"Everyone knows all writers are liars," Sarisa said with a giggle. "We are forever propagating fiction and making things up. The best of us are the greatest of liars."
"I dare say I might be a better liar," Abraxis told her. "I'm a politician, it's implied." She chuckled some more. He leaned back in his chair and grinned. "Although, it's not so much that I lie, as I become creative with the truth. Lying outright is not a path to success . . . except for writers of course." He winked at Sarisa. "But I digress." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "I must admit, when my secretary told me that Sarisa Remex wanted to see me, I was flattered." She waved one of her well manicured hands dismissively.
"You don't give yourself enough credit Senator. I didn't expect to get this meeting at all."
"I'm one of your most devout fans," Abraxis said. "Your holonovels are simply compelling. That takes skill."
"So does being creative with the truth, correct?" She said.
"Yes, I suppose we are both capable of . . . creating fiction." Abraxis steepled his hands on
his desk. It was genuine wood, cut down from trees on Kashyyyk. All the buffing in the galaxy couldn't take away that rough edge. "So, tell me my dear, why did you want to see me?"
"Research, to be honest. My next novel deals extensively with politics, but I don't feel ready to write it until I've actually spoken so someone with actual experience in the field."
"You want to interview me?" Abraxis grinned. "The answer is yes of course; I'd love to be a consultant." An idea came to him. "We will have to schedule a time . . . what about dinner? I know of this absolutely fabulous place here on Coruscant. It's not far from the Senate building." He glanced out his office's window, towards the mushroom shaped Senate building in the background. Ugly thing.
"Mr. Nevran, are you asking me out on a date?" Sarisa asked.
"Well, you know the old adage, work and pleasure and all that." He looked her over. She had dark hair that stopped in ringlets at her shoulders, framing her beautiful oval face. Pale skin, and eyes so dark they were almost black. "I can't think of a better way to combine the two."
"Flatterer," Sarisa accused.
"Guilty as charged."
"Where do you have in mind to go?" She asked.
"It's a small place near the Senate Building, Zeke's Diner. Not high end, but I swear I have more fun in that place than a high end restaurant like Arcoros'."
"Why Senator, do you slum?" She said it like Abraxis was doing something horribly dirty.
"If the food is good, plus it's far cheaper. Call me odd, but I've never found novelty in something just because it's absurdly expensive."
"You don't make a very good rich person, Senator." He shrugged.
"I wasn't born rich. I like to remember where I came from."
"No, I guess you weren't." She paused and Abraxis could feel her apprehension, literally. "I should save this for the interview, but . . . what is life in the Hutt Empire like?"
"Not nearly as bad as you would think, but you are right, we should save that for the interview."
"Of course." She looked away, pretending to admire Abraxis' spartan office. Her eyes stopped on a small stand mounted into the wall. A long silver cylinder rested between two prongs. "Is that a . . ."
". . . lightsaber," Abraxis finished for her. "I'm a avid collector of rare and controversial art."
"You consider a lightsaber to be artwork?"
"But of course. Lightsabers were hand crafted by the Jedi that wielded them. Each one is unique, a snapshot of the person who made it." Abraxis pointed towards the cylinder. "Notice the carefully carved floral designs into the hilt, the violet colored plating, and the organic influences in overall design. This is a work of art; you can see the love that went into the design and the craftsmanship."
"Have . . . have you ever turned it on?" Sarisa sounded like a little girl that wasn't sure if it was safe to poke into the cookie jar.
"Oh good stars no," Abraxis lied, "besides, I believe the power supply is shot." Actually it worked fine, but Abraxis wasn't going to tell her that.
There was a buzzing noise and the door to Abraxis' office whooshed open. A silver protocol droid walked in.
"Greetings Ms. Remex," the droid nodded towards the writer. It turned towards Abraxis. "Mr. Nevran, I have a message for you from Kato."
"Well, it's about damn time. Old friend of mine," Abraxis said for Sarisa's benefit. "Not suitable for polite company, so we correspond from afar." He turned towards the protocol droid. "Is that all Eze?"
"Yes sir."
"Then you may go." The droid bowed its head slightly, before leaving the room.
"A friend from home?"
"You could say that." Abraxis didn't volunteer anything else as he took the small datachip from the protocol droid. Reaching under his desk he found his datapad and inserted the chip into the receiver slot.
Abraxis, I've found her and she's moved up in the galaxy. The military genius that defeated the Mandalorian invasion two years ago? She's his mistress, friend, lover, what have you. Point is, she has his ear. I don't need to tell you how dangerous she is in that kind of position. She's got ambitions boy, and now she's got the vehicle she can use to reach them. I don't care if the two of you were close, she's gone and the woman that's replaced her now has her fingers all over the most powerful warlord in the Mid Rim.
"Bad news?" Sarisa asked.
"Hm?" Abraxis looked up from the datapad. "Oh, just uh, it's complicated."
"Complicated news is always the most interesting."
"And most often the most disturbing," Abraxis said without thinking.
"Disturbing?" Sarisa leaned in closer, her head hovering over the desk. "I don't suppose you could tell me?"
"With all due respect my dear, this is something close to the chest. Old things, from a life I've long walked away from."
"Of course, I'm sorry, forgive my rudeness."
"Oh . . . it's nothing, uh look, I need to go. I've enjoyed this meeting, but how about we continue it tomorrow at . . . noon?"
"Zeke's Place correct? Sarisa asked.
"Yes, do you need directions?"
"Oh don't worry, I can find my way."
"Eze will show you out. It was a pleasure meeting you Ms. Remex."
"Vice versa Mr. Nevran." She gave him a nod and silently left his office. Abraxis watched her go, admiring the gracefulness of her walk. Once she vanished from sight, he sighed and looked down at the datapad in his hand.
"Kato . . . why? Kato, I've long walked away from you and your path." The old man couldn't leave anything alone; he was too driven by his causes. He was an anachronism determined not to let Abraxis go.
Axbraxis disconnected the datachip from his datapad and held it between his thumb and forefinger. Without a word, he crushed it into a fine metallic dust. Carefully, he guided the remains into the trash unit next to his desk.
"I have no time for relics, master," Abraxis whispered.
