"Took you long enough!" said a muffled, feminine voice.
Somewhere, Risk realized, buried in an all-encompassing embrace, must have been Bina. A woman, who Risk assumed must be Bina, climbed out from the hug, wearing a slightly startled expression and a worn-out smile tinged with irritation.
The girl was a head shorter than Jormund so that he towered over her, even at his quite average height. A crescent of dark metal curved around her right eye, an obvious cybernetic implant that she made no effort to disguise.
Jormund wiped at his cheeks and pulled the girl in for another hug. Risk could see the helpless look on Bina's face this time; she endured the affection and remembered to return it after a delay. The poor girl looked exhausted; Risk wondered if she'd been tortured.
"We're gonna go home, Bina, it's okay. Did they hurt you?" Jormund studied her carefully and wiped a gritty smudge from her cheek.
"I escaped six minutes and seventeen seconds ago," she informed her brother, with a hint of pride. She dodged the question so expertly that she might as well have answered it.
"Wait, if you escaped your cell… why did you stay here?"
"I needed a terminal in order to download a floor plan and figure out which way you'd come for me. I really wanted to splice into their security cameras. But they're too dumb to have cams anyway."
Jormund clapped his arms around her once more, though the gesture seemed to be almost entirely for his own benefit. "You're barvy, you know that? Completely barvy. My barvy sister."
Risk watched most of their exchange out of the corner of her eye—she was too concerned with the potential for patrols. The reunion was touching and all, but now that they had Bina, Risk wanted out of the base. She cast another glance at the siblings, and shifted her weight from foot to foot. An odd bout of self-consciousness rendered her unable to decide what to do with her hands. "I'm glad she's all right, but can we get out of here? We're in the middle of enemy territory and all that." Risk waved the other two along. "You're the ones with maps."
The Kyes perked up in unison and immediately suggested two completely different routes. Bina thought they should head onward down the corridor and out past the low-security zones. Jormund wanted to double back and take the reliable path they'd just used to break in. He also took a moment to return Reward to its rightful owner, with one new dent in the handle.
"Forward it is," Risk declared, not wanting to revisit the carnage left behind by Jormund's grenade. She'd already led the group down a handful of turns when the cell-block tenants came to mind.
"What about the others? Black Sun doesn't have any right to hold those people prisoner."
"What? Why? We have Bina, let's just get back to the Skimmer. Don't borrow trouble."
"But those people!"
"If you want to fix every broken law and trampled right, then we better hurry up and destroy the whole moon. C'mon, Risk."
They were only able to cover a hundred meters' ground in tense silence, Risk's mind busily reconsidering her choice in careers, when they reached the guard station. The trio ducked back around the corner, but it was too late. A wall of blaster-fire locked them down as the facility's lighting dimmed. Red alarm lights took over, giving Risk's green complexion a new, dark grey tone.
"I thought you said these halls were low-security!" Jormund yelled at his sister over the din.
"It's not my fault that they're lazy and didn't update the maps! This guard station's new!"
The bounty hunters fired a few shots back around the corner to keep the Black Suns from advancing on their painfully-weak position.
"Bina, find us another route. We can't hold them back for long."
The slicer's eyes glazed over as she reviewed the files stored in her implants. Bina's fingers twitched in midair, manipulating a heads-up-display seen only in her mind's eye. Jormund tossed his last grenade into the fray. The Black Suns' armor clattered against the floor as they rolled out of range.
Bina returned to the present moment, shaken by the enormous sound of the explosion. "There's a maintenance shaft back this way—" She started to run down the hall only to be caught by her collar. Her brother hauled her back to Risk's side. He gave Risk a quick, imploring look before turning back to send a few more blaster bolts at the Black Suns.
"If we run," Risk explained to Bina, "they're going to follow us." "Can't you close some fire doors or something?"
Bina chewed her lip thoughtfully. "I could let the prisoners go."
Risk's eyes widened. It was, perhaps, a little cruel to the prisoners, but using the Black Sun's Short Term Assets against them would give the trio exactly the cover they needed. She nodded. "Do it."
"Do it quickly! They're getting bold over there!" Jormund reached for another grenade, only to find disappointment.
Bina ran over to a terminal and executed the unscheduled release. In the distance, Risk heard a Wookiee battle cry that made her blood run cold—and she wasn't even the intended target. Moments later, a stampede of nightmares tore past them and trampled most of the guard station. Heavier mercenaries were still standing, wrestling with Yinchorri.
Risk and the Kye siblings ducked into the maintenance shaft, a tight space that gave them just enough room to shuffle sideways between the walls of the base.
"You're confident you know where this leads?" Risk asked. After the unexpected guard station, she had lost her faith in Black Sun recordkeeping.
"They might put in new security measures, but nobody bothers to rip out the structure of these towers. We'll be at the entrance in… well, going by our current rate," Bina's implants pinged satellite systems and ran a full set of rote, unnecessary calculations; each value a product of her obsessive love of data."We should get there in six minutes, thirty-six seconds. Ooh! thirty-four; we sped up!"
Risk smiled in spite of herself. She couldn't help but enjoy Bina's fascination with data.
Two minutes overdue, they found a junction that led back into the tower's broader, public spaces.
They'd come out near an unmanned loading dock. A great, corrugated metal door rolled up out of their way at Bina's electronic bidding. Risk jogged a couple of meters ahead of the others. She cast her senses out onto the wide expanse of the Black Sun landing pad and found nothing alive. Even after applying her standard precautions, Risk felt a lump in her stomach. She knew nothing could be this easy.
"Do you hear that?" Jormund trotted to a halt beside her. Risk could only catch the usual sounds of the city: the whine of airspeeder lanes, groaning metal, a random pulse of gunfire, and the crash and drone of industry.
Bina stepped forward and turned her attention to the skies. They could almost see a yellowed patch of atmosphere, if they squinted just right. "I hear it too. Sort of a—"
A huge, two-legged hunk of metal dropped down onto the platform in a rush of jet fuel. The machine's "arms" and "spine" hung limp for a second as its joint actuators ran through their startup processes. Its rocket pack fell away, emptied of fuel.
The bipedal walker had to be nearly five meters tall. Its shoulder bore a fresh Black Sun emblem, pristine against its scratched and dented armor plating.
Inside, Risk could see a mercenary pilot eagerly preparing his laser cannons. "Hit the deck!" she cried and shoved the nearest Kye sibling toward cover. They dove behind boxes and hoped that today wasn't Flammable Loading Day.
Risk popped out Reward's battery and confirmed her fears: she was down to three shots, nowhere near enough to take out a machine of that size. She might be able to disable an arm or a leg, if every shot landed correctly. Jormund looked just as grim as she felt. His bandolier was empty and his blaster, even at full charge, couldn't hope to pierce that armor.
A battered taxi swooped low over the loading dock. Its stabilizers whined angrily as it wobbled unsteadily. Underneath, a blur of a lithe figure swung from a grappling line, which detached just a couple of meters above the landing pad. The new arrival rolled back to standing and broke into a run with perfect gymnastic grace.
The walker unleashed a salvo of massive, green shots from its laser cannons, sending permacrete shrapnel flying. Its target ran on, untouched. Risk peeked out from their hiding place as the dust settled and was able to make out a blue mop of short hair on their mysterious benefactor. "Jormund, is that...?"
He scrambled over for a look. "No. There's no way she'd do this!" Jormund stared across the landing pad in shock. None of them could imagine why the girl who had stolen his navicomputer would be here, now, rescuing them.
Secus Rue had the advantage of speed against the walker; its torso couldn't twist and so it was forced to turn step by step to track its target. Secus stopped behind the mechanical behemoth and raised a small device. She swung it in a tight circle above her head and sent it flying toward the walker at an angle.
The grappling hook caught its right leg, which was still in the midst of a labored effort to turn after its target. She took off running again, a tight metal cable trailing behind her as she went. Impossibly, she ran even faster when crossing back into the pilot's view and managed to avoid another wave of shots.
After two rotations, the walker was doomed. Secus had enough wire spooled around its legs that it toppled with its final step. The machine fell over, its cockpit crashing into the permacrete, sending the pilot's helmeted head into the viewport. The walker shot out a fresh rain of sparks and lay still.
Secus cantered over, waving happily.
"What in Blazes are you doing here?" Jormund yelled, dumbfounded.
Her smile faded. "Not even a thank you?"
"Thank you, Secus," Risk provided.
The teenager beamed again, showing off her single golden tooth. "I was just in the area for a little, um, recon. You know, looking for salvageables." She winked a cybernetic eye at Bina. "The technically-inclined gotta look out for each other, right?"
Initially utterly confused, Bina stammered an agreement.
Secus ran to the edge of the platform. "Anyway, gotta go! Keep an eye on your goods, Blondie!" She fired another grappling hook at a hapless airspeeder, which jerked and wobbled as it carried her into traffic.
"That girl is insane," Jormund marveled.
Hutt Space. Nar Shaddaa. Corellian Sector. Geometer Studios.
Risk's latest apartment was forested.
She had managed to negotiate for a place that had the rare advantage of sunshine, and made full use of the perk. Delicate orchids grew near the window, surrounded by bromeliads with gouts of color sprouting out in lush plumes, while shade-loving ferns covered the walls.
Bina had tried pacing a few times, but she kept running into fronds. The greenhouse atmosphere suited Risk; she had chosen the Agri-Corps over the Med-Corps out of a genuine interest in botany. Unlike Risk, who had appreciated the city but luxuriated in its treasured gardens, Bina thrived on her artificial world. Technology was, quite literally, a part of her and she had the look of someone suffering the inexplicable pain of a phantom limb.
"We could send your friend to go get a couple of the computers! Just the memory drives. Please." Bina scratched at her implant as she spoke. "It wouldn't be difficult. I don't need much."
"Bina, you know better than this," Jormund explained, yet again. "Black Sun holds grudges. They probably have people watching the place. Anyone we send is going to get nabbed." He had his feet up on Risk's caff table, hands folded behind his head. The bounty hunter insisted upon making himself comfortable anywhere he sat.
Bina gave him a piteous, sisterly look.
Jormund sighed. "I'll get you a new computer as soon as we find you somewhere safe."
Bina's eyes teared up a bit as she continued to implore her dear older brother, but judging by his lack of response, Risk assumed Jormund was inured to this particular maneuver. Anyway, Risk had the dual advantages of perspective and the Force and could see through Bina's act. Ultimately, Risk's impatient streak won out over diplomacy. "Jormund can't even go home because of this mess, and you're whining at him over a few chunks of data? Glad I don't have siblings to muck up my life." Risk crossed her arms tightly over her chest and glared at Bina. The Mirialan leaned against the wall, nearly camouflaged between a viney shrub and an ancient-looking succulent.
"No, you do a fine job of that yourself, Risk," Jormund snapped. "Sorry, that was harsh. But she's my sister and it's my life she's mucking up."
Risk continued smoothly, "Maybe she could keep busy with the forgery?" She was more than happy to find her way out of this swamp of familial interactions that she couldn't understand.
Bina brightened at the mention of crime. "Forgery?"
"Risk got herself into a fix poaching from the Bounty Hunter's Guild. Doesn't want to go through the paperwork to get a card, and now they put a bounty on her. You can make her legitimate, right?"
Bina chewed on her lip for a long, thoughtful moment. When she finally spoke, her rapid-fire words hardly resembled Basic. "Sort of. Their networks are pretty loose, but they have redundancies and there's the matter of their in-person authentication. It's archaic but really effective. The best I could do is some temporary credential duping but that would only last until the genuine shows up."
Risk's brows knit together. "I followed most of that. I think she said she could do it?"
"It's just a temporary fix," Jormund answered, accustomed to translating slicer-speak. "How long would she get, Bee, a day, a week?"
"Whenever the creds got used again. We can pick someone who doesn't swipe in often, but even then—"
"Even then, I have to deal with this myself," Risk cut in.
Jormund stood up. "I told you I'd help with this, and I'm a man of my word."
Risk forced a wan smile. "The short term card will work. I've got a plan. Let me know when it's ready."
Just as Risk reached the door, Bina called after her, "I'm going to need a computer!"
Risk waved a dismissive hand as she crossed the threshold. "Use mine. I'll be back later."
As the door shut, Bina looked over at the anemic, consumer machine in the corner of the room. "She's not serious. Is she? Nine Hells, how am I supposed to work with that?!"
The Noodle Engine had served authentic, family recipes to upper-level clientele in the Corellian sector for six generations, and its large transparisteel windows featured gilded red Aurebesh signage to that effect. A steady stream of customers attended the restaurant, all of them better dressed than the average sublevel dweller. And, as per Nar Shaddaa custom, all of them were conspicuously armed.
The Noodle Engine wasn't fine dining by any standard, but it was classy dining. Since the bounty went out on Risk, nearly a month ago, she couldn't be seen in the shop next to the Guild Office, but she genuinely missed her lunch dates with Dafna. Before that unfortunate turn of bureaucracy, the two women had enjoyed a weekly tete-a-tete full of exaggerated, gossip-laden chatter that Risk would have never admitted to enjoying.
The Togruta girl was beaming at Risk from one of the tables near the register when she came in, apparently unfazed by the change in venue or the extended hiatus on their lunches. Her white teeth and markings gleamed brilliantly against her rich red complexion. She had a new adornment, a silvery chain strung with blue beads that laced between her striped horns.
"Do you like it? Seril got it for me. He's such a sweetheart. I really wasn't sure about dating a Nautilan, but the accent grows on you after a while!"
"You couldn't stop talking about him from the day he walked into the Guild Office," Risk corrected her with a sly smile.
Dafna's white markings flushed and nearly disappeared against the backdrop of her red skin. She giggled wildly as their waiter arrived with their noodles. Dafna had ordered their usual: a classic dish reserved for non-Corellians, while Corellians themselves stuck to the more authentic fare—the spicy stuff that was rumored to make even Wookiees cry.
"Ladies…" the waiter said, capitalizing on her giddiness. He winked at Dafna as he left to deliver more orders. Another fit of giggling kept her from even sampling the food, and it nearly infected Risk as well.
"Say, Dafna, how does the whole… dating thing actually work, anyway?" Risk ventured after a few mouthfuls of hesitation.
"What do you mean, how does dating work? You mean you don't know?" Dafna's eyes widened, "You've never—!"
"Not in so many words, no, I mean it wasn't ever something I… considered…." Risk's concept of romance came from a few holovids she'd watched in the empty hours between grifts when she'd first arrived on Nar Shaddaa. They were saccharine, cheesy affairs that looked like entirely too much trouble, and intensely interesting all the same.
"Oh dear. And you're…." Dafna looked as if she'd just discovered that Risk had no idea how food worked, or hadn't ever gotten the knack of breathing without conscious effort. The Togruta was at a loss for where to begin.
"How's your food? Mine's good," Risk said, finding herself uncomfortably warm. Her scar itched.
"Risk."
The Mirialan set her forehead on the cool tabletop and muttered into the blessedly-clean surface. "He's distracting and he knows my drink order."
Dafna laughed and patted her friend on the shoulder. "Then let him distract you a little! So long as he's not a bounty hunter. Those guys are the worst."
Risk lifted her head to give Dafna an aggrieved look.
"Oh no. Who is it?"
Risk scratched at the back of her head. "Does that really matter? Anyway, I think I'm probably going to see about, you know, going legitimate myself. Two bounty hunters—"
"What do you mean, going legitimate? Have you been poaching?" Dafna's hand flew to her lips, "Blazes, you're not that bounty—Risk, they are so mad at you!" The noise of the crowded restaurant couldn't quite cover Dafna's outburst, and she had to lower her voice to shake off the unwanted attention of the other patrons. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in?!"
"Plenty. But I have a plan, if you'll help me."
The message told him to call during the earliest of Nar Shaddaa's daylight hours. Jormund had received stranger instructions for retrieving valuable information and decided he might as well follow through. The line was secure, which wasn't unusual. The message had been anonymous, so he expected the sender to be some flavor of paranoid: justified or certifiable. Their credits worked either way.
The system only had time to signal once before the hail was accepted. Granted, he was calling half an hour late, but he had appearances to keep up. His terminal filled with a video transmission. Apparently they weren't willing to shell out for a secure holocam. The head that appeared was startlingly pale, bald and nearly skeletal. The eyes bothered him the most. That gaze seemed to go right through him, and maybe shiv his brain a few times on the way by. He couldn't quite place the gender.
"All right. You're creepy," Jormund said, with just enough volume for the mic to pick him up, and he knew it. He felt an unease growing faster than it should have, considering that he was looking at a face on a monitor rather than staring down this frightening visage in person.
His potential client studied him at length. A sense of self-consciousness skittered over Jormund's skin as he sat under the scrutiny.
"You are harboring a Mirialan," the skull-faced woman told him, her husky but feminine voice letting him pin down her gender. For some reason, that helped. Her interest in Risk disappointed him. She was probably a bounty hunter lodging a complaint that he was puppy-guarding a valuable contract, blah blah blah.
He shrugged. "No idea who that is. I don't have my eye on any Miraluka. Good hunting!" He moved to close the channel.
"I know you are harboring her. What you should know is that I am willing to pay you one-hundred-thousand credits to turn her over to me, alive." There was something about her voice, something beyond the eerie quality to her vocal range; Jormund felt compelled to listen, to consider this offer, as ridiculously unbelievable as it may have been.
"A hundred-thousand credits?" Such a sum was unheard of, outside of a top Hutt-backed bounty. He was determined to hear more, in contempt of the swelling rebellion in the back of his mind. He couldn't turn in Risk.
Could I?
"I will send you the coordinates. Deliver her, intact, and you will have your hundred-thousand." Jormund found himself leaning over the monitor, hanging on her every word.
"I'll be turning her in to you?" Jormund couldn't believe what he was hearing, much less what he was saying. He wrenched the sentence into a question. It was as if he had to wrest control of his own voice back from... what?
"You will complete the contract. Arrive at the coordinates with the target, alive. You have one Nar Shaddaa day." The ghostly woman closed the channel from her side. His monitor switched back to basic readouts: weather, news; other boring, meaningless crap.
Jormund slouched back in his chair. His head felt pinched, as if his skull had been stuck between an enormous thumb and forefinger. Or dealing with Imps.
He rolled his shoulders and tried to pound the tension out of his muscles with a loose fist. The suggestion that he turn Risk in kept coming back to him, nagging at him.
One hundred-thousand credits was a lot of money.