Aerne smiled as his turbolift shot up into Upper Coruscant. The metallic world almost seemed heavenly draped in the morning light, but its beauty felt foreign to the soldier, whos whole world seemed to be wrapped in chaos.
Aerne took the time to reflect. The majority of the war was over, or so it seemed, and Luke was trying to re-establish a virtuous republic. The Empire's system of government was in ruins, and violent skirmishes were wreaking havoc across the galaxy. Yet again, Aerne reconsidered his decision to leave the Rebellion and seek out his old life. It was a life of thrills and law breaking, centered around vehicles, technology, and violence.
He chuckled, The Rebellion hadn't really been that different.
The turbolift came hissing to a stop, the doors opening with a ding. Aerne stepped out, in his weathered flightsuit, holstered blasters at his side. His bag bore the insignia of the Rebellion. He looked around at the restaruant bar where he had arrived, a vacant dance floor dominated most of the space, stairs in the back led to a second level, most of the windows were opened for lighting, and the only person there was an older duros scrubbing glasses at one of the tables.
Aerne walked past a few labor droids, who were cleaning the establishment, as he made his way to the duros bartender. He wasn't trying to be stealthy but he still succeded in coming right behind the man without his notice. Aerne tapped him on the shoulder. The duros jumped around, startled, his eyes wide. But when he spotted the smiling rebel his excitement died down, "Sorry, but we're closed for another few hours."
"I'm supposed to be meeting someone. They gave me the time and the place, you know anything about it?" Aerne asked, studying the bartenders expression. A hint of understanding crossed across his face, for a split second, before he looked dumb again. "And your name is?"
Before Aerne could reply, a figure emerged from behind a column. The rebel instinctively reached for his holstered blaster but stopped as he looked the man over. He was dressed in modified battle armor, decorated with the colors yellow, black, and orange. Aerne recognized the T-visor helmet tucked under the man's arm.
"So, after all these years, Aerne, the noble soldier of the rebellion finds his old pal again." The man teased, as he slowly walked closer to the zabrak. The duros just sat there, grinning as he cleaned cups. Aerne let his hand rest on one of his blasters, unsure about the situation before him. The rebel scrutinized the man and his equipment, and the expression on his tanned face.
Then he let his hand slide off the pistol grip.
The armored man did the same.
The two embraced.
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