"Before i liquidated my holdings or signed over my assets to Nik Straven and his band of Cutthroats i searched for leads, i pulled every contact we
had. I listened to every crazy ass story and every bare faced lie and in the end i found something solid, something i could go on.
I had been seen no less than thirty times on Malastare, mistaken identity crossed my mind but then one piece of irrefutable evidence surfaced. A picture, time stamped in the corner, it was me albeit without the added scars my life has added to my features. The date told me everything i needed, it told me that i wasn't mad, i hadn't been somewhere and then forgotten for you see while this doppelgänger paraded my face across the planet i was locked in Carbonite, frozen in time, and i would not be released for another six weeks later.
I have argued with myself repeatedly, since i boarded this transport ship bound for Malastare, whether we Sentients are born bad or good or whether it is the environment and the people within that environment that forge us and what we consider to be right or wrong, good or evil. I suppose when I'm done I'll find out the answer, the past is just that but in all but a few cases it has a greater grip on the present than some of us are willing to admit. "
It helped, he found, to keep a record. To see his thoughts before him so that he could better disassemble them and think about a specific piece rather than the whole. What the green text didn't convey was his fear, his anticipations, his excitement. So many emotions that he thought he might burst. At his destination he might find a brother and more than that a twin.
What would happen between them? Would there be a connection or would it be as his dreams portrayed the relationship they had all had. Would it be bloody, brutal, without emotion or feeling, would they clash until one remained. He could only wait and see...
"We'll be exiting from hyperspace in a few minutes Sentients, remain seated for the rest of our journey to Pixelito. We thank you for choosing Linera Travel" Came a gruff voice over the ships com-system.
Sal saved his work and slid the Datapad back under his robes and into a satchel that lay just as hidden as the aged and durable Mandalorian armour. He gazed through the visor of the full faced helmet out the small view port to his left and watched as hyperspace broke around them. The helmet was a technological masterpiece by any standards. At a mere voice command he could have thermal or electrical vision in the HUD. He could gain enhanced vision through the optical zoom of the tinted visor and trajectory and distance readouts on a whim. The Mandalorians may have all but gone but their technology continued to be used and would continue to be used long after the last had drawn breath.
The ship broke atmosphere a short time later and soon they were on solid ground, docked in one of the many ports in Malastare's Capital City. Once free of the ships artificial gravity Salem felt the pull of Malastare's. He had been on worlds with different gravity before but it always took a short time to grow accustomed to it. The bag that contained his now sparse belongings felt like a lead weight on his armours and then robed shoulder. If it were not for his physical stature he was sure he would have struggled to drag the blasted thing across the starport.
Lines of enquiry at a few Cantina's pointed him in the direction of a high class restaurant/hotel in the centre of the City. This corresponded with what he already knew. His twin had been seen dining at this restaurant many times and what lay in the pretenders favour was that unless anyone had ventured into the Tingel Arm then they had no way of joining the dots between himself and this imposter, as the photo had shown the man did not have the noticeable scars that Sal carried. He would look just like any other 5'11", brown haired, green eyed human.
Sal jumped the nearest taxi and sped off toward the restaurant. Night was already settling over the city and as the taxi deposited him outside The Ambassador Hotel with its adjoining eatery, Sentients of wealthy means could be seen entering and exiting the place. He felt more than a little under dressed and the look the concierge gave him explained explicitly that he was. It was funny how the colour of your money could change a persons opinion.
I had been seen no less than thirty times on Malastare, mistaken identity crossed my mind but then one piece of irrefutable evidence surfaced. A picture, time stamped in the corner, it was me albeit without the added scars my life has added to my features. The date told me everything i needed, it told me that i wasn't mad, i hadn't been somewhere and then forgotten for you see while this doppelgänger paraded my face across the planet i was locked in Carbonite, frozen in time, and i would not be released for another six weeks later.
I have argued with myself repeatedly, since i boarded this transport ship bound for Malastare, whether we Sentients are born bad or good or whether it is the environment and the people within that environment that forge us and what we consider to be right or wrong, good or evil. I suppose when I'm done I'll find out the answer, the past is just that but in all but a few cases it has a greater grip on the present than some of us are willing to admit. "
It helped, he found, to keep a record. To see his thoughts before him so that he could better disassemble them and think about a specific piece rather than the whole. What the green text didn't convey was his fear, his anticipations, his excitement. So many emotions that he thought he might burst. At his destination he might find a brother and more than that a twin.
What would happen between them? Would there be a connection or would it be as his dreams portrayed the relationship they had all had. Would it be bloody, brutal, without emotion or feeling, would they clash until one remained. He could only wait and see...
"We'll be exiting from hyperspace in a few minutes Sentients, remain seated for the rest of our journey to Pixelito. We thank you for choosing Linera Travel" Came a gruff voice over the ships com-system.
Sal saved his work and slid the Datapad back under his robes and into a satchel that lay just as hidden as the aged and durable Mandalorian armour. He gazed through the visor of the full faced helmet out the small view port to his left and watched as hyperspace broke around them. The helmet was a technological masterpiece by any standards. At a mere voice command he could have thermal or electrical vision in the HUD. He could gain enhanced vision through the optical zoom of the tinted visor and trajectory and distance readouts on a whim. The Mandalorians may have all but gone but their technology continued to be used and would continue to be used long after the last had drawn breath.
The ship broke atmosphere a short time later and soon they were on solid ground, docked in one of the many ports in Malastare's Capital City. Once free of the ships artificial gravity Salem felt the pull of Malastare's. He had been on worlds with different gravity before but it always took a short time to grow accustomed to it. The bag that contained his now sparse belongings felt like a lead weight on his armours and then robed shoulder. If it were not for his physical stature he was sure he would have struggled to drag the blasted thing across the starport.
Lines of enquiry at a few Cantina's pointed him in the direction of a high class restaurant/hotel in the centre of the City. This corresponded with what he already knew. His twin had been seen dining at this restaurant many times and what lay in the pretenders favour was that unless anyone had ventured into the Tingel Arm then they had no way of joining the dots between himself and this imposter, as the photo had shown the man did not have the noticeable scars that Sal carried. He would look just like any other 5'11", brown haired, green eyed human.
Sal jumped the nearest taxi and sped off toward the restaurant. Night was already settling over the city and as the taxi deposited him outside The Ambassador Hotel with its adjoining eatery, Sentients of wealthy means could be seen entering and exiting the place. He felt more than a little under dressed and the look the concierge gave him explained explicitly that he was. It was funny how the colour of your money could change a persons opinion.
