Aaron had once again found himself in the discomfort of a social gathering—yet this one was less militaristic and more nobility-themed than what he was used to.
The servants were exotic and beautiful—Aaron wouldn't deny them that. Twi'leks, Mirialans, Togrutans, and humans walked the polished floors of the 102nd level of the mansion he currently found himself in.
They wore exotic and revealing clothing, leaving very little to the imagination. And it was clear the effect it had on the attendees.
Numerous younger individuals had gathered—most of them around Aaron's age. He was twenty-three, and unlike them, he was aware of the direct consequences that came from acting out at such events. They were not.
Many had approached the servants, desiring fun, pleasure, and occasionally more manipulative motives. Of course, the servants had denied every advance, but that only served to rile the guests further.
Barely two hours had passed since Aaron arrived, and already several of the younger individuals had been forcibly removed from the gathering by security.
Aaron sat at the bar, a certain beautiful blonde standing beside him. She was dressed in a magnificent light-blue gown, the fabric clinging to her figure in ways the Imperial uniform never could. Her curves shone through the dress, unhidden.
Aaron, meanwhile, had opted for his standard military uniform, a choice that reflected both his personality and his priorities.
The two had spent most of their time by the bar, tucked into the quieter corners of the room. They observed the crowd in silence, enjoying occasional conversation between themselves. It had, in truth, been somewhat productive.
Commodore Eral Vesso was unusually active—drinking in volumes Aaron knew were far beyond the limit of desirable consumption. It was suspicious, especially since Aaron had read the Commodore's reports.
The man was no fool. He knew that becoming drunk at such an event was a death spiral, politically speaking. And according to the regular attendees Aaron had spoken with, Eral rarely behaved in such ways.
It could, of course, be a one-off incident—but it had reinforced suspicions Aaron already held.
Another interesting character was the Planetary Governor of Christophsis, Ian Terro. Aaron had kept an eye on the man and concluded that Ian intended to approach him. But the "date" Aaron currently entertained with Hannah had, for now, prevented him.
Hannah, for her part, was just as perceptive as Aaron. She had arrived half an hour before him and, through her preliminary investigations, had uncovered the building anti-Imperial sentiments growing among the general populace.
It was restrained—for now. The Empire had not yet taken direct action against the citizens or nobles. But the increased patrols, constant flybys, and frequent shows of force had sown the seeds of resentment.
Aaron doubted it would bloom into outright rebellion any time soon, but it had reminded him of the danger of maintaining these restrictions indefinitely—especially given the recent lull in rebel activity.
"Ian is getting really anxious. Perhaps time for a visit?" Hannah whispered to Aaron.
He nodded. "I suppose you're right. Would you mind grabbing a few drinks?"
He gave her a sly smile, his hand briefly finding its way to her backside for a quick squeeze before retreating.
Hannah rolled her eyes. "Of course, dear," she said, kissing him softly on the lips before she turned and made a brief detour toward the restroom.
"I sure am lucky," Aaron thought with a chuckle—though his attention shifted quickly as a figure approached. He turned toward the man.
"Ah, Governor Terro. What an honor to finally meet you," Aaron said with a polite smile as the governor waddled forward, grinning broadly.
"Likewise, likewise! I've heard whispers of your feats, Captain. I must say—I was elated when I heard of your arrival. The rebel cell has gotten out of hand recently. Perhaps due to support from Mothma," Ian said—practically shouting.
Aaron winced slightly. The governor's voice was several decibels louder than necessary, and his boisterous tone made his double chin jiggle with each word.
"Mon Mothma? Reports indicated they had broken off," Aaron said, his eyes narrowing just a touch.
"I couldn't say," Ian replied, leaning closer. "But these rebels—they know everything. Every military position, every supply depot. We haven't caught a single one. It's as if they know where we are at all times. Just a hunch, but I believe Mothma's spies are working with them."
Aaron offered a tight-lipped smile. "I see. I'll look into it."
The conversation drifted away from war after that, and the governor began to boast—about the reforms he'd enacted, the public works he'd commissioned, and, of course, the credits he had managed to accrue. There were hints, subtle but not unnoticeable, that he hoped to buy Aaron's loyalty—or perhaps offer him a future position.
Luckily, Hannah returned forty-five minutes into the monologue and bailed Aaron out before the governor could launch into another diatribe about his latest housing policy.
"So, how'd it go?" she asked, her arm looping through his as they made their way through the floor, heading toward a more relaxed seating area near a window on the far side of the apartment.
"He's exactly what I expected," Aaron replied. "Proud. Complacent. He's a politician who's gotten fat off the flow of credits. I doubt he'd risk anything, especially not dealings with pirates. Too afraid of losing his fortune."
"That was my impression too," Hannah said, chuckling. "I spoke with a few of the drunk nobles. Their opinions matched yours—plus a few embarrassing stories."
"But on a more serious note," she continued, her tone sharpening, "Commodore Eral approached me. He was very intoxicated, and though he tried to hide it, he was actively planting rumors—subtle ones, meant to create tension between us. It might have worked, if I weren't Intelligence."
"Good thing you lack any official position on my ship—except that of 'pleasurer,'" Aaron joked, earning a light push. Both of them laughed.
"Of course, Master. I'll work hard to earn my pay," she teased, settling onto the couch beside him—and then on top of him.
"The next window of opportunity will be once we reach the base," she whispered, her face inches from his.
Aaron couldn't help but notice the soft compression of her chest against his own, the way her curves pressed against him as his hands traveled down her sides.
"Surely I must be hiding a lucksprite in my uniform. For me to have met you," he murmured, leaning in.
"You're quite the sweet talker when you want to be," she whispered back, just before their lips met. After a moment, she pulled back. "Almost makes me forget your main occupation."
"Too bad you've got the same one," Aaron replied, and they fell into laughter once again.
No one else at the gathering would know of their intimate moment. Aaron had ensured the door was locked the moment they entered—and casually dropped both a camera jammer and a sound disruptor onto the floor.
Just in case.
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