Young Writers Society

Sirejj was barely visible in the dim light. The only thing easily seen were his bright eyes. There were many possible answers but he wasn't going to give Tarkin a chance to correct him.

"Enlighten us." He didn't stalk as Tarkin did, but his voice moved. It seemed to come from behind a different carcass each time he spoke.

"I picked up a bit of anatomical trivia a few years back, not long before the war ended." He made a wide arc, passing Sirejj and returning to the Phindian. "See, I had the misfortune to be at the mercy of one of your number. The killing blow was stolen from me, and it seemed a shame to let this piece of knowledge go to waste. Seeing as the real source of my ire is dead and gone." Tarkin crouched down in front of her so that they were eye level. "You see, Sirejj, Phindians are warm blooded like humans, but they're able to raise or lower their body temperature if it appears that hypothermia or heat stroke might set in otherwise. But the regulatory system is a poorly evolved thing--the colder it gets, the higher the Phindian's internal temperature rises until they cook themselves alive. Isn't that right?"
"Give or take a few inaccuracies," the Phindian murmured.

"Fascinating." His voice came from the opposite side of the circle where he stood. He stood where he was and simply stared her down, not so much as glancing at Tarkin. His eyes studied her markings and tattoos, a history of her life on her skin. If she was as curious as she seemed she may even have information about other sacred places on planets he could find and explore. She was quite the catch.

"You can take your time in answering our questions," Tarkin went on. "But this freezer is going to get colder the longer we're all in here. Sirejj and I can get ourselves coats. But you, madam, don't have that privelige." He straightened. "So, at your leisure, tell us what planet this individual lives on."

The Phindian was quiet for a little while. There was no sound but the chatter of her teeth. Then she said, "I don't know what planet he lives on. I know he's a prominent Outer Rim official, but he contacted me from Coruscant to arrange the deal. I didn't even see his face--just heard his voice. He was careful."

"Truth." Sirejj hissed, his voice coming from again somewhere else in the room. He kept his focused fixed intently on her. Truth and lies were fairly easily discernable in most beings, few realized the subconscious actions one made when lying.

Tarkin nodded; it sounded truthful to him, too. "Did you meet with any proxies?"

"No."

"Have you worked with him before?"

"Once." A pause. "He has me on an exclusive contract now, actually. If you and your wife laid low for a little while and arranged fake deaths, I could see if we met eventaully."

"Spoken like someone who doesn't know the time commitment for a stunt like that." He waved a hand dismissively. "No, I'll find out what I need here, today, or sometime in the next week."

Sirejj didn't speak. He let them talk and watched.

A noble from the outer rim, most likely involved in Coruscanti politics. Someone desperate enough to hire a trained killer. Someone smart enough to conceal his identity and most likely someone with a history involving both sides of the Tarkin family.

There were a surprising number of people who probably fit that description. If he could reach far enough into her mind he may be able to hear a voice, but that would most likely be disguised as well. Whoever this was had taken very serious precautions.

The Phindian's face had begun to flush slightly, and a light sheen of sweat had broken out on her forehead. The freezer was colder than it had been when they entered; the tip of Tarkin's nose was red.

"How did you plan on tackling both me and Thalassa, one after the other?" Tarkin asked. "Neither of us are particularly accessible, and once one of us died the other would have come at you full force."

"The Empire is easier to evade than the Treacle," the Phindian responded, and Tarkin stiffened ever so slightly. Sirejj wasn't meant to know his wife was part of that organization. "It has rules that it follows, you know--so I figured I'd take you out and then leave myself ample room to deal with Lady Tarkin's lackeys without having to worry about a second target. Make sense? I would rather the Treacle be after me for killing you than for killing their leader."

Stars, Thalassa was going to kill this Phindian herself if she found out what Sirejj knew now.

Sirejj raised an eyebrow and glanced at Tarkin, still silence. He sensed the change in Tarkin's posture. A smirk crossed his face in the dark. This was clearly some information Tarkin had not intended for his ears. Interesting information, and nothing of use to him currently, but perhaps in the future. He wondered how the Phindian knew about it; if she had somehow discovered it herself or been told by her employer, or perhaps a traitor in someone's ranks.

Tarkin certainly got angry when his control of a situation was usurped and the fact he'd reacted the way he did at the thought of Sirejj getting an earfull was greatly amusing.

He was glad he'd taken the care to be respectful to Thalassa. Though he felt it would do him little good if he managed to anger her, perhaps keeping Tarkin from getting killed would keep him in some good standing.

"Fair reasoning," Tarkin allowed. "I suppose you intended to retire immediately after killing us both."

"I was going to continue working, actually," the Phindian replied, wiping her brow. "My client has friends in high places; I'd have survived or gotten off with a couple years in prison. No more than that."

"Clearly you underestimate the Treacle's ability to hold grudges." He stopped behind her, tapping a finger on her head. "Feeling the heat, are we? I thought it was a bit chilly in here, but you're running a fever, madam."

"Not sure what you think you're going to get out of me," she muttered. "I'm no good to you dead or dying."

"Perhaps that isn't the point. Why don't you tell us if you even know your client's name."

"I know his alias," the Phindian replied. "I'm sure you could work with that, but the contract guards my divulging it. So no dice."

"He will kill you if he doesn't get what he wants." Sirejj said after it had been quiet for a second. "It would be a shame for your family to forever wonder where you've gone." He would attempt to play a different side of her. Phindians were known for their strong family bonds, not unlike his own people. Just considerably less... volatile.

She was silent.

"I'm sure your name turns up on a few list," Tarkin said, circling her so he stood in front. "And your face, too. I'm sure with a couple calls I could sort out exactly who you are." He crouched again, looking directly into her bulbous yellow eyes. "Who would you most loathe to see in pain, I wonder? Your brother? Your father, perhaps? Or your mother?" Her eyes flickered away--just for a split second--and he smiled, showing his teeth. "I see. Interesting."

Sirejj moved, stepping around so he was in front of her and closer to Tarkin. "She misses her family. Your mother didn't want you to leave, did she?" He turned his green eyes to her, his breath turning to icy mist as he spoke. He was cold, but did not shiver. He had been hardened over the years to temperature extremes. His gaze was intense, as if he was looking far back into her very thoughts.

"Stay out of my head," she said firmly, glaring up at him. Her mind swirled uncertainly, memories of her parents and siblings stirring up unbade and then flickering away as she forced them from her thoughts.

"It must strain your relationship, you going off and risking your life like this," Tarkin said, tutting. "So far away all the time. Do you talk to her often?"

"Do you talk to your mother often?" she returned. "Did you at all, when she was alive? I've heard some nasty things about your parents."

Tarkin's expression didn't change; he was unruffled. He had no particular attachment to his parents. He'd ridden himself of that on the Carrion.

Sirejj stepped a little closer and slowly crouched in front of her. He took her spear, which he'd kept close to him, and used it to support him as he lowered himself to her eye level. It made a dull metal clang as it made contact with the floor. He looked at his left hand idly, his right tightening onto her weapon. "You're a bit of a rebel. She always worried about you getting into trouble. It'd be such a shame if her worst fears finally came true."