In the morning, Sloan rose with a pounding headache, but the memory of the strange, robed man was still vivid in his mind, unerased by alcohol. The Gossam picked up the small item the man had given him. Some sort of tracer device. Sloan had been too drunk and the lighting had been too bad for him to realize then that it was in the shape of a gold coin. He tucked it in his pocket and went about making preparations.
-----
The guards of Galactic Industries Applied Science swiped his identification and let him in without any hassle at all. They didn't know why Sloan came there every once in a while, but they knew him by sight, and knew he worked for the boss of their boss, the man who owned the company, Mr. Varn. Sloan, in turn, didn't know much about the actual workings of the company, aside from the fact that they worked with different research projects for the Republic. He remembered reading a holojournal article on some new fuel project GIAS was working on, but Sloan didn't know the details.
He took the elevator up to the sixteenth floor, which had something to do with weapons development. Beyond the labs, however, was a door reserved only for the owner of the company and Sloan, though the former never came here. Sloan swiped his ID card and the door opened. On the other side was a turbolift, which Sloan took for another sixteen floors. There was another door, which required him to swipe another passcard and enter a code by hand, and then, beyond that, the vault. Sloan was pretending to take inventory today, assessing the collective wealth of the Revenants. He was the only one allowed access to the room and when the Revenants realized money was missing, it would be best if they thought Sloan was dead.
He scooped up a pile of coins, placed them on the table in the corner, slipped the coin the man had left him into the pile, and then started counting. He had to work and couldn't simply leave: that would be suspicious. He went about the job of taking inventory; he counted the gold, examined the boxes of credits and double-checked the neatly organized rows of jewels in boxes of their own. He was very particular about it all.
To think, it would be gone soon, and he with it.
After taking careful inventory of everything and logging it in a datapad, Sloan picked up his belongings and made his way for the door. He took the turbolift down to the 16th floor, passed through the other door and then took the main lift back to the ground level. The sun was setting along the horizon, just beyond the Jedi Temple, painting the sky shades of orange and red, the Temple itself a black silhouette. He had time until he was to meet his...new employer...and things were in order for him to fake his death, so Sloan visited the Woolyman Club. People would be drifting in soon, and he could use the opportunity to warm up at cards before hitting the dice tables.
Along the way, something caught the hem of his slacks and he swore, tugging at it. When he looked up again, the man from the night before was standing in front of him, arms folded.
"It would be best if we talked now, yes?" the man said, starting down the alley. Sloan hurried to keep up.
"Yes, sir!"
"Yes, my Lord."
"Yes, my Lord."
"You planted the device."
"I did."
"It was not a question, but well done."
"Thank you, my Lord."
"What security is there?"
"Human guards at the door, a security system on the building itself, and security to get to the vault. You'll need my card." Sloan passed it over without being asked. "Take the elevator to the 16th floor, go past the labs and take the turbolift beyond the restricted door another 16 floors. Um, you'll also need a way out."
"I'll take care of that one." The man glanced at the ID card. "You've done well. Get on with faking your death and I will meet you at midnight here. You will not be in the club. I will be waiting for you outside. If you're not here, I will leave without you. Is that understood?"
"Yes, my Lord."
"Good. Off with you, then."
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