Prelude

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Balsa is not a lie!
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Prelude

Post by Balsa »

Prologue

The pungent odor of unwashed bodies and low-grade alcohol greeted him as he pushed his way through the doors of the tavern. The sound of crunching debris and discarded food particles greeted him as his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room. The patrons of the Mug and Chug looked as run down as the place smelled, and Jordan Lowfield questioned himself for the umpteenth time why he had decided to follow this lead. He reached into the pocket of his overcoat and pulled out his datapad, and glanced at the picture. He squinted his eyes and scanned the room.

There, in the corner booth, he found his query. She was older than the datapad indicated. Her hair was more frayed, and there were wrinkles on what had been a pretty face. At first, he thought he was mistaken, but then he caught that look of determination in her eyes. That look matched perfectly with the datapad.

Jordan slid into the bench opposite of her, and waved a serving droid over. As he turned his attention to her, he glanced down in surprise at the cold pressure against his belly. The blaster didn’t waver.

“Who are you?” she hissed. She didn’t look up from her drink, the one of many glasses on the table.

Jordan licked his lips and looked up at the woman. “I’m Jordan Lowfield. You said you wanted to meet?”

“Prove it.”

He slowly reached into his coat and pulled out an identification card. “Here you go. Jordan Lowfield of The Free Thinker.”

She examined his card, her blaster never leaving its target. “The Free Thinker? I suppose I could have done worse,” she mumbled. She emptied her glass and holstered her weapon. “Very well, Jordan Lowfield. I am Melissa Horn. You said you would publish my story?”

“That depends,” Lowfield replied. He relaxed slightly as the droid brought him his drink. He took a sip and grimaced as the liquor burned down his throat. “It’ll depend on how good your story is, and if anything you say can be corroborated.”

Anger flashed through Melissa’s eyes, and for a moment, Jordan thought she would bring the blaster out again. “Corroborated? Of course it can be corroborated.” She reached into the bag next to her and pulled out a stack of data disks, waving them in front of the journalist. “These contain all the scans and technical data. They’ll corroborate everything I’ve said.”

“Really?” Jordan reached for the disks but Melissa snatched them away.

“You’ll get these after you’ve listened to my story, and after you’ve promised you’ll publish everything.” She tucked them back into the bag. “Agreed?”

Jordan nodded and pulled out a recorder. “Just a question before we start, though. Why aren’t you going to other, more mainstream news agencies with this information? Or why not the Republic Senate?”

She laughed, an ugly sound that didn’t match her inherent beauty. “I tried, but they wouldn’t listen. They kicked me out, threatened me, and so forth.”

“But why? If what your message said was true, then this is the discovery of a life time.” Jordan took another sip from his drink and flipped on his recorder. “I just don’t see why, if you have those disks, they wouldn’t believe you.”

Melissa Horn smiled, and Jordan found that he was both repelled and enthralled by her grin. “Because they didn’t want to believe. The things I saw, the things I experienced, they were horrible and terrible.” The smile disappeared, and with it went the light in her eyes. Jordan felt ice pooling in his gut. “They didn’t listen because they didn’t want to hear about their reckoning. About our reckoning.

“They are coming.”
"Mr. T once defeated Chuck Norris in a game of Tic-Tac-Toe. In retaliation, Chuck Norris invented racism." -- my brother
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