STAR WARS
Shadows of the Republic
By
C. L. Werner
Sometimes, you just wake up knowing that it is going to be one of those days. When the odor of rotten fish and sickly sweet plant sap filled my nostrils, I knew that getting up was definitely not going to be a worthwhile activity. But I also knew that the patience of my guests would not be particularly long and it would be better to get out of bed on my own than to let them have any say in the matter. So I swatted the buzzing chronometer from its perch on the side table and groggily stared at the two beings standing beside my door.
"Hope you had a goood restes, Castigar." The speaker was a well-dressed Quarren, a strange mollusk-type sentient from Mon Calamar known to spacers as 'squid-heads'. The Quarren came from a world that was virtually entirely ocean and those that decide to travel off world usually had the sense to leave a desolate desert wasteland like Stenos V alone. In fact, there was only one Quarren I could think of that called Stenos V home, and even though I have never been able to tell two Quarren apart, I was certain that my guest was Verikk Zakil, accountant, bookkeeper and all-around hatchet-man for Lorgas Logan.
"The sleep was fine, although waking up with uninvited guests in my room is a little unnerving." I put more sand in my voice than I felt. Verikk was about as intimidating as a Ranat in a shockball game but his companion had me praying that I did not owe any of Logan's bookies. Standing almost two meters on the average, the Kokilika are a race of vaguely humanoid plants, some sort of sentient vine. Big, stupid, and strong, the Kokilika made perfect muscle for any number of less than legitimate enterprises, capable of beating down even a Stenaxe or Wokiee since Stenaxes and Wokiees actually feel pain. An intelligent vine, the Kokilika did not respond much to physical damage, a definite plus when crushing a guy's ribs with your primary tendrils. The Kokilika with Verikk just stood there, its dull black eyes considering me with a dullard's gaze.
"Sorrry we had tooo let oourselves in, Castigar, but it is far tooo hot ooutside for me tooo wait in the hall." Verikk never let a chance pass to complain about the weather and lack of humidity on Stenos V, it was one of many traits that made him such an endearing fellow. Another was having his pet Kokilika pull people's limbs out of their sockets. Bacta isn't too effective treating those sorts of injuries.
"Well, you didn't break in here just to remind me how bad the security in this building is, Verikk. And I would bet my last credit that the only person who could make you go outside on a beautiful morning like this is your boss Logan." My hand snaked around a sifter resting just behind where the chronometer had been resting on the side table and I drained the last few swallows of Corellian ale from the vessel before Verikk stopped making small talk and got to the point.
"Logan wants to see you, Castigar. Verry sooon", the Quarren put a little more fang in his smile than was necessary. "We will wait foor you ooutsides."
As Verikk and the Kokilika stepped into the hall, I slid my legs over the side of my bed and made my way to the refresher. I stared at the disheveled, unshaven face in the mirror and shook my head. I was a mess, my blue eyes nearly red from all the Elomin grog Golgiv had cajoled me into drinking the night before. My blond hair was a spiky mop; my hard, angular jaw looking like it was suffering from a growth of dark fungus mold. I splashed some water on my face and instantly knew it was a mistake when my eyes started to burn, a side effect of the grog. I removed a small vibro-comb and tried to convince my moustache that it wanted to look respectable. The comb found a nice tangle in my moustache, which it removed with a not insignificant amount of pain. If I was so tender today that a little thing like a vibro-comb could hurt me, then Lorgas Logan was the last person on Stenos V that I wanted to see.
"Emil Castigar," I said to the face in the mirror. "Today is looking like Bantha podo."
Chapter 1: Brunch with Gangsters
After making sure that my hold-out blaster was safely tucked away inside my left boot and that my slouch hat was secure enough on top of my head that it would not be whisked down the street by the backdraft of a low-flying Stenaxe, I joined Verikk and his botanical friend in the hall. The building that I kept my room in was one of the oldest in Argmand Spaceport, a converted Stormtrooper barracks, in fact. Not exactly high class, a quiet night being defined by only eight or nine visits by the local prefecture. I make enough in the detective business to pay for two things: a shoddy room in the Kizerb building and a plush office in the financial district. Since I need the office to impress my clients, and since if my clients are not impressed I don't get hired, I have to sacrifice the comfort of a luxury residence. Still, the anxious look on Verikk's face when I joined him almost made me proud to live in a veritable de-militarized zone.
We made our way down the grimy hall, passing a pair of Argmand Spaceport police and a badly damaged scrubber-droid one of my neighbors had decided to use for blaster practice before we reached the turbo-lift. The lift was a spacious military model and embracing all the demands of Imperial construction, such as durability, dependability and efficiency. Even the Ranats had been unable to vandalize the thing too badly. The lift soon had us in the Kizerb building's lobby. I nodded at the withered looking Givin who served as caretaker of the Kizerb property as he puttered around behind a huge counter, probably looking for the comlink I had watched a Jawa lift off him the night before. The Givin looked over at me for a second and then went back to what he was doing. Suddenly I felt quite pleased with myself for not reporting the Jawa's crime.
Verikk led me out into the street. I paused at the curb, letting my stomach adjust to the distinct odor of Argmand Spaceport. The air inside the Kizerb building, inside most buildings in fact, is so sterilized and recycled by the time you breathe it that all of the stink is sucked out of it. But step outside and the real atmosphere of Stenos V smacks into you like a Tantaz beast on the warpath. Principally, my main complaint was the overwhelming stench of Stenaxe, a loathsome reptilian musk that was so strong you could not believe that it was not visible to the naked eye. Argmand Spaceport offered many jobs as loaders, laborers, and, for the more violent, simple thuggery. As a result, the city had an unprecedented number of Stenaxes flying about its roofs and living in dolmen-like aviaries scattered across the suburbs. I looked skyward and saw a number of the scaly, gargoyle-like humanoids gliding across the reddish brown sky. Stenaxes have tempers that make Wokiees look level-headed, and they are even better at making your body do things it was never supposed to than a Kokilika, so I always found it very convenient that they have those long leathery wings keeping you out of their way.
A large landspeeder was parked at the curb, a nervous looking human in the driver's seat. "Twitch" was a petty thief from some backwater world on the Rim. He did a term on Kessel before the Rebels liberated the prison. Somehow, "Twitch" found his way to Stenos V and the employ of Lorgas Logan. I always pegged Twitch as the sort that had a deep-down desire to be miserable, otherwise why would he trade one desolate dust-ball world with bad air for another dust-ball world with bad air and natives that could turn you into abstract art inside ten seconds. Twitch's term as a miner on Kessel had made him so paranoid that the only job Logan felt he could still trust him with was driving his speeders. Given Twitch's track record, I gave his present position another month.
"Hey, Twitch", I said as I stepped toward the speeder. "Been mugged by any protocol droids lately?"
"Don't call me Twitch!" Twitch snarled with what would have been a somewhat frightening voice if it weren't for the fact that sopping wet he wouldn't outweigh a starving mynock. "My name is Zymran, snoop. If you ever call me Twitch again, I'll…"
"Caalm you doown, Twetch" Verikk laughed as he opened the rear door of the speeder and gestured for me to get in. "Ve taken Mr. Castigar tooo see Mr. Loogan." The Quarren slid into the speeder's back seat with me while the vine took a place next to Twitch.
"Yer lucky, Mr. Logan wants to see you, snoop" Twitch snarled as we left the curb.
"Yeah, well, if I ever loose my arms and legs I'll be sure to look you up, Twitch" I smiled at the back of the little man's head. "I never could resist a fair fight."
It was a fifteen-minute drive from the Kizerb building to the warehouse Lorgas Logan was using to handle the day's affairs. Normally, we would head to Logan's villa on the outskirts of town, but there was some sort of fiasco involving a shipment of spice and a pair of customs officers. From what Verikk was telling me, the shipment arrived late so the officers that they had bribed were already off-duty. Not that the next shift had reported the spice, they just wanted the same pay-off as the other two got. Of course, the other officers were not about to give Logan his money back. Even in the underworld, you can't escape bureaucracy.
Argmand Spaceport, as we drove to my meeting with the city's biggest criminal, I looked out the window and sighed. Had I really decided to make this my home? The buildings were all alike, duracrete with a sim-stone flocking over their exteriors, every building the same dull-tan, none of them higher than three stories lest they interfere with the Stenaxes' flight paths. Here and there the towering Stenaxe aviaries stabbed at the sky, breaking the squat cityscape. Only the old Imperial command complex broke the mold. Star-destroyer white and towering ten stories, it dominated the financial district and housed the government and spaceport authorities. There was a good deal of city below ground too, virtually every post-Imperial building had sub-levels that burrowed their way beneath the city. In some areas there were even tunnels connecting the sub-levels, creating entire underground neighborhoods in the more extreme instances.
The speeder arrived at Logan's warehouse and Verikk held the door open for me as I let myself out on the other side of the vehicle. The Quarren was obviously annoyed by my rude display, so I was confused when he let Twitch drive away before letting his Kokilika out. It became clearer to me when a scaly claw gripped my shoulder like a Bith sucking on a kloo horn. I was spun around and found myself staring at a massive Stenaxe wearing a blaster holster and a none-too-pleasant smile. It took only a moment to recall my playmate from several weeks earlier. Lorgas Logan had taken a professional interest in one of my cases and had sent smiley to keep an eye on me. I don't like tails, so I stunned Smiley when I found that I couldn't loose him. Unfortunately, Smiley had been airborne at the time and he hadn't landed very softly.
"Glad to see you're back on your feet" I remarked in a much calmer voice than the occasion called for. I even placed a sort of a smile of my own together, only to have it wiped off my face when Smiley stretched an obviously broken wing.
"Uh, did I say feet?" Smiley practically threw me through the doorway of the warehouse. I could hear him hitting the exterior wall with his fists as I picked myself up from the floor. There were voices coming from deeper inside the nearly empty warehouse and I headed toward the sound even as Verikk joined me.
"Mr. Loogan is just finishing with the coops" Verikk explained. As we rounded a pile of boxes, the Quarren's statement became brutally clear.
Lorgas Logan was sitting, a pair of Stenaxe bodyguards standing at either side of the man. A gold and black protocol droid stood to one side while half a dozen armed hoods of various species formed a semi-circle around a quartet of figures wearing the uniform of customs officers. A huge Stenaxe had the arm of one of the officers, a Bothan, in its claws. I don't know much about Bothan biology, but I am pretty sure they don't have four joints in their arms.
"Next time, work overtime when you take my money" Logan was saying in between eating a large brown vegetable. "This time, you will pay the men who did the job you were supposed to do." Logan nodded at the slightly less nervous pair of customs officers. "If I hear that they didn't get paid, I will see to it that you breath, eat, and sleep bacta for the rest of your lives." Logan had a nasty habit of remaining calm even when he was describing how miserable you were going to be if you crossed him. Many people gained a new appreciation for the explosive tantrums of a Hutt after dealing with Lorgas Logan. Apparently this was the end of the discussion, because Logan's bullyboys led the customs officers away after the gangster had made his announcement. I looked at the Bothan holding his ravaged arm at an upsetting angle and shuddered. Hopefully the Bothan had filled Logan's torture requirement for the morning.
"Ah, if it isn't my good friend Emil Castigar.' When people like Lorgas Logan call you their good friend you can be sure of one thing, it isn't good. The gangster had finished with the vegetable he was eating and threw the rind over his shoulder. It clattered across the floor, barely coming to a stop before a decapede scuttled out from behind a box and started eating the rind.
"Lorgas Logan, Argmand Spaceport's number one citizen." I have a smart mouth. One of these days I will learn to keep it shut. Fortunately Logan was in a good mood.
Lorgas Logan was a brutish man, short and heavy, but powerfully built. He had fought for everything he ever got from life and his face bore some of those work-related scars. A badly healed nose that had been broken one time too many dominated his face; a blaster burn creased his low forehead. His short black hair was immaculate however. Logan might keep his mangled face as a badge of pride, but he insisted his hair be perfect. There wasn't an organic barber anywhere on Stenos V that would dare to attend to Logan's weekly grooming and several hygenics droids had found their way into local scrap heaps over the years. There was a story that Logan had once been forced to evacuate a hideout with very short notice. Before he even put pants on, he had stepped into the refresher and checked his hair.
That said, Logan was still a man to fear. Sure, maybe he was more presentable in his expensive suits, but it was window dressing, painting a veneer of civilization over the raw savage. When it came down to it, Logan was just a Void pirate with good hair and classy clothes.
"Listen, Castigar" Logan said, thankfully ignoring my smart mouth. "We haven't always been on the best of terms, I know that. Sithspawn, the businesses we are in, we are bound to lock horns once in awhile." Logan allowed himself a none too friendly chuckle. "Still, I can see when somebody knows their job, and is good at it. Ya see, there are circumstances right now where I can see that the services of a good snoop could save me a lot of trouble and aggravation."
"Yeah, well, this ain't my office and these aren't my normal business hours. You want to hire me, you look me up downtown." I turned on my heel and started to walk away. I got about two paces before one of Logan's Stenaxes placed a fist in my gut. Like I said, I have a smart mouth.
"I was tryin' to make nice with you Castigar." Logan had clearly used up his daily supply of civility. "Now, we will try this again." Verikk and one of the Stenaxes lifted me off the floor and spun me back around so that I was again facing their boss.
"It is like this, you find people, that is what you do for a living." Logan nodded his head at me in a sort of mock salute. "And you do it pretty good. So, what I want from you is for you to find some people for me."
"Why don't you just post a bounty on their heads and let the bounty hunters handle it?" I wasn't sure, but I think there was a Stenaxe claw broken off in the skin of my abdomen. Those bimbos can really sock it to you.
"Because I don't want half the galaxy to know I've been ripped off!" Logan's voice thundered across the warehouse, scarring off the decapede. Interesting, the only time Logan ever lost his cool was when he was afraid of something. The only question was who could be scary enough to make Lorgas Logan afraid?
"It is like this", Logan continued, forcing his voice to become calm again, "some of my boys have decided to take it on the lam. I gave them a score to pull off , but instead of coming back here and giving me the loot, they took off, Skywalker knows where."
"Very interesting", I said in between trying to get air back into my lungs. "Any chance you could be a little more precise, like giving me some names?"
"It vas Rance's crew", Verikk answered. "Rance Kegan, Virtu L'fanh, Odrill, and Nix eRithe."
I whistled when Verikk finished reciting the names. "Kegan, L'fahn, Odrill and Nix. That is quite a crowd Logan. Must have been some vault. What was the score?"
Logan shot me a withering glance. "Nevermind what the score was. You don't need to know. Just tell me where I can find these double-crossers." There was something about the way Logan emphasized the word 'double-cross' that struck me as odd. I decided to press further.
"It would be a lot easier if I knew what they were supposed to hit Logan. I get 95 credits a day plus expenses. I should think that you would want to save yourself some money."
"What they were supposed to hit is my business, Castigar." I could tell Logan was real touchy on this subject.
"I see, tried to hit the Chief of State's lingerie cabinet." It was a poor joke, something of an anecdote from cat burglars on Coruscant. Logan decided that he was well and truly through playing nice.
"Deimos! N'astrih!" the gangster snapped. The Stenaxes at either side of him stepped forward and grabbed my shoulders. "Show Mr. Castigar out. Keep me informed of your progress in this matter, Castigar. It will be healthier for you if you do."