Mr. Sushere,

I thank you for your previous inquiry about your health. While I have spoken with the New Republic doctor that was previously in charge of your wellbeing once you were return, I assure you that nothing too strenuous should put you out of action, however, I would refrain from strenuous activity until you’ve recovered the full use of your leg.

If you would like, I have arranged for transport to New Holstice, in the Mid Rim Territories so we may meet in person and I can give you a second opinion on the doctors treatment pertaining to your recovery. Your verification number is 334NI1976ALPHA through Republic International Galactic Lines, and I’ve already informed our friend of your intent.

I look forward to hearing from you Mr. Sushere.

The shuttle would touch down and the steward would approach Dustil, helping him out of his seat as another two personnel easily grabbed his luggage. The woman, a slender human with blonde hair and blue eyes, led the way out of the Galactic Liner vessel and down into the customs and immigration of the planet—where for the next forty minutes they cleared customs and collected the rest of the luggage.

“I’ve been instructed to move your luggage and equipment to the Best Orion which is an Inn just four blocks down. You have an appointment with a Doctor Gibbons at 1700, and he asked that you not miss the appointment, so a shuttle has been prepped to take you.”

Once inside the shuttle, Dustil would be ferried across town, passing through the luxurious cityscape. The entirety of New Holstice was a hospital world, with many of its facilities converted to research and development, hospital care, and elderly care. Everywhere doctors and nurses were seen walking through the streets, either on break, or rushed to relieve whoever was due for their break. One thing was certain about the planet; it was the best in the galaxy for treating injuries.

The landing was slightly rough, the driving inexperienced and new to the job, but the steward quickly commed the front office and had Dustil’s shuttle number and identification code uploaded to the secretary, then bid him farewell. Another four people would meet him in the lobby, shaking his hand and leading him into a conference room where Doctor Gibbons was waiting.

Adam Gibbons was a man of strong features, with a pointed nose, high cheek bones, and an aristocratic demeanour that reeked of pomp and regality. In his left hand he clutched at a mug of coffee, black; his right was Dustil’s folder which had been sent over by the Republic Doctors for the second opinion. Everyone would suspect that Dustil was simply seeking a second opinion—unless of course the New Republic was monitoring Dustil to make sure he didn’t rejoin rogue elements that were detrimental to the New Republic (hardly an issue that they need worry about, since the good leader of the Moff Council had done a swell job destroying all dissent in Dustil).

“Mr. Sushere, a pleasure to meet you. I trust you had a nice trip? I apologize, but being that I’m not military, I couldn’t arrange a more stately arrival as befitted your previous Representative rank. Needless to say, welcome to New Holstice—the only place in the Galaxy where bacteria pays rent,” the last bit caused the doctor to chuckle—he seldom was offered an opportunity to crack that joke—then take a seat. “Now I’ve reviewed your charts, and we do have some programs that will help rehabilitate you, but mostly the Republic doctors were correct, you went through a nasty ordeal.

The treatment—“

“Will be paid for by the InterGalactic Mining Core,” a man entered the room via the same doors Dustil had just been ushered into. “Hello Mr. Sushere, my name is Aran Vekla; I’m the representative that is in charge with bringing to your attention a proposition.” He extended his right hand. Within his left hand was a briefcase, a thin line of silver connected to the handle of the case up into his wrist though it was concealed by his cuffs. Anyone who understood classified materials would know that the silver cord was actually a conduit for a corrosive substance meant to break down flimsi in nanoseconds, used primarily when transporting documents so that should the briefcase be stolen, the contents would be destroyed.

Aran placed the briefcase down on the desk, quickly keying in the combination that disjointed the locks, and disengaged the corrosive formula within the threading. Afterwards, Aran would take a seat, quickly sifting through the documents arrayed in his briefcase and pulling out a set of flimsy. These were placed before Dustil, for his review.

“I ask that you read silently, and that you keep the papers on the table while reviewing them, afterwards, place your thumb on the top right corner, and the small box like thing attached to each flimsy will corrode the material. I suggest reading thoroughly, and not touching the paper once the document erasing process has begun.”

Contained within the documents were a set of instructions on where Dustil could meet contacts of the IMC (though not the headquarters or main facilities of the company) if he should have to make inquiries or purchases that needed to be placed off official records. Furthermore, the documentation outlined a set guideline for the allegiance and support of any and all personnel willing to fight the Empire, as well as a brief overview of what had happened to the PDS (as far as IMC records knew) so that Dustil could be brought up to date.

The document also made reference to Dannil Bo’Var, the infamous head of the InterGalactic Mining Core, and his own personal vendetta against tyranny.