Chapter 45: Subterfuge
Carth sat in a corner of the cantina, staring glumly into his drink, the finest rotgut--if that wasn't a complete oxymoron--the bar could provide. Which was to say he might as well be drinking aged vinegar. He took another sip of it; it burned nastily down his throat like ship fuel. He placed the glass down precisely onto a dry stain ring on the table with a clink that he couldn't hear over the harsh, driving music of the live band.
He grimaced as he shifted his arm; it had stuck a little to the sticky, dirty table, the surface of which was stained with drying puddles of spilled drinks and littered with cigarra butts. The place stank of sour, rancid alcohol and cigarra smoke. He didn't even want to think about the state of the refreshers in a place like this. As seedy dives went, this cantina, located in the worst part of the Transients Dome, was the seediest he'd ever been in. Worse than the ones they'd had to meet OFI contacts in on Nar Shaddaa, and that was saying something.
He shifted in his seat, trying to find a position that wouldn't numb his rear end, his boots scraping on the gritty floor. He could tell the floor hadn't been cleaned in ages, because when the band took breaks in between sets from making their music--or noise, rather--he could hear his boots crunching loudly on the floor. Only the Force knew what sort of debris was down there, or how old it was. He grimaced again, as he tried to decide if it was better when his boots crunched, or when his boots squelched on something soft and sticky.
Carth lifted his glass again to his lips, but not drinking from it, even though he had taken a pill earlier to keep the alcohol from having its usual effect on his body. He used it to hide his face, so that he could watch the other sentients in the bar inconspicuously through the foggy blue haze of cigarra smoke. He'd picked a spot in the back of the cantina, his back to the wall, so that he'd have the best place to observe without being observed in turn. It was unlikely anyone noticed or would care even if they had, since the lights over his section of the room were dim and flickered every so often.
The most Bospho had gotten from his network of spies regarding Sayir's recruiters was a list of contact names, and where they were likely to hire mercenaries. He'd gone to several of the cantinas on the list already tonight, ones frequented by bounty hunters and fighter types, without finding a single one.
Carth sighed. It didn't look like it was going to be his lucky day. Again. He sighed again, and scowled into the mysterious, murky depths of his drink. Today was shaping up to be, if not as disastrous as yesterday, what with his talk with Dustil and fight with Revan, just as frustrating.
A server passed by his table and paused to see if he wanted another drink. Or maybe... something else. Almost all of the servers here were females of one race or another, though he'd seen a few males, too. They weren't here just to serve drinks and food, since he'd seen several of them being propositioned--crudely--by interested patrons. And their offers had been taken up.
"Hey, handsome, get you another drink?" the girl asked. "Or... something else?" She smiled invitingly and winked.
Carth suppressed a snort at the 'handsome' remark. He'd be called handsome if the girl had had several shots of the same rotgut he'd been having, and had bad eyesight, to boot. This latest disguise Revan had furnished for him was pretty damned ugly.
His cheeks were now higher, sharper, and his brows lower, making his now hazel eyes look sunken. His nose had been flattened and thickened into a flattened fruit in the middle of his face, so that it looked like it had been broken many times, and had never been set properly; this also gave his voice a bit of a nasal twang.
He still had facial disfigurements, but not as ostentatious and distinctive as the ones he'd had before; they were just a few thin blade scars. The largest of these curved down from the right side of his forehead and continued down to cut across his nose to his left cheek.
The most striking part of his face was a vividly-colored tattoo of a bird of prey on his right cheek. The bird's feathery, crested head hooked over his right eyebrow, its long neck curving outwards sinuously around to his right temple. Its outspread wings extended and expanded on his cheek, down to his jawline, and the tail extended down his neck to his arm, the very end of it reaching nearly to his elbow, though that part was covered by his armor from his throat on down. It stood out starkly on his now very white skin; the crimson and sky blue colors could be seen clearly across a dark room, which didn't make him feel any better.
Carth eyed the girl; even before he'd met Revan he wouldn't have taken her up on her offer. He was frustrated, but he wasn't ever going to be that frustrated. She looked older than her years, worn and tired-looking. Still, there was no point in being rude; she was a working girl, and a veteran of a sort, just as much as any soldier.
"No, thanks. But I'll take another of these," Carth replied, lifting up his glass and waggling it a little. A look of disappointment mixed with relief flashed quickly across the girl's face in the dim light, but she nodded and headed on towards other tables, nearly disappearing into the smoky haze. He probably looked too poor for her to want to seduce.
Carth couldn't really blame her for having that impression. His rather patchy, much-repaired armor seemed to sit badly on his body, but it only looked ill-fitting and terribly battered. In actuality, the patches of irregular textures and materials could easily be pulled off, given the correct solvent, along with the exposed durasteel mesh. Underneath all the seemingly-poor repairs was his heavy exoskeleton, which was probably much better than all of the armor the fighters wore in the cantina, combined.
Carth shifted in his seat again, the hilt of the sword on his back scraping against the wall. He'd debated with himself as to whether it would be wise to be so... overdressed, since drunken fighters here were likely to take it as a challenge and make trouble for him. Hopefully, he could spot anyone intending to do so and drop them unobtrusively with the blasters he had hidden in wrist holsters, already set to stun.
What he found himself hoping for was a decent fight, and he wasn't about to be so elegant as to use blasters. Anger still simmered in his gut at Revan; it would be nice to have clear and defined targets to take out his frustrations on. He shook his head mentally at himself, scowling down at the watery reflection of his face in his drink. Maybe he was no better than Canderous, after all.
Carth rubbed absently at the scar on his left cheek. Revan had not even given him a goodbye kiss, much less anything more. For which he couldn't even really blame her. That last ill-considered comment of his... He more than deserved it, really. Granted, even if he hadn't stuck his damned foot in his damned mouth, their big blow-up was possibly too fresh in their minds.
At least, it was still fresh in his. He glared down at the reflection of his face in his drink, and tried not to think about it. As always, the harder he tried not to think about something, the more he thought about it, to his disgust. He took a hefty swig of his drink, emptying it, wincing as it burned its way down his throat without mercy. He looked at the dirty residue at the bottom of the glass, but not really seeing it, as he thought about his last sight of the two people he loved most.
He wondered how Revan and Dustil were getting on. Since he'd been monitoring the news every fifteen minutes out of sheer boredom on his datapad, he hadn't heard anything about a double murder, explosions coming from the hotel district, manhunts for one or two fugitives or anything else of that nature. There was just the usual stock and profit-driven news and gossip among the Houses of Sluis Van. So... that must mean they were all right, surely? Communications silence was fine and dandy for covert operations, Carth thought darkly, but damned hard to get around when one wanted to know what was going on with one's accomplices.
Carth's attention was immediately caught by movement approaching him. His eyes snapped up and his free hand twitched towards his sword, but it was only the server who had propositioned him earlier. He relaxed slightly.
The girl put his drink on the table in front of him, and swept up the empty glasses deftly, putting them on her tray. He put down a fifty-credit chit on her tray; her eyes lit up at the extremely generous tip, making her look younger and prettier.
She bobbed happily at him. "Thank you, sir!"
Carth held up another fifty-credit chit. The girl's eyes gleamed with greed and wariness. "I'll give you this," he said, waving the chit clamped between his index and middle fingers, "if you tell me if there's any work to be had in this town for the likes of me." He feigned a sheepish look. "I'm new here, and I was hoping I'd find a decent job by now." He decided not to smile; he didn't think it would have its usual effect on women. Most likely it would just send her running off screaming, or, since she looked like an experienced server here, cringing away from him.
She bit her lip, looking avidly at the chit in his fingers as she tried to find the catch, then licked her lips. "Sometimes... sometimes there's a Twi'lek, a green one, who comes around every so often, and hires fighters here. I haven't seen him lately, but he might be in today. I mean, it's about the right time for him to come around."
"What does he want to hire fighters for?" Carth asked, eyebrow raised.
She stared longingly at the credit chit like a spice addict might look at a bag of chemical bliss; Carth felt a twinge of pity for her.
"I don't know, but... but the mercs he hires, they don't come back anymore," she said in a low whisper, fear flickering in her eyes.
Carth handed the chit to her; she snatched it up as if afraid he might take it back. "Thanks," he said. "That'll be all." She bobbed again, clutching the laden tray to her chest, and scurried off.
Carth sat back in his uncomfortable chair and inhaled the sour fumes from his fresh drink as he held it up to his face. A green Twi'lek was on his list of contacts; it might be worth his while to stay in this dump a little bit longer. He made a face as he sipped the rotgut; he certainly wasn't staying for the high quality of the establishment's alcohol.
A gruff voice raised in anger attracted his attention. Carth looked up to see a Rodian snout to snout with an Aqualish in scuffed black armor. Another one of the servers, an orange Twi'lek girl, was between them. The Rodian held one of her arms while the Aqualish held the other. The short Twi'lek looked frightened out of her wits and frozen with terror. The rest of the patrons at the other tables were cheering and egging them on, or taking and making bets.
Carth scowled, his hand tightening on his drink, his other hand reaching for his sword. His lip curled. There were plenty of other willing women here; why did they have to fight over one? He tried to ignore the part of him that reared its head, scenting a fight.
"I saw her first!" the Rodian snarled in Huttese, and yanked on the Twi'lek's arm for emphasis.
The Aqualish bared long yellow teeth. "So what if you saw her first? I grabbed her first, so now she's mine!" he growled. He proceeded to yank the Twi'lek's other arm, held imprisoned in one large hand.
Carth glanced at the bar. The bartender had already called two hulking bouncers over to help extricate the Twi'lek from the randy fighters, though Carth was sure it was because they didn't want the merchandise roughed up, not because they actually cared for the Twi'lek's safety. The problem was, Carth couldn't see how they could get her out without hurting her.
Carth's hands clenched; if he tried to help, he might blow his cover. If he didn't... The Twi'lek looked ready to cry, her eyes were so huge, and she was trying not to shake. Her lekku were flattened to the back of her head in her terror, and wrapped tightly around her neck. Carth shifted in his seat, his hand already grasping the hilt of his short vibroblade; it was too close and confining in the cantina to use his longer vibrosword effectively. The best weapons in a bar brawl were one's fists, feet, teeth and short weapons like knives or clubs.
His decision was made quickly. Screw it. I won't be able to look myself in the face if I don't help.
The moment Carth was waiting for arrived; the Aqualish shoved the Rodian, who staggered into the back of a Trandoshan sitting at another table. The Trandoshan took umbrage at the familiarity, and rose to shove the Rodian back. The poor Twi'lek cried out as her arms were wrenched, her piercing scream cutting through the noise of the cantina.
It was around the right time for the bar patrons to be drunk enough to be belligerent, but not enough to pass out. Carth watched, thinking he was quite possibly the most sober patron in the cantina right now, as he impatiently bided his time until he could duck into the developing melee; no one else would care if they hit the Twi'lek, so he had to get her out as soon as he could.
The Rodian had shoved back at the Aqualish as the Trandoshan shoved him back; either by design or accident the Rodian managed to land a punch on the Aqualish's jaw. The Aqualish roared in surprised pain, letting go of the Twi'lek.
Carth hunched over his table, his muscles growing tense as he leaned forward, watching for an opportunity, feeling as eager for the fight as a kath hound scenting blood. His hand gripped his sword hilt in anticipation, feeling the skin of his knuckles grow taut as he watched and calculated.
The Aqualish knocked over the table where three Gamorreans had been sitting, who'd been watching and squealing in appreciation of the entertainment, growing louder the more they drank. They weren't content to watch anymore, though, and waded happily into the melee, ham hands and fists walloping heads and bodies indiscriminately, grunting with glee. One of the Gamorreans squealed in pain when a Zabrak smashed him over the head with a chair; the Gamorrean staggered back and fell over onto Carth's table, breaking it.
Carth calmly leaned over and poured his drink into the Gamorrean's face. The Gamorrean screamed shrilly as the liquid burned into his eyes, down into his nostils, and clawed at his face with both hands. Carth sent him into oblivion with a precise smack to his temple with his boot, making sure to apply extra force so that it got through the Gamorrean's thick skull. The blow rang with a satisfying thunk, vibrating up Carth's leg from his toes. Carth could actually hear it now, since the live so-called band had broken up to get away from the developing brawl. Hell, if he'd thought the band would run off from a fight, he would've started a brawl himself much sooner.
Getting up from his chair and moving into the melee, Carth dodged blows and bodies as he moved towards the two fighters. The Rodian still had the Twi'lek in one hand, and was now fighting the Aqualish, who had recovered and had renewed his own hold on the Twi'lek. They had blades out now, and were totally uncaring of whether they'd cut the Twi'lek they were fighting over.
Carth slid along the wall, so that he wouldn't be surrounded and need to guard both sides. He found himself missing Revan and Dustil deeply; he wouldn't have to be so careful if they'd been there, watching his back while he watched theirs. He ducked a Zabrak's punch by leaning back; he grabbed the Zabrak's wrist with his right hand, his belt in the other, and used the Zabrak's momentum to hurl him bodily into a knot of bodies, knocking them all down and clearing a bit of space in the bargain.
A Rodian's knife whistled towards him from the side, and Carth had to bend slightly to allow it to pass his stomach; his armor could've turned it aside, but he wasn't about to take sloppy chances. Carth slid the shortsword-length vibroblade from his belt and parried the Rodian's next clumsy stroke; Carth could smell the alcoholic fumes on the Rodian's fetid breath as he closed the distance.
Using the oversized guard on his blade to capture the Rodian's knife in a bind, Carth hooked his other hand under the Rodian's armpit, took a firm grip on one of the Rodian's armor straps on his shoulder and heaved, flipping the Rodian over. The Rodian yelled, losing his knife as he was slammed down onto the floor belly first, the air whooshing out of his lungs explosively. A kick to the Rodian's temple from Carth's boot ensured that he would stay down.
Carth quickly scanned the cantina; the whole damned place was now fighting, as far as he could see. The two bouncers had their hands full, cracking heads; more bouncers in the cantina's colors were moving in, but they couldn't get to the Twi'lek girl through the press of bodies, if they even saw her or cared anymore. Carth slid his vibroblade back into its sheath, since he didn't actually intend or want to kill anyone, though he was really having second thoughts about his restraint regarding the two fighting over the girl.
He sensed rather than saw the blow coming down behind his head; he ducked, the blackjack whipping past where his head had been a split second ago. Carth spun, using his momentum to punch the human behind him in the solar plexus. Carth grabbed the man's blackjack hand when the man bent over, and slammed it hard into the wall, one, two, three times before the man took the hint and dropped his little surprise. Then Carth ruthlessly twisted the man's arm up behind his back, spun the screaming man around and propelled him into the moving mass of bodies with a shove of his boot to the man's rear end.
Carth finally reached the Rodian and the Aqualish, and maneuvered himself behind the two; they were so busy fighting each other, they didn't even notice him. Except for the Twi'lek, who had gone beyond fear, and could not even scream, her white-rimmed eyes staring blankly at Carth. She didn't acknowledge the reassuring smile he tried to give her; it probably didn't look too reassuring on his ugly, disguised face right now, anyway.
Waiting with the patience of an experienced soldier for an opportunity, Carth watched the two drunken fighters squabble. It was going to be both an easy and hard task to help the Twi'lek girl; both sentients--using the term loosely--had a hand hindered, holding the Twi'lek in a tug-of-war, but it would be hard to extract her from their grips without getting her hurt while those naked blades kept flashing so closely. And clumsily; the two of them had their paltry wits drowning in alcohol, to judge by their bumbling strokes. It meant they'd be less predictable, but also slower.
A motion in the corner of his eye had Carth raising his left arm instinctively to block a descending chair leg, the blow numbing his arm for a few seconds despite the gauntlet protecting him from the worst of the impact. Carth retreated a step, balanced on the balls of his feet in a crouch, vibroblade suddenly in his right hand. Exhilaration thrummed through his veins; Carth bared his teeth at the Gran in a broad, feral grin.
The dim lighting seemed brighter than before, the light skittering along the sharp edge of his vibroblade in incandescent sparks; the smell of blood, sweat, stale drinks and cigarra smoke filled his nostrils as his boots crunched on the gritty floor, broken bottles and glasses grating and tinkling against each other under his soles. The buzz of conversation in the cantina had turned into a sea of noise, full of pained screams and grunts of both agony and exertion, the deafening roaring of sentients fighting in a small, enclosed space. A part of him was astonished and a bit horrified at how much pleasure he was taking in this, and wondered if this was what Canderous felt in battle all the time. No wonder the Mandalorian reveled in war.
I'm not a warrior, I'm a soldier. There's a difference. Warriors attack and conquer, they prey on the weak. Soldiers defend and protect the innocent--mostly from warriors.
His own remembered words served to calm him. He was not Canderous. He didn't start this fight, and he was only in it because the Twi'lek was trapped right in the middle of it. No one cared about her, or if she got hurt. If she was injured, and it disfigured her, she would be turned out into the streets. And if she died, there were more where she came from. Carth was honest enough to admit he was using this fight for his own purposes, to take out his frustrations on someone. Still, he bet Canderous wouldn't have given a damn for any Twi'lek, and would just have waded in the moment the Rodian had landed that punch, if not earlier.
The Gran had been probing Carth's defense while he'd been thinking, moving carefully with respect for Carth's longer reach and more lethal weapon. A knife fighter, Carth though, judging from the way the Gran was holding and handling his makeshift club. Now the Gran attacked in earnest, the club feinting in a blow to Carth's left side, then smoothly whipping up to strike at Carth's head. This one, Carth thought, wasn't as drunk as the others. Carth ducked, just enough for the club to pass through the air above his head, close enough to brush his hair. The Gran swung again.
Wait a minute, Carth thought suddenly, catching the chair leg on his blade and sheering off a chunk of it. If he's a knife fighter, then where's his knife--?
The knife winked malevolently in the dim light as it swiftly curved out in the Gran's other hand and lashed out at Carth's left side while Carth had been engaging the Gran's club, leaving his side open. Carth leapt back and nearly went down flat on his back when his heel came down on a round bottle. Only his greater weight saved him from spilling onto the floor, as his foot crunched and crushed the glass underfoot instead of rolling out from under. The Gran's knife skittered off the surface of the armor covering Carth's belly, gouging a long, deep scratch across several of the patches.
That was too close. Dammit, Onasi, get your damned head out of your damned ass!
Carth recovered, moving more warily now that his opponent had shown his cunning and had become more of a threat with those two weapons. He couldn't draw his other sword, even if it would give him a much greater reach, because its very length was a distinct disadvantage in these narrow confines.
Narrowing his eyes in furious thought, Carth calculated, and decided that the Gran's knife was the greater danger; unless that chair leg impacted his skull, it wouldn't do as much damage as the knife. A knife could penetrate the joins in his armor, but the makeshift club would, at most, cause bruises and maybe crack or break a bone. He still had to be careful about it.
Carth and the Gran circled each other warily in the limited space, weapons licking out in careful probes and feints, testing each other's defenses and readiness. The Gran attacked first, bringing down the chair leg while at the same time slashing up with his knife. Carth brought his arm up to intercept the club; the blow jarred and numbed his arm again when the leg slammed down against his gauntlet with a dull thud. Carth was just able to catch the Gran's knife on his blade, and managed to catch and hold it still just long enough by trapping the knife's guard across his. Then Carth stepped in and brought up his knee, and his armor-plated shin whipped up, with all of his momentum and weight behind it, to hit the Gran in the crotch. A strangled whimper escaped from the Gran's lips as he dropped his weapons to hunch over and clutch himself.
Carth grabbed the Gran by the collar, ignoring the vomit beginning to drip from the Gran's mouth, and shoved him at the two squabbling fighters. The Gran bowled into the Aqualish's back, knocking the surprised fighter into his Rodian rival; it took them both by surprise and had them off balance, their holds slackening on the Twi'lek's arms. Carth had followed immediately after making his throw; he broke the Rodian's and Aqualish's slackened holds with the flat of his vibroblade, probably breaking their fingers with the force of his blows, though he wasn't about to care if he had.
The Twi'lek was standing rigidly even after Carth had freed her; with a silent apology, Carth grasped her by the waist and threw her over the bar counter, and hoped the Twi'lek didn't get hurt too badly when she landed. He couldn't spare anymore attention for her, anyway, since the Rodian and the Aqualish were coming after him for making them lose their prize. Both of them had apparently set aside their differences to take down the meddling stranger.
They moved to flank him, the Rodian on his left and the Aqualish on his right, but it wasn't exactly a coordinated maneuver, since both were drunk and had never, it looked to Carth, worked together before. Carth backed away until he felt the wall press on his back; he would have less maneuvering room, but at least no one could sneak up on him.
The Rodian lunged, long knife flashing towards Carth's chest. Carth sidestepped and stretched out his right foot, tripping the Rodian. The Aqualish roared and made his own move, vibroblade sweeping a thrust at Carth's exposed side when he thought Carth was off balance. Carth spun, pivoting on his toes, and the Aqualish's vibroblade passed harmlessly by. Carth finished his pivot, and slammed his guard into the Aqualish's jaw with the full force of his spin when the Aqualish recovered and turned back, snapping the Aqualish's head back. Something crunched, the shock vibrating from Carth's guard into his knuckles and up his arm; the Aqualish was flung backwards, knocking down a Trandoshan menacing a green Twi'lek.
Carth whirled to face the Rodian, who had gotten back to his feet by now. He blocked the Rodian's knife as it whistled towards his face by hitting the Rodian's wrist with his left fist, and brought up his vibroblade. The Rodian's eyes widened in belated panic as Carth's vibroblade swept towards his temple, knowing he couldn't stop the blow in time. At the last minute, Carth turned his blade so that its flat struck the Rodian's head, knocking him out. The Rodian slumped to the floor without a sound.
Carth resheathed his blade and realized he was panting, feeling sweat trickle down his face; it seeped into his collar and began to collect under his armor, making him itch. He drew in huge gulps of the stale cigarra smoke-laden air, and leaned on the wall as he took stock of himself. His knuckles hurt, and his left arm ached from the blows he'd blocked, but he was otherwise unharmed; he was going to have some spectacular bruises the next day. He looked around to see that the fight was winding down, then looked down speculatively at the unconscious Rodian and Aqualish; he squatted down and rifled through their credit pouches. He didn't come up with much, but he took what they had and walked over to the bar.
Carth leaned over to see the orange Twi'lek girl huddled in a quivering ball, doing her best to stifle her sobs and whimpers. Poor kid. He dropped most of the credits in front of her quickly, then leaned back and sat on a bar stool; he just had to hope the girl would recover enough to take the credits. He leaned an elbow on the bar counter, deceptively relaxed, hooking his thumb into his belt near his vibroblade as he caught his breath. He paid no overt attention to the green Twi'lek male taking a seat next to him, leaving an empty stool between them.
Carth watched the bouncers drag unconscious patrons off the floor and toss them outside. Other patrons still more-or-less upright went back to their seats or headed for the exits, unconscious friends slung over their shoulders or carried between two comrades.
"Those were some pretty good moves you showed there," a gravelly voice said in Basic.
Carth glanced at the green Twi'lek and feigned disinterest; he recognized the Sayir recruiter, of course. He snapped his fingers at the bartender, who had cautiously stuck his head above the counter. "Gimme a Corellian brandy," Carth ordered. "A waste," he added, drawling his disgust and boredom. "Fighting--brawling--with drunks is hardly a challenge."
"I noticed you didn't kill anyone," the Twi'lek said. "And you saved that girl."
Carth had his answer ready. He curled his lip, not looking at the Twi'lek. "I'm a mercenary; I only kill if I'm paid. I don't give out free samples. And the girl, well, she was just in my way." He dropped a small pile of credits on the bar, involuntary largesse provided by the Aqualish and the Rodian, leftover from what he hadn't given the girl. The bartender expertly caught the chit Carth flicked his way, and left the drink next to Carth's elbow.
Carth sipped his brandy and ignored the Twi'lek as he watched the remaining patrons settle back, and listened to the hum of conversation filling the silence instead of pained groans.
"Interested in work?" the Twi'lek said suddenly, after a few minutes had passed without either of them speaking.
Carth didn't look at him. "Maybe," he said, letting a note of wariness leak into his voice. Gotcha, Carth thought, with a strictly mental smile.
"I may not look it, but I'm a recruiter for one of the Houses. House Boro, to be specific," the Twi'lek said.
Carth turned to look at him this time, and raked the Twi'lek up and down, watching the Twi'lek watch him. He allowed a look of skepticism to settle on his face as he took in the Twi'lek's faded trousers, scuffed boots, battered half armor and the twin short vibroblades strapped in worn scabbards at his hips. Only the Twi'lek's precise and educated diction showed he wasn't just a mercenary like everyone else in the cantina.
"What's a House Boro?" Carth asked doubtfully, as if he had no idea what a House was. 'House Boro', of course, was the cover name House Sayir was using to hide their operations, so that no suspicion or recriminations would dirty Sayir's good name and reputation. But none of the mercenaries House Sayir was hiring would know that. Or care.
"A very rich House. A family-run business, if you will," the Twi'lek replied calmly, as he in turn took in Carth's appearance. "They can afford to pay their employees well. Very well indeed."
"Yeah? If they're so rich, why're you lookin' in a place," Carth said, twitching a finger off his glass to encompass the seedy cantina, "like this?" He made sure to allow a look of interest pass across his face before letting it fade into wariness.
"We're interested in hiring fighters, mercenaries or bounty hunters, and they frequent places such as this," the Twi'lek said. "We're always on the lookout for new blood, you see, since we know that, to compete in the arena of the Sluis Van business world, we must always stay one step ahead of our rivals."
"So what do you need mercenaries for?" Carth asked, attempting to look stolidly stupid, as if the second half of the Twi'lek's speech had gone way over his head. He didn't miss the flash of contempt in the Twi'lek's eyes. Good, let him underestimate me.
"My House has many, many rivals, rivals who wouldn't hesitate to employ less-than-legal methods of obtaining our secrets. We need to hire protection, and you're just the sort of competent fighter we're looking for," the Twi'lek answered earnestly.
And the more stupid, the better, was unspoken, but Carth heard it anyway.
And I'm a bantha's fat furry ass, Carth thought, if you expect me to believe that. But the regular offworlder mercenary wouldn't know what Carth knew. Few offworlders would know House Sayir had plenty of local help to draw upon, and its own loyal retainers. They didn't need mercenaries who were only loyal to credits, which meant they were hiring offworlder mercenaries for some other purpose. And Carth had to find out what that purpose was.
Carth allowed his look of wary skepticism to deepen. "What's the pay?"
The Twi'lek took a datapad slowly out of his pouch, noting Carth's sudden tense alertness. He slid it across the counter towards Carth. Carth took the pad up nonchalantly, and read the contract slowly and carefully. It looked like a standard merc agreement, except that the amount being paid was not something most mercenaries ever saw without catching dangerous bounties, and lots of them.
Carth whistled appreciatively, as was expected of him. In truth, he really was impressed by the string of digits in the pay column. "What's the catch?" he asked suspiciously.
"Ah, the catch," the Twi'lek repeated, looking down into his glass. "The catch is that, for the duration of your contract, you may not step foot outside the House environs."
Carth scowled artfully at the Twi'lek. "What? I can't leave until my contract's done?" He hoped he had injected the right amount of surprise into his question. "Is there a provision in your contract for if I die of boredom?" he added sardonically.
The Twi'lek chuckled and sipped his drink. "I assure you, my House has all manner of amenities and entertainment for our employees. For a small fee, of course, but less expensive and much high in quality than anything you can get here," the Twi'lek said, waving a hand around at the dingy cantina, "for the same amount of credits." The Twi'lek held up his glass and looked at the contents thoughtfully. "You'll also receive significant discounts on weapons," here the Twi'lek openly appraised Carth's battered armor with a raised eyebrow, "and armor." He looked Carth directly in the eye. "A small price to pay for a freedom you'll have back as soon as your contract is over, surely? It is only for two weeks."
Carth contrived to look dubious but greedily interested. "How'll I know I'll get paid, huh? You could stiff me when the job's done."
The Twi'lek shook his head emphatically. "If you do a good job, you'll be paid. Credits will be transferred to a financial institution of your choice, although I understand those in your line of work prefer cold, hard credits. Untraceable, and therefore, untaxable credits. My House honors its debts, or we would not be a House worthy of serving."
Carth looked down at the datapad again, looking more thoughtful as he perused the amount of credits. "What do I gotta do?"
"You'll be told when you sign up," the Twi'lek answered. At Carth's frown, he elaborated. "Don't worry, you're not going to be asked to kill innocent civilians or anything like that," he added reassuringly.
Carth shrugged. "I'll kill whoever and whatever you want me to, as long as I get paid for it. I just don't like not knowing all the details up front," he said, hoping he hadn't laid it on too thick. He looked at the datapad again, then slipped it into his pocket. "I'll think about it." He couldn't afford to look too eager.
The Twi'lek shrugged. "When you make up your mind, just take that pad with you to the address listed. The guards will know to let you in. The moment you step foot into House Boro, however, means you've accepted the contract. And once you're in, there's no going back. My House is very secretive and very hard on disloyal employees. You will not be allowed to renege without losing your life."
Carth nodded and returned his attention to his drink. "I got it." The Twi'lek nodded back and rose, heading for one of the exits.
Carth didn't look, too conscious of the pad weighing down his pouch.
He was in.
Thanks to Prisoner24601 for beta reading and giving me valuable feedback.
You may have noticed I've put in chapter titles. :)
snackfiend101: Whoa, I didn't think you would do it! Thanks for all the kind words. I'll attempt to address any questions you put in your reviews.
Ch. 44: Thanks. I try to keep the Sithkid in character, and hopefully I've succeeded.
Ch. 1: That flashback was inspired. I had to drop everything to write it!
Ch. 2: Well, they are Jedi Masters; showing their agitation any more overtly than breaking into whispers and muttering would break the union rules.
Ch. 3: Thanks. Jolee's one that's hard for me to do proper justice to. Nah, they prolly can't ticket a Jedi.
Ch. 4: Few, I think, would be able to take Revan's driving... Carth did pretty well, actually, since he didn't need a barf bag. :D
Ch. 5: Well, Carth was rather distraught at the time...
Ch. 6: Was Revan's guilt over-the-top? She feels terribly guilty, after all; she feels she messed up Carth and Dustil's reunion... And yes, having a little thing like a sword in your gut would probably distress anyone.
Ch. 7: Hehee. More of a comic relief chapter than anything else...
Ch. 8: Thanks. I consider this chapter one of the best I've written. Still my favorite.
Ch. 9: Yeah. :) Revan has a thing for heights...
Ch. 12: Gah, no. I'd never finish my fic! It was intended to be a typical Jolee phrase, and would make people laugh, but it underscores the seriousness of the situation our heroes are in, when they don't even crack a smile.
Ch. 13: Thanks. No, I don't plan on writing that part of Dustil's life, unless I'm inspired. I did give the idea to VMorticia with my blessing, though I'm probably not the only one who thinks Selene was a Sith agent.
Ch. 15: There's a story behind the Council's decision, but one I won't be telling for quite a while...
Ch. 16: Yes, actually, congratulations for spotting my homage to Terry Pratchett. :D
Ch. 18: I thought about having more Mission/Dustil interaction, but I just wasn't up to writing it.
Ch. 19: Ain't kissing and telling...
Ch. 24: I don't know, I can picture him saying that...
Ch. 28: How do you know you won't see him again? The story's not yet over, after all... :)
Ch. 29: Confessing to Lady Versenne at this early date would be getting ahead of themselves, no?
Ch. 30, 31: Aw, thanks. Good to know all the sweating and hair pulling I do over writing Dustil pays off. :)
Ch. 34: Maybe. Maybe not. You'll just have to stay tuned, eh?
Ch. 35: Too cliche on my part, do you think?
Ch. 37: Confusing you, huh? Mwahaha, my plan continues apace!
Sera Terranova: Thanks. :) Dustil always gives me so much trouble, drat him.
Feza's twin: Yes, it's time he grew up a tad more. And Dustil got arrested along with Revan, so any eye he keeps on her is, well, moot. And you know I'm not one to kiss and tell... ;)
ether-fanfic, Rascarin, thesnowman: Aw, thanks. You'll see... :maniacal laughter:
Prisoner 24601: Well, given our email and online discussions, having the same thought about something isn't really all that weird. :) And yeah, don't we all get all squirmy in our heads, thinking about our parents having sex, no matter how old we are? :) And yes, you're evil. Evil! :mutters something about prologues, long wait times and the dearth of the first chapter...:
arrow maker: Heh. Yes, yes it was evil. Now, now, Carth had to go off on his undercover mission... and really, can't the former Dark Lord of the Sith and an ex-Sith handle something like this by themselves? The answer next chapter! :D
Emeraldstargazer: Oh, yes, it does raise all sorts of questions. Mwahaha. Thanks... I try real hard to keep everyone in character; a big part of the reason I punted off all the other NPCs is because I would either a) never finish my fic, b) have a number of chapters that'll go into triple digits, c) I'm just not up to writing everybody (I have enough trouble writing Dustil!). But to quote Jolee: "Do you want to avoid the greatest things in life simply because they come with some complications?"
Lunatic Pandora1: :groan: And yes, everyone else is wondering that... Heh.
Thylja: Aw, thanks. I'm glad you think our intrepid trio are well-fleshed out characters. I try real hard to make sure they are.
Nyvanna: Revan radar indeed. :) Carth's Carth in disguise in disguise. What about Dustil?
Ceridan: What's so confusing? :)
