Date 15: Vorlastemin Spacia Tree Plantation, Achillea

"It's not terribly much of a date," Vanya said apologetically, "but Stanimir said we should mostly have the place to ourselves, except maybe a fire prevention inspector."

"Rather a nice place for a stroll," Davish cheerfully returned. "What're those little white flowers all over the clearing?"

"Some kind of yarrow," Vanya guessed, following him toward the largest patch, up on the slight rise. "One of the local Armsmen asked me if I was allergic to yarrow, anyway, before giving me directions on where to land."

"Ah, yes, I'd heard something about--" Davish stopped abruptly, hand on the hilt of his saber.

Really, now, this is just getting stupid, they both thought.

A small, tousled man in a sap-smeared tunic and no trousers came scrambling out of the meadow's far treeline. He ran up to them, past them, gasped something frantic, and continued out of sight.

"Did he just say," Vanya asked in her best I'm-a-reasonable-woman tone, "something something 'we're all going to die'?"

Davish sighed.

Vanya drew both lightsabers, since blaster fire was entirely too likely to light a conflagration at any range, and concentrated on her breathing. Emotion, yet peace, the mantra started; combat, yet not setting the frelling continent on fire. Well, that wasn't really how it ought to go, but Vanya presumed the Force knew what she meant.

"What kind of lunatic sends a swarm of hover-droids into an incendiary alert zone?" Davish asked as his own lightsaber activated, perhaps consciously following Vanya's train of thought.

Apparently that would be the same kind of lunatic who replaced every branch-trimmer droid's fire suppression system with archaic slugthrowers. In the distance, sirens heralded the approach of planetary law enforcement, no doubt in response to the unauthorized energy spikes all over this corner of the plantation. "Maybe they'll have broad-beam ion guns," Vanya hoped as the first shots met Davish's blade, and promptly incinerated.

"Maybe we'll get arrested," he retorted.

"Nah. You have diplomatic immunity. I've got visiting permission from the owner. Try and get them to hunt down the Pantless Wonder, though, while I'm getting Stanimir on the horn...."