Good help was always hard to find and good employers were even more so. Never in his life had Buruk Kelborn felt that fact more acutely than now. After a deal went south and he'd been forced to cut out his usual middleman—with extreme prejudice—he and his crew found themselves in the unenviable position of finding someone new to work for. Fifty percent of Mos Eisley's inhabitants were middlemen or go-betweens of some nature, helping those that needed work to find it, so at first glance it seemed the menagerie populating the Cuun'yaim had their pick. Unfortunately, most of those brokers were connected by various means to the Desilijic kajidic and Buruk wanted to steer clear of them for a while, just in case Jabba the Hutt decided to change his mind about letting the Mandalorian throw his cousin to a pack of ravenous Bando Gora cultists.
So while his Twi'lek partner, Lynli, and the rest of the crew were out and about meeting with potential employers, Buruk stayed behind with Aerek on the ship to interview a potential new crewmate. The boy, whom he'd pulled out of Coruscant's undercity, sat at the dinner table, eying the pilot who sat across from him suspiciously, as Buruk had taught him.
Morran Risant, former hunt-saboteur and royal pain-in-the-shebs, slouched in his chair, one arm thrown casually over its back. He wore a faded yellow flightsuit under a battered black vest and a pair of scuffed spacer's boots. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the tattoos that blanketed both his arms, mementos of his old days in the Republic's Judicial Forces. Despite his casual posture, his face betrayed his hope that the Mandalorian would hire him on as the ship's permanent pilot.
Buruk sat down beside Aerek, placed a cup of steaming hot shig before him with a smile, and looked up at the pilot, letting the warm fatherly expression melt away. "You've got some explaining to do, Risant," he said evenly.
Risant looked genuinely taken aback. "Me?" he asked, leaning forward in his seat.
Buruk nodded. The last time they'd crossed paths, an outburst from Risant had tipped off a group of punks from a swoop gang that called itself the Redlegs to Buruk's presence, forcing him into a shootout. "What do you want with my ship so badly?"
The pilot sat back with a grin. "Well, for starters I'd say you don't deserve a fine vessel like this one. She deserves an owner who'd really appreciate what she can do."
"She keeps me moving and I appreciate it plenty," Buruk replied. "Start convincing me not to kick you out on your shebs."
Now Risant sat straight up, all business. "Okay, you want to know why you should hire me? You and your partner, Lynli, you deal with whoever hires you to do a job, right? Well you both saw the risks of that way of operating, since you're the only two on your crew that knows how to fly a starship. Putting your boy through that trauma again should be low on your list of things-to-do."
Buruk opened his mouth to reply but the pilot cut him off. "Now I know what you're thinking; one of you will just stay behind from now on to keep things cozy on the home front. Well, that won't fly, buddy, and here's why. Lynli can't stay behind because she's a lot shrewder than you when it comes to negotiating; you can get by on intimidation but that'll only take you so far and make it a lot harder to retain clients, and the good Doctor Riscan has the gift of gab but you can't really trust a glitbiter to handle your credits." His smile widened. "And you won't stay behind because you need some muscle to back up your partner's sharp dealing. Maalku's too easily distracted by his 'omens' and you can't send Qate because she'll ask for a bigger cut, am I right?"
Buruk frowned. Haar'chak, he was right. "Yeah," he answered. "That's about the size of it."
"So I'm the solution to all your problems," Risant said, spreading his hands as if to show himself off. "The two of you can go out and deal with the scary people while I sit comfy-cozy right here, ready to fly to the rescue at the push of a button on that fancy armor you prance about it."
Osik, ni copaani kaysh mirshmure'cye, Buruk thought. He wanted to reach across the table and punch him in the mouth, not because he bore him a grudge for what happened at Cloud City but because he was so shabla right.
###
A Dug hopped up onto the barstool beside Lynli inside the only sports bar in Mos Eisley. It was called Bantha Wild Wings and it catered mostly to podrace, limmie, and smashball fans, with its huge vid displays showing live broadcasts of each sport, depending on the season, and decorations of athletic memorabilia plastered all over the walls. She had to admit, tacky though it was, that the grub was good as she wiped the establishment's signature tangy sauce from violet lips and turned to her companion.
"Rewulga, I presume?" she asked, offering her hand to shake.
The Dug eyed her lasciviously, then clasped her proffered hand with his foot and raised it up to his mouth. She pulled free just before his lips touched her skin an he looked up at her with a sly smile. "A pleasure to meet an exquisite creature such as yourself." His voice was silken and harsh at the same time, like durasteel wool being rubbed together. "You must be Lynli Vairn, of the Cuun'yaim." She'd put the word out that they had a cargo salvaged from a derelict Republic cruiser up for sale and one of his cronies had set up a meeting for her.
"That's right," she answered. "I represent Captain Buruk Kelborn." He was, after all, the ship's captain.
"The captain is a very lucky man to have such a beautiful first mate." Rewulga patted her thigh. "He used to be a bounty hunter, yes?"
Lynli quashed a feeling of unease. Illegitimate businessmen like Rewulga usually didn't like dealing with former bounty hunters; they could never be sure their newfound employees wouldn't fall back into their old line of work and turn them in for whatever price might be on their head. "Obviously not a very good one if you consider his present company," she answered.
Rewulga gave a telling nod, signaling he knew about the Black Sun price on her head. "Well, I suppose I can't hold it against him. Good company's so hard to come by." He placed a hand on Lynli's bare shoulder and squeezed gently. "Very well," he said. "I'll purchase your salvaged cargo and pay you to move some more." He leaned in very close now, and whispered, "And I'll pay you to do a whole lot more…" One of his feet rubbed the inside of her thigh, making its way higher toward—
Before he could blink, Lynli smashed the heel of her hand into his snout and left him at the bar, fuming as she passed through the exit. The nerve!
###
Qate's brow twitched involuntarily as she stared at the ice cream sundae slowly melting before her eyes. A Kerkoiden infochant had said her contact would be at this address to discuss the details of meeting a Toydarian middleman by the name of Mulokhai. He'd neglected to mention that the particular establishment would be a children's treat shop and the Zabrak woman felt quite out of place among the laughter and innocent faces. They reminded her of Meshurok and she had to fight back an encroaching wave of bittersweet memories. She was here on a job and couldn't afford to get sentimental right now.
The colorful mound of scoops came accompanied with a hand-written note scrawled on a napkin. It looked to have been written either by a child's unpracticed hand or by someone unfamiliar with the aurebesh. It read, "Had to go to the 'fresher," so she sat down and waited while the untouched sundae began to liquefy.
###
Ganhuff laid down his cards and smiled. "Twenty," he declared triumphantly to his opponents. "The hand pot is mine yet again."
As the doctor leaned forward and scooped up his winnings, Maalku leaned over his shoulder and spoke into his ear, vocoder modulated to a low whisper. "We were told to find beings to do business with," he said. "Maalku does not believe this is the sort of business that Tortoise had in mind."
Ganhuff riffled the sabacc deck and dealt cards to the three other players. "This is how I network, Findsman," he replied easily. "People will talk about almost anything at the gaming table if it'll cover their tells."
"Tells?"
"The little things a player does or says that give away the cards he's holding," the doctor explained. "Unconscious movements you can use to tell if they're holding a good hand or a bad hand. To try to cover those tells, players chit-chat with each other."
"I see." The Gand's tone told Ganhuff that he clearly didn't but would trust the doctor's assessment.
To one of his fellow players, a Yarkora, Ganhuff said, "You mentioned a friend interested in selling some product offworld. Can he afford the Hutts' 'handling fees?" He referred to the obscene amount of the stake the slugs took off the top when somebody wanted to move freight.
The yak-faced Yarkora frowned, stroking his chin whiskers, and said, "Unfortunately no, so the cargo's just sitting at the docks."
"Ironic," Ganhuff observed as he placed a card in the interference field. "Coming all the way out to Tatooine to avoid the Republic's taxes and ending up strong-armed by the Hutts. Sounds like he needs an independent operator."
"That would be most advantageous for him," the Yarkora agreed. "Do you… happen to know such an operator?"
"I do," Ganhuff answered. "He was recently forced to dissolve a business arrangement he had so he's looking for someone new to take advantage of his services."
"I'd be very interested in meeting this operator of yours," the Yarkora said.
###
Qate watched the refreshers like a hawkbat. Nobody entered them the entire time she'd been in the treat shop so it came as a surprise when a Toydarian child pushed the door aside, his tiny wings beating furiously. He was small, less than half a meter in height, with teal skin that lightened over his potbelly. He wore a dark brown tunic, a white skullcap, and a fringed scarf that draped over his narrow shoulders. He spotted Qate and a broad smile revealed the beginnings of his tusks as he flew over to her table.
"Hi!" he greeted her happily with a wave. He hovered above the ground at the Zabrak's eyelevel as he introduced himself. "I'm Zashiah!"
"Uh, hi," Qate said, a little uncomfortable that she'd been sent to meet a kid. He couldn't be more than six standard years old.
"Aw, you didn't eat the ice cream I got you," he said with a pout. He turned back to her with a hopeful look in his slightly bulging purple eyes. "Could I have it? Grandpa wouldn't like it if it went to waste."
"That's fine," Qate answered, and the little Toydarian alighted on the chair next to her, gobbling up the half-melted sundae with a joyful look on his face. "Uh, Zashiah… I was told you could help me meet a Toydarian named Mulokhai."
"Yeah, Uncle Dram told Grandpa about you and he wanted to hear what you had to say," Zashiah said, wiping chocolate from his trunk with the back of his hand. "So he had me come and get you." He pitched his voice deeper and added an accent as he said, "Mah bukee, there's a nice Zabrak lady I vant to meet, vaiting at the lickmoomoo shop. Be a good boy and fetch her and you can have a tasty waffmula." He smiled again as he scooped another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.
###
"Okay, you've convinced me I need another pilot," Buruk admitted, albeit grudgingly. "Now convince me why I should hire you."
Risant's grin faded like a kid who'd just been told his akk died and he slumped in his chair. "I have to admit, Kelborn, I took a liking to this ship the moment I saw her. Felt like I was me again, you know, the old me, before I lost my Blastboat and got marooned." He gave Buruk a look that said he still hadn't entirely let that incident go and reached into a vest pocket. Buruk tensed a moment, expecting him to pull a holdout blaster for leaving him stranded in the Iderud Badlands. Instead, he extracted a cigarette, which he clamped between his lips.
Buruk relaxed and asked, "By the way, what's with the hair? You were blond back then."
"Dye job," he answered. "An 'unsatisfied' customer made parole and I had to keep my head down until he turned repeat offender. You mind?" He motioned with his lighter, indicating whether or not he could smoke.
"Not around my boy," the Mandalorian answered. Aerek looked up at him at the reference to being his. "That's strike one against you."
Now the pilot frowned. "Fine." He tucked the cigarette behind one of his repeatedly pierced ears, saving it for later, and changed the subject. "Never figured you'd wind up smuggling, Kelborn. Kind of a big switch from bounty hunting."
"Not that big. I still make acquisitions and hand them over to whoever's paying me for them."
"Still need a ship capable of defending itself," Risant nodded in agreement. "Something your ship is sorely lacking."
"She's armed."
"Please," the pilot replied, making a show of trying not to laugh in Buruk's face. "Two piddley laser cannons oriented straight ahead. Good luck fending off pirates and—" he cleared his throat "—Bando Gora with that. Though I do have to applaud your choice of proton torpedoes over concussion missiles." He kicked his feet up on the table.
Buruk reached out and shoved them off. "Strike two. So I'll beef up the weapons when I can afford it."
"You could afford it now, if you agree to hire me."
"You hiding a pair of quadlasers in that tacky jumper you're wearing?" the Mandalorian scoffed.
"It just so happens that I know a starship tech right here in Mos Eisley," Risant explained. "I was a regular customer back before you grounded me so I can get you a square deal with him. Don't think you can go around me, either, because he doesn't like new faces. His business isn't exactly on the up-and-up and he doesn't trust people he doesn't know."
Buruk sat silently, thinking. It was mostly a long stream of Mando'a invective, directed at Risant and at the late Nilak.
Suddenly his comlink went off; it was Qate. She said she'd hit pay dirt and gave him an address to meet her and the middleman she'd hooked up with.
"Fine," Buruk said to Risant, pocketing the comlink. Holding his hand out to shake, he added, "You're hired."
###
Maalku watched Thernbee rake in another pile of credits, did a quick calculation in his head, and determined that the ship's doctor had amassed over two thousand credits in winnings. The findsman reached into a small bag on his belt, stirring up the colored beads inside as he worried about the attention his friends winning streak had earned them. Selecting a bead, he pulled it free and brought it out into the light to see. It was black.
Not good, he thought, twisting his mandibles into an approximation of a frown behind his breath mask. Black was always a bad omen. He turned back to Thernbee to warn him when his foot slipped in a puddle of some recently spilled beverage. He skidded, lost his balance, and stumbled into the back of a large, rough-looking human.
"Hey!" he shouted, turning to face Maalku. His tunic was soaked and drops of liquid dripped from his face. It seemed the Gand had caused him to spill his drink. "You gonna apologize for that, Bug-Face?" He lunged to grab Maalku by the collar of his robe but the findsman stepped aside, placed the shaft of his shockprod between the man's ankles, and twisted. The man stumbled forward and struck Thernbee from behind, sprawling him across the table.
"What's that?" someone at the table demanded, reaching for a small card-shaped object that had fallen out of the doctor's sleeve. Examining it, he eyed Thernbee and snarled, "It's a skifter! You've been cheating this whole time!"
"Well gentlemen, it's been a gas," Thernbee chuckled uneasily as he stood and backed away from the table. "Good day."
With that, he grabbed Maalku by the sleeve and ran for the door.
###
Zashiah led Qate to a small jewelry shop on Straight Street where he paused and pointed to the entrance. "Grandpa's office is in the back. I'm not allowed in there but he let's me play out front with Uncle Dram."
"Okay," Qate nodded, remembering the Kerkoiden infochant and having a hard time picturing him playing with the little Toydarian. "I just have to wait for my friend to get here.
"Okay."
After a few minutes, Buruk arrived in his armor, Aerek in tow. "Settle things with Morran?" she asked as he approached.
"We now have another mouth to feed," he confirmed. Looking over at Zashiah, he asked, "Who's the little one?"
"Hello. I'm Zashiah." The Toydarian brought himself up to Buruk's eyelevel and gave a polite little bow as he hovered.
"Hello Zashiah," Buruk smiled. "I'd like you to Aerek."
Aerek gave a little wave. "Hi."
"Aerek, would you mind keeping Zahiah company while Buruk and I go talk to his ba'buir?" Qate asked.
The boy nodded and the Zabrak followed her comrade into the shop.
At the back the found Dram, the Kerkoiden, leaning against the wall beside an empty corridor. "End of the hall," he grunted in thickly accented Basic and followed them to the door at the other end.
In the rear office, they found an elderly Toydarian the same color as Zashiah hovering next to a hotplate and pouring himself a cup of dianogan tea. He was wrinkled with age, with liver spots speckling his trunk and forearms, and wore a white skullcap like his grandson's.
"Mulokhai?" Buruk asked.
The Toydarian turned in their direction and cupped one hand to the right side of his head. "Eh?" A small bud-like device sat in his aural canal, connected by a wire to a square bulge in one of the chest pocket of his black vest. "You'll haf to shpeak up, mah bukee. I'm no shpring nuna anymore."
"Mulokhai?" Buruk asked again, a little louder.
"Yah, that's me," the Toydarian answered, lowering his hand and giving the fringed scarf draped over his narrow, hunched shoulders a tug. "Zashiah's such a precocious leettle bukee, isn't he?" he asked with a chuckle. "Eh, Buruk Kelborn is vhich?"
On cue, Buruk stepped forward. "I'm Kelborn. We understand you're interested in doing business with us. We have a Firefly-class transport that can haul just about any cargo you can name."
"This is good," Mulokhai replied, winging his way over to his desk, an antique made of genuine wood, possibly wroshyr. He took a sip of his tea; some of it dribbled down the corners of his mouth into his bushy grey beard. Setting the cup down, he fixed them with a sharp violet stare and said, "I've heard you used to vork through the Zabrak Neelak unteel some unpleasantness caused you to dissolve that arrangement."
"Nilak sold me out to a Hutt," Buruk replied defensively. "Then he learned the hard way I don't take kindly to traitors."
The Toydarian actually threw his head back and laughed, giving them a good look at his black-stained teeth. "Very good, Captain Kelborn, very good. Neelak should not have double-crossed you; that's the golden rule in business. 'You're only as good as your employees.' I think ve can do business, you and I."
"That's all well and good, Mulokhai, but I need something a little more detailed that that."
"Ha!" Mulokhai barked, shaking a finger at Buruk like he was pretending to scold his favorite grandchild. "Very, very good, Captain. Vell, first I propose to buy the cargo currently feelling your hold. Neelak vould haf paid you twenty thousand, but as it's secondhand, I offer you sixteen."
"Eighteen," Qate snapped. No way was she going to let this little miser stiff them.
Buruk held up a hand to silence her. He must have been desperate. "Keep talking," he told the Toydarian.
Mulokhai's violet gaze darted between them and she could see the gears spinning behind those eyes. Genial and geriatric though he was, he was still a Toydarian, and they were all con artists and chakaare to some degree. "I haf a friend who vants to sell some of his property offvorld but can't afford the Hutts' protection money," he continued. "It vill be loaded onto your sheep before dawn and you vill be paid tventy thousand to take it the market on Manaan."
Buruk crossed his arms over his armored chest. "And another five to refuel in Ahto City," he said.
"Deal."
"One condition," he added, holding up his index finger. "We work steady for you like this, there's one cargo we'll never touch. Slaves."
The Toydarian considered, scratching at his beard, then turned back to Buruk and said, "All right, no slaves." He then flew over beside Buruk and smiled, slapping him the back. "I like you, mah bukee. You've got moxy."
###
Lynli found Buruk sitting on the catwalk, overlooking the Cuun'yaim's' hold just as he had when he first named the ship. He'd removed his armor and was now dressed in his normal civvies, swinging his legs out over their cargo. Sitting down next to him, she asked, "Glad to be back on the move?"
"I am," he replied cheerfully.
"You still owe me dinner and dancing," she told him, leaning herself against his shoulder then sitting back up playfully.
He rolled with her weight easily. "Well, it helps to be able to pay for it," he replied. "We can stop in Ahto. They have some nice tatsushi places."
He paused for a moment, then said, "From there we should be able to make it to the Sepan system… One of my targets is there on a diplomatic mission."
Lynli frowned. "You're going to make Aerek worry about you again so soon?"
"Just a quick stop," he assured her. "In and out, won't even need to meet him face to face."
"So it's an assassination then." She didn't know which she liked less: the idea of Buruk putting himself at risk by fighting a Jedi to the death, or the idea of Buruk killing a Jedi in cold blood.
"Assuming we even get paid once we make it to Ahto," he added with a laugh. "I can't imagine who'd pay for these." He waved a hand out over the hold, indicating the herd of banthas that Mulokhai's people had packed in shoulder to shoulder. "You can find them just about anywhere."
A shudder ran through the hull as the Cuun'yaim hurtled forward into hyperspace, eliciting a series of irritated lows from the bantha herd. "Hope you like seafood, travelers," Morran crowed over the comm, "because we are on our way to Manaan."
"We're paying for this guy?" Lynli asked skeptically.
