Authors note: Hi there. This is my first fanfiction here, and I'm a little nervous about posting it here. The chapters begin with something relating the the chapter, and the name of one of the main characters involved, denoting whose point of view it is from, i.e. Chapter I begins with Nile Evant's POV, hence the word "Evant" at the beginning.

Reviews, as always, are incredibly welcome.

Subterfuge

Part I

Evant

It had been ridiculously easy.

He had given the Jedi too much credit. In reality, they weren't anything special; just a bunch of self-important religious zealots who thought they owed something to the galaxy. And they were really far too trusting. He had expected something, some sort of suspicion, maybe even to be searched as he left the temple, so he'd prepared in advance. Nothing. Nobody was any the wiser. Even with their magical "force" powers, they had not seen him as he made the switch. He chuckled mirthlessly, and stretched his muscled arms above his head in the spacious cabin. Soon, he would be meeting his contact for the second time, and then be safely away from this system, well gone before anyone noticed anything was amiss. It would be a long while before he returned, to fulfil his mission's main objective.

Nile swirled the deep claret coloured liquor around in his glass, then tipped his head back against the worn headrest, swallowing a mouthful, taking time to savour the musky scent and rich flavour of the drink. There had been a time when he had not been able to afford the tunic on his back; but nowadays, since taking on the new contract, he found he had enough credits for luxuries like this whenever he found he wanted them. He would celebrate today's accomplishments with several glasses of his favourite drink, and perhaps visit a local cantina once arrived at his destination. After all, he had the time. The ship's chronometer read seventeen, so he had maybe ten hours once he came out of hyperspace in the Corulus System. A man like Nile Evant could find plenty to do in ten hours, given that he had a hearty bank balance, and with the first credit instalment promised to arrive in his account in the next fifteen minutes, all he could do was settle down and let his ship carry him there.

He awoke with a jolt as the cockpit alarm sang out, indicating it was time to come out of hyperspace. He sat bolt upright, forgetting the half-full glass he still held limply in his left hand, managing to spill a considerable amount over the front of his jade tunic. Cursing, he dropped the tumbler to the deck where it crashed noisily and rolled under the control panel, and took hold of the lever, pulling tetchily at the over-worked mechanics and bracing for impact as the starlines discoloured to show Brentaal. Brentaal was the most populated planet of the sector, a confusing muddle of city and luscious green flatlands that hovered on the edge of the concrete wastelands expectantly, as though poised for an attack on the thriving metropolis. Nile had never enjoyed visiting this sector much, not since a particularly memorable encounter with a rebellious twi'lek dancer that had left him a little afraid to be in a room alone with a female for several seasons afterwards.

The comm. hissed static as him, and he thumbed it on, configuring it to broadcast one of his ship's various false identification codes. He straightened his shoulders, catching his own rugged reflection in the polished, rather worn surface of the cabin wall, and almost didn't recognise himself. Green-grey eyes gazed calmly back at him, his own eyes, but other than that, his appearance was completely dissimilar to any description of Nile Evant in circulation on the Holonet. The thick, greasy blonde hair was fake, as was the unkempt goatee and dimple in his chin. The small crinkles around his eyes, and the curved pink scar at the corner of his mouth were the result of recent plastic surgery in a private clinic on Aramand, which had been bought under a pseudonym and paid for with a bank account that would be proven to have been closed several years previously once the credit cheque was cashed. He looked well in his fifties, but in reality was closer to thirty.

He thought avariciously of his payment for this little escapade, and rubbed his hands together in ill concealed pleasure. His contact had always paid well in the past. Very well indeed. This job required little more than basic espionage skills and the ability to keep his mouth shut, but he was being paid more than three times what he had expected. Nile thought that perhaps the man - if it were a man, for he had never met face to face with him - was a little soft in the head, but he wasn't about to complain, or confess his pay was too high. Neither would he admit that for that amount of credits he would gladly have grafted horns to his forehead and tattooed his entire body with Andronian wild flowers, then danced semi-naked with a Hutt live on holovision. He was going to be amazingly rich soon, and that was all that mattered right now.

An uninterested female voice on the ships comm. channel broke him from his thoughts.

"Welcome to Brentaal, heart of the Corulus system. Please enjoy your stay on this, the most pleasurable of worlds. Magenta Ocean, you're cleared to land."

Nile got a feeling from the sarcastic undertones of the woman that Brentaal was the last place she wanted to be, even if it was the "most pleasurable of worlds", which he knew from experience wasn't entirely truthful. He gave a clipped reply, then gently guided the small freighter into the docking bay with the sure-handed steadiness of someone who had spent many years at the controls of a ship. The spacecraft touched ground in the arid docking bay with a whisper-soft murmur of well-oiled hydraulics. The man pulled his tunic straight with a one handed jerk before disembarking down the landing ramp with one hand raised to his forehead to shield his eyes from the glare of the suns. He checked surreptitiously that his hidden blaster was snugly tucked into the back of his waistband, felt in his pocket to make sure he had a good supply of credit chips with him, and then went off in search of entertainment.
Night fell swiftly on the planet, darkness drawing in, sucking the warmth the city to leave it bare and icy, eradicating the cloak of decency that thinly veiled the slums and alleyways, hiding them during day's activities, to leave a filthy vision of treachery for all to see.

Nile shivered a little in the cold air, wrapping his thin cloak around himself, keeping away from the little light there was, stepping back into the darkness when anyone walked too close.

The place his employer had chosen for their rendezvous on Brentaal was somewhat out of the way; well out into the countryside and far from most of the usual bars and restaurants that attracted the casual tourist. The place was seedy, and he could see, from a cursory glance around once he entered the establishment that it was in violation of at least three Republic health codes.

There was a permanent layer of dust and grime on the walls of the cantina. Many of the seats seemed rickety, and the tables weren't much better. At a bench in the corner, a young man was sprawled, clearly unconscious, face down in a pile of dried vomit, one hand still weakly gripping a glass partially full of wine, as if even in his prone state he did not want to part with it.

There was a large mirror behind the bar. It was cracked, several shards of the dirty glass coated in a smear of green liquid that could have been some sort of beverage, but was more likely to have been the blood of some unlucky former patron. There were also other signs that there had been a fight in the bar not too long ago. He wondered idly who had been involved, who had won and if anyone had been killed. Such occurrences were common in places like this.

Behind the plank that served as a bar, a churlish looking Snivvian known only as "Gren" slowly polished a greasy looking glass with a filthy rag. He looked up from the task momentarily as Nile walked in. He did not look like the sort of being you would pour your heart out to over a glass of Correllian Ale, unless you had a death wish. Gren had very little patience for anything except serving the drinks, getting the credits and closing up for the night. Nevertheless, he tilted his piggish head in acknowledgement to him, and motioned with one hand to a table in the corner.

A figure sat in the shadows, a hood drawn up over his face, obscuring most of his face so that only the bottom half was fully visible. He raised a hand, motioning for Nile to sit, and he did, lowering himself slowly onto one of the broken stools, careful not to put too much weight on it; afraid it might cave in under his weight. The man leant forward, a hint of a smile tugging at the thin lips, and the hood fell back to reveal a middle aged man with soft, brown eyes, a shock of white hair and a round, pleasant face. The tops of his ears were slightly pink, and peeling, from too much time in the sun. Nile had a nagging feeling he'd seen him somewhere before, but couldn't quite place where.

"Come here often?"

The man's voice was low and melodic, kept to barely above a whisper. He spoke with a smooth Anasonian accent. "Often enough….You made the exchange? I trust you weren't seen?"

Nile nodded, and tried to keep his excitement from showing on his face. "Your maps of the place were surprisingly detailed. I had little trouble finding the crèche. You can smell those Jedi bratlings a mile away. After that…" he shrugged, coolly. "It was easy. You're sure there isn't a surveillance system in the office?"

The man raised a glass of something frothy and crimson coloured to his mouth and took a leisurely gulp, draining the remaining liquid. It looked uncannily like blood, but it couldn't be…could it? The man gave a relaxed sigh, then picked up the glass and ran a finger around it unhurriedly. "No, there isn't. Jedi value their privacy, and they're a little old fashioned about these things. Think their "Force" will protect them from all threats." He chuckled a little at this, as if it were a foolish notion.

Evant forced a laugh, feeling it was obligatory. The man stood, suddenly, pushing his chair up, and strode to the bar, and dropped a few credits, more than enough to pay for the one drink he had bought. He motioned to Nile to follow him, and paced methodically out into the doorway, light from the bar's flickering sign pooling around his feet. Nile noticed that he walked with a slight limp, leaning more heavily to the left side, and wondered vaguely if he had been injured recently. "Come," the stranger said, gently. "It is not safe to talk here, where the bartender can overhear. Anything he hears, he sells for fewer credits than the value of a good meal."

He bowed his head a little; coming so close to Nile's face that when he exhaled the air tickled his ear. Nile wrinkled his nose in obvious disgust as the smell of raw, putrid flesh permeated his nostrils, and had to stifle a gag. The outsider did not seem to notice, or if he did, wasn't offended. "I have a safe place we can go to talk. I have new instructions for you tonight, Nile."

A little unsure, and wondering how in the seven hells the man had recognised him with his new appearance, Nile followed the man off into a side street, his hand straying to his blaster, suspecting a trap. After all, he hardly knew him, and he was unfamiliar with this area. For all he was aware, the man could have been leading him into the belly of an Akarian Ice-Worm. Pure greed kept him following.

The cobbled walls of the narrow alley were covered in a viscous green mould, and stank of damp, but the odour was still preferable to that of the bar. He pulled the collar of his tunic over his mouth, coughing, and followed the man down the darkened street without another word.

Back in Gren's bar, the "unconscious" young man leapt nimbly to his feet, removing a very recognisable silver cylindrical object from the inside pocket of his civilian garments. He kept the lightsaber gripped loosely in his left hand, and, pulling his hood up to both conceal his identity and keep back the worst of the evening's biting cold, hurried out into the night.