinct. I repeat, your presence is requested back at the Station.”

Responding to how Nesota veered up at hearing her name, Teagan Cardan also activated his radio just in time to hear at least part of the message. For the briefest of moments the Sergeant and Police Officer exchanged looks, both wondering what they’d done (or hadn’t done) that required them to report to Captain Wolff, before they put on their facial masks again and started their BARC-speeders to make their way back to the Precinct.

[member='Basca Terrix']