FRESH PRODUCE
by ardavenport
The Quernutoi woman's head swayed on her long neck, a blissful smile on her face, her wide set eyes closed.
Toomu waited while her customer enjoyed her buzz. She was a regular. All of her customers at this dimly lit booth in the G'zurtz Lounge were regulars. The late morning lounge crowd was typically light. A few cleaning droids whirred along the edges of the floors, looking for any leftover stains, ashes and trash from the night before. Though no sunlight or sky glow ever reached these cavernous lower levels, the routine all around had a definite 'day' feel to it. More awake than languid, more business than pleasure. There was a hint of polish and cleaner in the air.
Toomu had worked the nightclub scene. When she was younger, when she looked much better in a slinky black metaloid jumpsuit. But now she preferred the calm of her string of long-term, 'respectable' day clients.
The Quernutoi, Toomu only knew her only as Meik, finally let our a long sigh, then lazily picked up her drink, a Swirling Fog that had steadily exhaled small, sweet white puffs while its owner settled into her high. Meik sipped the intoxicant; her jeweled hand covering clinked on the heavy clear silicate cylinder. The sleeve of her pressed suit reflected the low table light with a deep red sheen. A richly embroidered, plush blue robe hung off of Meik's bony shoulders. Toomu would need the entire proceeds from a week of her best paying customers to afford the ensemble that Meik wore. Toomu never asked about her customers' lives, but she had heard in the lounge that Meik was 'old' money. 'Respectable' money.
"Excellent, as always, my dear," Meik said dreamily, putting down her drink. Toomu inclined her head, a beneficent smile on her thin lips, a gesture which her customer did not see. The middle aged Quernutoi's anxious, jerky twitches had become fluid and relaxed. Her thin fingers slid into a concealed sleeve opening. Glittering credit chits passed quickly between them, disappearing into a deep inner pocket of Toomu's jacket.
Meik flicked a pink, sparkly chit onto the polished table and swiftly stood. Now relieved of her tension, her cravings, Meik's body moved with a renewed energy that would last for at least three, maybe four days before her needs brought her, trembling, back to the G'zurtz Lounge.
"For the drinks," Meik said, waving her hand over the chit. She turned away and strode out. Toomu's drink was untouched.
Settling back into her seat, Toomu watched the service droid clear and wipe the table. The machine's head and torso lights blinked, making it more visible in the lounge light. A few more customers had wandered in for midday meals to be heavily supplemented with their chosen intoxicant.
Over at the bar, the manager scowled over her computer screens. The head bartender and the gleaming service droids lined up drink cylinders and colored bottles of intoxicants along the lighted wall behind the bar, an island of soft illumination in the main room of the lounge. Toomu spotted her next regular customer, a large portly Wallum in a tent-like, blue and muddy yellow striped robe.
So, Toomu was completely taken by surprise when two brown robed figures, heading for a table near hers, suddenly reversed and slid into her booth. On either side of her.
Under the hoods, she saw pale, adult Humanoid faces, one hairy about the mouth with age, the other smooth and youthful. Toomu's eyes shifted from one to the other, her face stony with displeasure about being trapped between these two strangers.
"I understand," the older one began in a smooth Core World accent, "from our mutual associate, Dyemen, that your produce is. . . . very fresh."
Toomu's expression did not lighten. Dyemen was another of her regular customers. But anyone could drop a name.
"Fresh. Yes. But not for the open market." Toomu kept her own raspy voice low, a warning for these two obvious thrill-seekers to leave.
"But it comes so highly recommended," the older Humanoid replied agreeable, taking no notice of her hostility. Under his pale, flat-clawed hand, Toomu saw a very large denomination credit chit glittering pale green. The smallest finger nudged the chit toward her, but Toomu did not move anything other than her eyes toward it.
The Humanoids both froze. Though their heads and bodies were covered in coarse brown fabric and their circle-within-a-circle eyes remained toward her, Toomu could see their awareness of the person strolling behind them with one meaty hand on a poorly concealed blaster. Toomu hissed and Poffal's leashed killer backed away, a smirk on her cruel face.
Toomu paid for Poffal's protection regularly. Poffal paid all the bribes and kept the law away from Toomu's 'business'. And refrained from cutting off Toomu hands and ripping off her crest. Most times she never had to deal with Poffal or his henchmen. But this morning the local boss seemed to have a special interest in Toomu's regulars. She had asked which one, but the evil smile on Poffal's wide reddish face extinguished her unanswered curiosity instantly.
The service droid rolled forward, blinking yellow on its body and head, and asked for their order. The older, hairy-faced Humanoid asked for three Nova-whiskeys. When the droid left he turned back to Toomu. The older Humanoid's smile increased fractionally.
"Your produce comes highly recommended," he continued as if they had not been interrupted.
Another pale green credit chit appeared next to the first one. Deep blue surrounded the black centers of the eyes of the older stranger, intense and motionless. But on her other side, the younger Human's eyes were pale, eager. He leaned forward like a pet expecting a treat. Toomu's hand slid toward the credit chits.
Suddenly she flicked two fingers upward, unsheathing the claws, the wicked points held over the skin of the older Humanoid's exposed hand. He did not flinch. His eyes did not leave hers. His face remained calm.
"My produce is reserved for my most reliable clients. I do not have enough for quick fixes. And it is not for the un-aclimated. It is, in fact, fatal." Her claw tips blushed his fragile skin, so easy to puncture.
His eyelids lowered toward where she almost touched him.
"But I'm sure you have enough for. . . .just a taste." He looked again, his smile inviting.
Of course, that was how it started. Quick hits in the nightclubs. Fast, dangerous and toxic highs. And if your body could take it, if you were not driven to ruin with the habit, it became medicine that would still bring pleasure and keep away the burning agony of its absence. But Toomu did not see this older one bouncing and shrieking with the loud music of the young late into the night. Her eyes returned to the younger one, who still waited for his treat.
"I only have enough for one," she said cooly.
"I'm sure you can spare enough for two." He held up another credit chit with his free hand. Then he carefully lowered it to the table. It snicked on the dark, polished surface, next to the other two.
Toomu let her claws slide back into their sheaths. She withdrew her hand. The three credit chits disappeared into her inside jacket pocket.
Toomu kneaded the end knuckle under the claw of her middle finger, over the venom sack under her tough skin. Face still shadowed under his dark brown hood, the older Humanoid leaned toward her, his mouth open, his wide, flat mouth appendage extended just past his lips. She raised her hand, one claw out. With her other hand, she squeezed a precise squirt onto the fleshy appendage, dark pink in the gloom of the lounge. He slowly leaned back again, his eyes closing, his smile content.
She turned to the younger one. He already had his mouth appendage out, long and extended, toward her. She gave him less. He was smaller than the older one anyway.
Toomu had hoped that they would leave immediately, before the effects set in, but they remained, their pleasured expressions shadowed under their hoods. The droid brought their drinks, red, luminous liquid in tiny, clear heavy receptacles. Nobody touched them.
The younger one began to moan softly in pleasure. The older one opened his eyes and slowly turned toward her with a satisfied smile. The blue was gone from his eyes. They were now only large black circles. Toomu frowned back and then at his companion who had begun to tremble. Her regular customers were more discreet.
The older one silently nodded toward her and then rose with more stability than she would have expected. She supposed he was not such a novice at this after all.
He came around to the other side of the table and eased his companion out of the booth. When the stood together the smaller lighter brown robe leaned heavily on the dark brown one. They turned together without looking back and left her. But only got as far as another booth, partially concealed by a room divider and decorative flowering fungus. Toomu could see the tops of their covered heads moving together. As long as they didn't make much noise, or a mess, and if they ordered drinks, the manager would leave them alone, at least until the evening when the lounge started to fill up. And if they did make a mess, she would just charge them extra and have the droids clean it up.
Her rotund customer, Wallum, waddled up to her table as soon as the two strangers were gone. He looked sweaty and flushed, his thick kinky green hair dull and matted. Toomu had expected him yesterday, so he was eager. Without a word, he downed one of the drinks on the table before even sitting down. He shook his head as if with a chill. His whole body quivered as he sat down and downed the other two drinks.
"I'm sorry I was delayed," the Wallum said quickly. "Obligations. So many obligations. Important people." He was breathing hard through the air slits on his fleshy face.
Toomu's hand slid inside his wide sleeve, her fingers curved around the meaty arm. Her claws slid out and injected him with what he most desired. A generous dose, since he was so large. And he paid well for it. He shuddered with relief. She patted his arm with her other hand. He patted her hand in return, muttering, "Thank-you," over and over.
It took a second dose to get him calm enough to pull himself together. He was younger and his habit had not 'stabilized' like her older customers. He seemed to be increasingly sensitive to missing his appointments with her and Toomu hoped that he would find his equilibrium and not escalate into the rapid and degrading decline of so many of the addicted, when Toomu's produce no longer satisfied his need. He was a good customer.
After the Wallum's strength had returned and he heaved himself up and left, Toomu signaled to the service droid to order lunch. She always ordered the same thing, hoi broth and crackle wafers and water. The G'zurtz Lounge was not known for its cuisine and this was a tolerable, simple meal that even their cook droid could manage well. And the crushed, dried flachgah leaves that Toomu took with all of her meals softened well in the hoi broth.
Toomu hardly tasted the bitter leaves as she sipped the warm savory broth. They were her daily 'medicine', but unlike her customers, they no longer gave her any buzz of pleasure. They were simply necessary. Years ago, it had been so easy to be the young, vibrant center of attention in the nightclubs when she could bestow ecstasy on those she favored with a quick prick of the claw, or withhold it until they begged. But years of use of the leaves that her body converted into her coveted and addictive venom had permanently changed her own body chemistry, making her weak and slow and much older than her years. Now, this was the only thing she could do.
Soon after she finished her meal, she spotted another regular customer. He was an elderly humanoid with thinning white hair over a pale grayish scalp. Though regal and tall in his formal black robes, he had become increasingly frail over the years. She though it would be a shame to lose him as a client. He was addressed as 'Judge'; she had even seen his face on news holos. But Toomu never inquired about her customers and current events outside her lounge bored her.
He was halfway to her table when his way was blocked by a tall brown robe, the older of the two earlier strangers. Toomu had already forgotten about them.
Apparently he was not a stranger to the Judge. His grayish coloring left his cheeks and his dark eyes widened.
"Jinn!" he breathed, his mouth open and round, a Humanoid expression of surprise, his eyes wide with a fear that rarely happened here. People who came to Toomu in this lounge did not like to be recognized.
'Jinn' jovially greeted the judge. Brown-draped arms spread wide, he seized the cringing Judge in a body-to-body hug. Then Jinn's arms changed their grip to the Judge's upper body and the hooded head lowered. Only the fringes of the Judge's thinning hair remained visible and his hands stopped flailing and came to rest on the broad shoulders. The blunt fingers curled and dug in.
The smaller, lighter brown robe came around the clasping couple and as soon as the Judge was released the younger Humanoid grabbed the no longer resisting Judge, who immediately transferred his grip, his hands disappearing in the folds of the shorter robe.
When the Judge's head finally emerged from the hood of the second robe, Toomu's eyes widened in shock when she recognized the happy, peaceful expression on the elder Humanoid's face.
'How could they have done it?' Toomu wondered. It had been hours since she had given those two their hits. The venom should have almost immediately been absorbed into their bodies. There would not be enough left in their mouths to transfer to another. Yet obviously there had been.
No, Toomu told herself. A mouth dose would be nowhere near enough to satisfy an old and regular customer like the Judge. He would need an injection. But how?
She caught the glint of metal on the end of a finger of the smaller Humanoid. An injector? What had they been doing in the dark all this time?
The light from the bar was suddenly blocked by burly bodies carrying drawn blasters.
Toomu dove under her table. Apparently the Judge was Poffal's customer of interest.
Looking up from under her shelter, Toomu saw the brown hoods thrown back, revealing two very ordinary Humans, pale skin and darker brown hair like their robes. The Judge was between them, the innocence of bliss still on his face. The manager started yelling from the bar.
It might have only been a trick of the poor lighting, but the glint of their eyes no longer looked completely black.
Toomu ducked her head, covering herself with her hands at the first slam of blaster fire. Energy weapons hummed menacingly and Toomu curled tighter around herself at the sound of ricochets throughout the lounge. People screamed and honked. The manager shrieked.
Things crashed to the ground. Tables, Chairs, bodies. The blasting and low humming and screams went on far longer than an ordinary criminal execution should have. Ozone, singed plastic and flesh overwhelmed the businesslike cleanliness of the morning.
Something thumped very close in front of her and Toomu risked a peek. Poffal's severed hand, the wrist end charred black, lay before her, the gilded thumb claw pointing straight upward. She could scent the burned flesh, but only faintly; the black blood around it was stronger. The burnt and cleanly sliced wrist end curiously was not smoking at all. Toomu had never seen that in such a devastating blaster wound and she stared in wonder that Poffal had suffered the fate that she so much feared.
She flinched from a descending flash of green too bright to look at.
A hand and hard, blunt fingers clamped onto the back of her jacket, yanked and lifted her upward. She struggled wildly, bumping and bruising herself on the table. Frightened and exposed in the open air, Toomu slashed out, heedless of the venom she would waste. A searing hot pain touched the pad of one palm. She looked up and froze.
Jinn, the older Human, stared down at her, the intensity and threat in his blue eyes focused her fear onto him. Along with the short hair about his mouth and along his chin, long strands of it hung down from his head. She pulled in her claws. Her left hand was in agony, touched by the green energy blade he held close to her. But she had all her fingers and claws.
'Not my hands, not my hands,' she feverishly thought, desperately hoping that he would appreciate her surrender. Submission always worked when Poffal threatened her if her payments to him were not what he wanted.
The Human seemed to understand her expression. He swung the weapon away from her though his grip on her jacket remained. She stumbled with him, over wrecked tables and chairs, over droid and body parts. They joined the younger Human who dragged with him a more cooperative and less aware Judge. The blaster fire was gone.
Their group headed toward the exit. Toomu did not expect to ever return. She fleetingly thought of her regular customers as they passed through the portal into the artificially lit lower levels. They would have to find their own produce now. But they were resourceful; they were motivated. They would find something. It just wouldn't be as fresh as hers.
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(This story was first posted on tf.n 18-Oct-2007)
Disclaimer: All characters and situations belong to George and Lucasfilm; I'm just playing in their sandbox.