The hierarchy knew he was alive. They were searching for him. And, more importantly, if ironically, their agent had hired him as an assistant to search for himself. Despite her cynicism and often quite strange humor, there was no way Aria had orchestrated this. She needed him too much, so they must have found out about him themselves. On one hand, he was thrilled, his hands beginning to shake as adrenaline pumped through his veins. On the other, he was terrified - was if their agent recognised him immediately? Sure, he had changed in thirty years, but the scars ought to be a dead giveaway. His mandibles fluttered anxiously as he replied to the message, which had obviously already come from the person directly investigating the case. They were already on Omega, probably had been for days or weeks. How had he not noticed?
Closing his omnitool, he got up from the table in the shabby café he had been sitting at, leaving a few credits before slowly strolling off to the location he had given to the agent. He would wait at a safe distance for a few minutes, ensuring that they would not be watched otherwise. His eyes wandered over the shops, the small restaurants and bars, all run-down, dirt and grime everywhere. He hated this station, but it had become his home. And he would ensure that it would stay that way, that this agent would not ruin everything he had worked so hard for all these decades. Not even if it meant he wouldn't have to see a single Vorcha again in his entire life.
With the patience and precision of any predator, he positioned himself close to the arranged rendezvous point, opening his omnitool again to ensure they had seen his reply. His mandibles flexed into a crooked grin as he lifted his hood, gently placing it on top of his head to hide his face. Either this was going to be fun or they died.