Chapter Twelve

After a brief stop to buy some food on his way back from the cantina, Druffies returned to his freighter to contemplate the latest goings on.

For the first time in his adult life, he had time and space to breathe; no immediate superiors to answer to, and no direct goals beyond finding out who was smuggling weapons to the Rebels. Ultimately, this would lead to Benaq, which was his ultimate goal: vengeance for the crew of Snare Trap.

Aboard the freighter Swift Profit, Druffies settled into a meditative state in the spare cabin that had been set up as for this purpose.

His gut instinct was that Pops was leading him into a trap, seeking easy money by robbery rather than the hard way, especially if the victim was a newcomer to the planet. The Hutts had very little influence in this part of the mid-rim, strangely, and Druffies began to contemplate how to turn this situation to his advantage.

A warm feeling in his mind told him that the Force concurred with his reasoning.

The simple answer was to walk right into the trap and then walk away from it unscathed. That meant that blood would be spilled, and Druffies felt strangely satisfied with this solution. So, it was decided.

Now that the immediate planning was out of the way, his mind drifted towards the events that had happened to him. In doing so, he realised that, with a strange detachment, he should have been horrified at the blood he'd spilled and seen spilled. Intellectually he was. Carba was a fine young officer, the backbone of the Imperial Star Fleet, and a shame to lose. It was unfortunate and undeniable. But another part of Druffies sneered at the sentimentality and recognised that Carba was naive and weak. You don't just walk away from something as important as the Inquisition. Carba's death had reinforced this, and remained a bloody lesson for the surviving cadets.

But what about Siju? A third voice whispered in his mind. What kind of Inquisitor would he have made? He was a murderer, a slaver, and a pirate. What's more, he took pride in being scum. Druffies had done the Inquisition a favour by erasing that mistake. The softer voice in his mind rebelled at that thought, though. Erasure of a mistake was a fine excuse, but that's still all it was.

Blood spilled for blood spilled, said the harsher voice in response to this.

Druffies felt himself drawn to the harsher voice in his mind. It was a tough galaxy outside the shining lights of the Empire. Shy away from the light and darkness might swallow you… or the monsters that lived in the dark would prey on you.

For now, Druffies was satisfied that he'd meditated enough on his decisions, and justified them; picking the best course to follow, going forward. Now he rose from his thoughts.

Glancing at a crono on the wall of his chamber, he was surprised to see that what had felt like a few minutes meditation had actually taken all night, and that the sun was rising. Druffies was also amazed to find that, despite not sleeping for over a day, he was not lacking for energy and felt lighter than he had since the day he saw Snare Trap aflame in the cold dead of space.

He still had a few hours before Pops was to call him so he logged on to the local entertainment net to pass the time.

A few hours after that, his comm began to buzz. It could only be one person.

"Brantil here," said Druffies, slipping into his assumed persona.

"Hey Bran, its yer old pal Pops. I have something that might interest you. Can you meet me at The Crash? Bring hard credit, all of it."

"I don't think I want to walk around with that much credit on me. Not without a Wookie guard of honour."

"My friends don't use credit transfer, Brantil," snapped Pops, suddenly very business like. "Computers leave trails, and I don't want the Imps to get wind of what we're up to under their own noses."

"Sure, Pops. Whatever you say, just give me a few hours to get the Credit Chips processed."

"You have one hour, Brantil. Come alone. No Wookies, not even a Chandra Fan."

That settled it for Druffies, Pops was going to rob him and leave his dead body for the carrion birds. Or, at least, he'd try.

Not on my watch, he thought, his eyes hardening.

Slipping into his cabin, he quickly donned a lightweight combat suit, skin tight and as durable as Stormtrooper armour. Over that he put on his casual nondescript clothing, food stained and travel worn. Buckling on a blaster belt, he considered his Sith sword. It would stand out, but the idea of the sword's presence soothed the nagging in his mind, so he retrieved it from the compartment above his bunk. Instantly, he knew he'd made the right choice.

As he slid the sword into its nerk-hide sheath, he felt complete; prepared for peace, but ready for war. Completing the look, Druffies then donned a well-worn travel cloak - mostly to hide the outline of the sword on his back.

Exiting the freighter, he stalked off back towards the Crash Cantina.

To be continued...