The man was one of Azure’s favored mercenaries, though he had twice turned down membership in the Blue Star Syndicate. If he succeeded at the mission he was currently set upon, Azure would offer again. If he declined again, more permanent measures would have to be taken. Azure appreciated the man’s skill, but could also not allow that skill to be used against the Syndicate. After five minutes of back and forth with the secretary, she reached down under her desk and hit a button that didn’t appear to be connected to her phone. “Sir, there is a Mr. Able here to see you,” she said through the intercom. “His pass-phrases are valid.” “Thank you Meryl,” Azure replied. “Please send him back.” Azure leaned back in his unprepossessing chair and glanced at the door to his office. It was an unassuming office – officially that of a small, utterly average, trading house – tucked away in a secondary orbital station above a moderately advanced MidWorld. Nothing about it stood out, but the Protectorate’s law enforcement would collectively trade their right hand for its location.
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