The infinite and torrential downpour of Kamino was a natural phenomenon few willingly tolerated for extended periods of time. It required an ability to accept being completely drenched from head to toe, surviving cool temperatures, and managing not to jump out of one’s skin every time lightning seemingly cracked open the stormy horizon. But most importantly, the driving factor behind anyone who wasn't Kaminoan willfully waiting on a deserted landing platform in the pouring rain had to do with circumstance.
The circumstances surrounding the pantoran bounty hunter’s presence on the Galactic cloning capital was all held in a datapad he had in his left hand. Under the pitiful cover of a sealed doorway, Laren used his free right hand in a futile attempt to shield the screen from moisture. The rain, of course, pressed on with its insistent torrent, while Laren defiantly combed the cryptic contents held within the orange-tinted datapad, which included the coordinates for Kamino and the landing pad, a dossier on himself written from the perspective of an analyst, and a message supposedly addressed to him personally:
You wield little, yet carry your world into battle. You hold nothing in regard except for the game of life. Your hunt has now brought you into our eyes, and we see only that which we choose to let live.
If nothing else, the bounty hunter found the message slightly offensive, and most definitely arrogant. But he would take no chances with an individual or group that knew nearly his entire life story, from birth to current service. Those folks were dangerous to quarrel with, and Laren only approved of danger when it meant his blaster could save him. As he stowed the datapad deep into the chest pocket of his dark gray, finely tailored cloak, he shivered at thought of what folks like that could do.
A spotlight suddenly burst through the storm clouds above. It was attached to the underbelly of a standard Lambda-class shuttle, which was readying to land on the platform in front of Laren. He reluctantly forced himself off the wall of the doorway and back into the open, walking down the rectangular path to the wide, circular landing platform. The hood on his head and his thick cloak did little to shield the rain from his body. His clothing, from his matching gray breeches, black, knee high utility boots and black shirt were all equally moist. It was lucky for him his DC-17 was durable in most climates, for a less hearty weapon would surely have malfunctioned in such extreme weather.
The ship landed gracefully onto the platform, it's stern positioned perfectly in front of Laren and facing the locked doorway behind him. The ramp lowered, exposing a bright backdrop - but no one was there. And yet, the ramp finished it's quick descent, and the entrance remained open and exposed. The bounty hunter took a few steps backward, his left hand reaching for, but not drawing his hand blaster.
Something isn't right, he thought as he began to scan his surroundings. Just because he didn't see anything, it didn't mean nothing was there. His eyes scanned the landing platform for anything out of the ordinary, including on the shuttle. Yet even when his sight seemingly failed him, he shivered. And this time, it wasn't from the cold and unrelenting rain.
The shuttle raised the ramp and quickly went through its departure cycle. It was expertly piloted just off the surface of the circular platform, before accelerating rapidly and angling it's ascent upward. Within moments, it broke through the stormy sky and beyond the view of mere mortal or biological eyes, and beyond the reach of Laren’s small blaster.
The Pantoran stood there for another minute, his hand resting patiently on his blaster, and his eyes scanning the arcs of his vision thoroughly from right-to-left and back again. Nothing broke the austere reverie of the infinite storm, and every tile of distant platforms and lightning rods were as they should be. And yet, somehow, even as his own eyes believed he was alone, Laren suspected that he was not. Unlike his Sith compatriots he couldn't feel a presence, but his time in battle and extensive training made him cautious at best. But when a shuttle landed to drop off something a man couldn't see, one did have a right to be a little paranoid.
As Laren turned to scan the roof, he caught sight of -- something. Perhaps he was seeing things considering he had been alone for hours before the foreign shuttle had landed, though he doubted it. The outline of what could be a figure was less than two metres away from Laren. Only the wind and the rain warping around the nearby space was enough for Laren to discern something. A moment later Laren drew his blaster, and he knew his chance at life had been extended for the moment.
The figure took on a more opaque form as he attempted to strike at the bounty hunter with a wrist blade. Laren didn't have time to fire his weapon, but he expertly dodged the probing strike, executing a smooth somersault that distanced himself from his adversary.
The figure, a man, took his first few steps in the open. He sheathed his wrist blade and took a stance, robes wildly whipping in the powerful gale. Laren noticed more now that his attempted killer was exposed. His dark robes, expertly lined in a dark blue tone, were well fitted and could easily be worn as formal attire, or in the thick of battle. A wide hood covered the majority of the man’s face, though Laren took note of the man’s radiant blue-green eyes, imbued with a strong sense of purpose and power. A mask covered the man’s mouth and lower jaw, which unnerved the pantoran slightly. People only wore masks to hide something. Under his wide robes anything could be hidden, which caused Laren to take a few steps back. What else was literally up this man’s coat besides a recently sharpened wrist blade?
The man stood where he had first appeared to the bounty hunter, his hands placed behind his back in a soft, but sure grip. The pose struck Laren as a man who had studied the art of war, and man who had felt war. His eyes matched Laren's own probing gaze, as each opponent sized each other up. But why hadn't the man struck again, or hidden himself as he had before?
This is pointless, Laren thought, drawing his blaster and firing as he ran at the man. the plasma bolts found their intended mark, but the man managed to dive out of the way just in time.
“Lucky,” Laren quipped. “But will it last?”
