A Desperate Plea!

For some reason Maligaant hadn't felt comfortable just leaving Bucket of Bolts unattended.  He'd spent the last two weeks visiting the ship and watching as the various crews worked on her.  At this point most of that work consisted of tearing off many of her components and cutting out large portions of her hull.  He wasn't sure why but for some reason he had developed what could only be described as affection for this ship.

Leaning against the railing that overlooked the landing pad occupied by Bucket of Bolts his datapad began bleeping with an incoming transmission.  He pulled it out from his vest and pressed 'Accept' on the screen.  It was a simple text message. "Mal, I need your help! Please come as quickly as you can, I'll be here for couple of hours. Take a seat at the red booth, I'll be watching for ya,." That was it.  There was no signature or name or Ident to the message.  He raised an eyebrow contemplating it for a moment and then pushed back off the railing and began heading directly for the location displayed on his datapad, not sparing his legs as he made full use of his long stride. 

The meeting wasn't in Command Buildings nor a military or academy building.  The location was taking him to a much shadier part of the Capital city.  He looked at the datapad several times to be sure there wasn't an error, there wasn't.  

Making his way down the walkway he came to a stop in front of a local tavern, eyeing the sign above the door and the outer walls he could see no name for the establishment.  This was definitely the place, his datapad confirming it with an incessant blinking on the city map. As if to say, "Yes yes, this IS the place!"  Annoyed he looked up from the datapad and opened the door. 

The tavern's interior didn't improve his initial evaluation of the place.  It was a dark interior with few lights, mostly around the bar,  and the very strong lingering smell from patrons in need of a bath.  He stood in the doorway for a few moments looking over the room, scanning the booths for the red seat and there it was in the very back.  Confident of his assessment he moved towards the back of the room and the booth (the only red seat in the tavern that he could see). He moved his large Togorian frame into the booth that was obviously designed for smaller humanoids pushing at the table and wincing as it's legs scraped on the floor. 

 He ordered a glass of ale and waited, ignoring the ale and instead keeping his eyes on the other patrons. The door opened a few times each time letting in yet another gutter dweller long overdue for a bath.  With a loud bang the entrance door swung open and a cloaked figure ran in heading straight for his booth, instinctively he stood up, sending the table flying towards the bar as he reached out and grabbed the sprinting figure. His outstretched paw wrapping large muscular fingers around the small beings neck bringing it to an instant halt while at the same time lifting it off it's feet and nearly a meter off the floor.

The robed man's hands grabbed onto Maligaant's  extended arm as it choked out, "Mal! No...help...I need your help buddy!" 

Maligaant's eyes squinted as he reached out with his free paw and removed the cloak from the head of his prisoner, "Jarvis?" He relaxed his grip and lowered the man to the ground letting him go.

Jarvis coughed and rubbed his throat with his hands as he pointed to the tavern's entrance, "They were right behind me, Mal."  No sooner had he spoke it when two large humans entered the tavern.  They took a moment to survey the patrons and the room before they moved toward Jarvis.  Maligaant could tell simply by the way these men moved they were professionals. Soldiers probably but not grunts and certainly not from around here. 

As the two men approached Jarvis moved around and behind the massive Togorian.  Maligaant's mouth opened to a snarl with the words, "That's close enough." His eyes now focused with intensity on the two men.

"This is official Triumvirate business cat! Step aside or face charges for obstruction!" one of the men responded pointing at the Togorian.

"If this is official Triumvirate business then show me your Idents," he responded. He wasn't sure what was going on here but there was definitely something not right with these two men, his finely honed Togorian senses were going off like doorbells in his head.

Just then Jarvis darted for the back door the second man moving to intercept him, reaching inside his cloak as he did so. The first man responded by throwing back his cloak and reaching for a hanging rifle.  Quickly Mal drew his Scr'ath, from it's sheath on his right thigh, and in one fluid motion removed the left arm from the man attempting to intercept Jarvis and then in a twisting counter-clockwise motion brought the blade around to remove the head of the first man.  Screaming in pain the second man grabbed the bloody stump of his arm with  his right hand and fell to the floor, his momentum carrying him crashing into the back wall head first.  The first man's headless body simply stood there for a moment, his hands still grasping the E-11 blaster rifle, before slumping to the floor in a heap. 

The bars many patrons now bolting for the entrance, in an attempt to flee the carnage. Maligaant's eyes hung for a second on the rifle. Imperials!  Turning his attention back to the other man now with fury swelling in him. "What are Imperials doing in Triumvirate space!" he roared.