Author's Note: This chapter is my longest so far, 19 pages in a word document, but it covers a lot of ground, and character stuff involving two favorites of mine. Starting to plot out how all of these smaller subplots will come together in the end. Looking good so far. We're approaching 1/3 the way through.
IX
Manaan - 14 BBY
A crank of the spanner.
The addition of a few new bolts.
A replaced ion coil.
It was as good as new.
"How much am I payin' you for this?"
"However much you feel is reasonable," came the reply.
"What if I think nothin' is reasonable?"
"Then perhaps city security would find something that fits your high standards."
The customer scoffed, removing a one-hundred credit piece from a leathery pouch, forking it over gruffly.
"Much obliged, friend." The mechanic was straining to create an honest face. He knew one-hundred credits was nothing, it would barely reimburse him for parts.
But these were trying times.
Fix watched as the Toydarian buzzed over to his repaired urban-swoop.
"This better get me home." The winged one threatened.
"No worries. I used only my best parts," Fix said.
"It's your head if it doesn't, clone!" The grumpy creature plopped his round bottom onto the swoop seat and ignited the engine. The clean rumble of the repulsors was distinguishable from the horrid creaking and groaning that once plagued the machine.
Fix smirked, wiping his hands of coil grease and returning to his work.
Above him, hung a salt-ridden sign over the graying facade of a small garage.
Fixes-It.
Four years ago he started this business, with a burgeoning entrepreneurial spirit and emboldened by a booming economy on Manaan.
Four years later, and he had a small garage with enough space for living quarters, all tucked away snugly in the east central district of Ahto City.
While he spent most of his days repairing swoop bikes for the city's growing racing scene, he also saw speeder bikes, starfighters, freighters, and harvesting ships come and go through the garage's vehicular entry port at the rear.
He did his best to fix them all, reattaching plugs, wiring new ignitions, replacing entire chassis', or rebuilding whole frames.
Fix was a master of his craft, but it could barely pay the bills.
Nonetheless, he was content, for the time being.
The Selkath that ran Manaan's only above-ground population center were kind enough to loan him a vacant space on the east side of the expansive platformed city. While it was on a lower tier in elevation compared to the central city and spaceport, it gave him sweeping views of the city's sunset over the waves.
Manaan, like Kamino, was a waterworld. Not a sole continent could be found on the entirety of the planet's surface, not even an island.
To facilitate trade with outsiders, the Selkath constructed Ahto City, millennia ago. A wonder of engineering, nearly ten kilometers wide, Ahto City sat on a platform of reinforced durasteel foundation, while the oceans swelled through the tunnels that were carved into the city's superstructure.
The shell-shape of the city's construction gave way to a graceful slope around the edges into the sea, with a massive buoyancy system anchored in the city's central district to keep it afloat.
Like a shining white jewel in a calm blue sea as seen from the upper atmosphere, Ahto City was the first - and usually the last - sight that most travelers saw when entering and exiting the planet's orbit.
Fix found it the closest candidate to home. His original home. So he stayed, lingering far longer than he intended. But the oceans below gave him peace when financial burdens encumbered him.
Far from the manicured pearlescent streets of the government district, the east side was mostly a collection of various shops and parlors. A menagerie of the galaxy's wildest interests and most mundane services.
Fixes-It, however, the pride and joy of Manaan's only clone mechanic, was the latest and greatest addition to the district, garnering attention citywide for Fix's attention to detail and speedy repair skills.
Today though, was a slow day.
Fix grabbed a spanner from a nearby tool cart and hurried over to a damaged speeder bike.
He recognized the inscriptions on the side of the bike's frame, but paid little mind. It reminded him of a lost time, where he fought a different battle each day, rather than the one to stay afloat.
Or perhaps, both were the same. He never bothered to compare his old life to the new.
All that mattered now, was the garage.
"Shit." He swore. The bike's frame was bent, and badly at that.
"You shouldn't swear."
Fix, startled, spun around on his heels. It was a woman, eagerly awaiting his attention at the entrance to the garage's overhanging front face. She was Twi'lek.
He recognized her. She was a bartender at one of the nearby cantinas. He used to frequent often, and occasionally found himself staring at her.
Sometimes, she'd stare back.
"Ah, sorry. Didn't see ya there," Fix murmured. "How can I help you?"
She offered a faint smile in response.
"I am looking for a mechanic. I've seen you in the cantina before, and I was told you could help me?"
Fix motioned around to his various projects underway, tools neatly arranged in carts, parts lined up carefully on the floor of the garage.
"Well, I am a mechanic, that's right," he said, scratching the back of his head nervously. Meeting new clients wasn't his forte.
"Oh! Great.." she replied, looking behind her. A young girl emerged from the shadow of her mother, peering up at the man before them.
"Uh, hi there," Fix said, offering an awkward wave. The girl ducked behind her mother, clutching her leg.
"It's okay, ma sareen," the woman urged, beckoning her daughter forth.
The little one grabbed something that was lying strewn on the ground. Fix recognized it but couldn't make out all of the details. It was small.
She dragged it forward and laid it at the feet of the mechanic.
His eyes shifted down. The broken hover-bike gazed up at him. It was the size of a child, not like a speeder made for a typical adult rider. It looked to be almost broken in half, the two pieces clinging to each other via a frail steel rod that ran down the chassis.
He studied it clearly, but had never worked on something this small before.
"My um.. my late husband made this for her before he passed." The Twi'lek said. "It's all she has left of her father."
Fix offered a sympathetic smile at the girl, who backed away on a whim, biting her nails copiously. She was painfully adorable, and Fix worried he may not be able to repair her prized possession.
Looking back at the girl's mother, he nodded.
"I'm sorry for your loss, miss." He began, "I'm quite busy, backlogged with several repair orders."
She dissolved into a frown.
"But-" Fix said.
Her eyes met his.
"I'll see what I can do. Give me a few days, okay?"
The woman's mouth curled into a full-hearted smile.
"Thank you. Thank you so much," she said profusely, moving forward to grab his hand in thanks. He appeared slightly alarmed at her sudden change in demeanor but quickly relented.
"This will mean the world to my little one," she continued.
"What's her name?" Fix asked.
"Sienn. Well, Sienn'teksa. But you can just call her Sienn." She took a step back, her hand moving to stroke her daughter's head gingerly.
"Sienn. Right. And what can I call you?" Fix asked again.
"Oh. My name is Juuna. Juuna'teksa, but-"
"I can just call you Juuna, yeah? I'm Fix." Fix smiled.
She returned it, a hint of bashfulness on her face, but nonetheless it was genuine.
"There is something you should know. I.. I am not sure how I will be able to pay you right now. So if you cannot begin work until then, I understand."
"It will be no trouble to me. Consider it on the house," he said.
Her smile persisted. Fix would have noticed, but he was too busy locked on her eyes. They were a beautiful shade of subtle green, enough to garner attention, but leaving much to be curious about. He caught himself staring and hoped that she hadn't picked up on it.
"Thank you," she replied. "If it's not too much to ask, I bartend at the spaceport cantina now, and if you ever find yourself thirsty, you're welcome to drinks." Her smile transitioned into a hinting smirk. "On me."
Drinks. Not something he often partook in with others. Not that he had many friends in Ahto City. Despite that, he enjoyed the solitude that drinking alone brought him, the stress leaving his body with each sip. He wasn't sure how to approach this.
He needed some serious liquid courage to hold his own with her at a bar.
Fix gave her a gentle nod, "I'll definitely consider it. Thank you, Juuna," he offered his hand for a final handshake.
She obliged.
"I look forward to meeting again," she said, motioning for her daughter to leave.
"So do I," Fix returned, face contorted into a fleeting smile. His eyes lingered upon hers until she pulled away and started towards the spaceport.
Watching them disappear down a sidestreet, Fix let out an audible sigh.
That's fourteen orders in a week. I'll never get this all done.
The stress was getting to him.
Thankfully, he had a new outlet for unwinding.
Ahto City's spaceport cantina.
The klaxon of the alarm jolted him from his position.
In the midst of installing the final sensor readout onboard a Selkath harvester unit, Fix pushed himself to his feet, eyeing the sky.
Darkness. Night had fallen quicker than he expected. Cursing under his breath, he wiped his forehead with his sleeve and dropped his spanner on a nearby tool cart.
The citywide alarm was wailing, its echo ringing through the empty streets and polished walkways.
Fix knew a civil notification was imminent. The Selkath were usually very orderly, and their announcements to the public via municipal alarms were always necessitated by the sheer size of the city itself.
Just beyond the face of his garage, a white, plastoid pillar erupted from the plaza where he did business. Rising from the pillar, was the hologram.
"Attention, all citizens and visitors to Ahto City please be aware. From the Maanan Climatological Center: A Level Two Hyperstorm has been detected in the equatorial regions, with the prevailing easterlies driving the storm towards the city. Beginning tomorrow at noon and lasting for forty-eight hours, the city will be under mandatory curfew. Please gather necessary supplies and shelter in place until the storm has passed. Thank you."
The pillar disappeared as quickly as it rose, and the alarm was silenced, replaced by a repetitive pulsing of the city's yellow warning lights, positioned at every intersection.
"Damn," Fix muttered. He had the emergency rations, but that wasn't his concern.
Hyperstorms were among the fiercest forces of nature known in the galaxy. While Manaan was infamous for them, they were actually quite rare. During his introductory courses to citizenship upon arrival, Fix learned that the last hyperstorm to affect Ahto City was nearly thirty-two years ago.
He shuddered at the idea of a storm that could absolutely dwarf the typical cyclones that were routine on Kamino - a result of the Kaminoans disruption of the planet.
Hyperstorms were a different beast altogether, reaching nearly four-thousand kilometers in diameter and containing monstrous wind gusts that could match, or exceed, even the strongest gales recorded in the galaxy.
Not to mention the waves.
Thankfully it's only a level two.
On a five-level scale, a level two was relatively tame, and did not disrupt activity in the city as much as its more grown-up counterparts.
But, there was always more room to grow.
He decided he better enjoy himself while he still could. The cantina was on his mind tonight, after long consideration throughout the day.
Ducking inside the garage, he freshened up a bit in front of a rather small mirror and changed into his favorite white henley and exercise pants, needing a change of look if was to hit the cantina under twilight.
It was against his better judgment, but he could not pass up the opportunity for a free drink after the last few days. It had been quite some time since he last visited the spaceport cantina, often opting for the much closer east side cantina.
Was it a risk he was willing to take?
He tried to avoid the spaceport out of fear he may be recognized by someone passing through the system, as his face was a bit hard to miss. Granted, he took a risk running a popular and public business, he just made a point to never work on ships at the spaceport out of concern of being noticed by one of a much larger portion of offworlders.
Nevertheless, he still appreciated the atmosphere of the spaceport cantina, colloquially known as Portside.
Opening his rather cramped eco-fridge, he grabbed a small canteen, and rather plainly, took a swig of liquid courage before venturing to the center of the city.
"Here goes nothin'."
The door whirred open and shut with a mechanical regularity as he stepped inside.
Commotion was abound, yet the ambience was more pacified than he had expected. Drinks were passed around, species of all shapes and sizes gathered around the central ring of the bar, and numerous other patrons dotted the dimly lit interior, scattered around at tables and in secluded booths.
Private conversations were hushed, perhaps conducting uncouth business deals or shady agreements.
Despite its hazy lighting, the cantina was perhaps one of the cleanest in the galaxy, as were many of the institutions and halls of Ahto City.
The only voices Fix heard, emanated from the bar itself. Cries and shouts in all sorts of language, droned out by a Selkath belting to two men in Galactic Basic, clearly inebriated.
"You don't understand! I won that bet! That ship is mine!."
"That ship will never belong to you, fishboy.
"What did you call me?"
"What he meant to say, was that you're just a fantastic swimmer."
The Selkath attempted to push himself off of the bar and make for the door, but stumbled on a stool and collapsed on the floor. Nobody paid him any mind.
"Got another cleanup on the floor, Ardo!" Came a cry from the bartender. The voice Fix came for.
He saw her mixing a gin and some offworld juice in a concoction that would sure to be a robust cocktail. Ducking into an unoccupied booth near the door, he felt his palms begin to sweat.
"Can I interest you in a drink, sir?"
Fix jumped.
It was just the droid attendant.
"My sensors indicate great emotion. Are you intoxicated already, sir?"
"No.. no I'm not." He puffed an exhale. "But I'd like to be," shaking his head, he instructed the droid further.
"Short rum, on the rocks. Put whatever else you want in it. Dull it with spotchka and shake it first."
"You have fine taste, sir."
"Thanks."
The droid disappeared to the bar, where he began to habitually prepare the ingredients. Juuna turned and noticed, asking where the drink came from.
Fix avoided her gaze when he felt it, nervousness overwhelming. He hoped she wouldn't come over, but that wasn't a guarantee in a place like this.
As the Selkath's unconscious body was lifted from the floor, the two men pestering him got up to leave, dropping a few credits on the bar counter.
"How about another round on me, boys?" Came a faint voice from behind them. Fix could barely hear the exchange, darting his eyes across the room to examine.
The two men, standing a fair bit taller than the newcomer, eyed him cautiously.
"Whaddya wanna buy us for?" One of them asked.
"You look like you can raise hell. I like those types," came a reply.
Fix angled his ear to the conversation. The voice sounded familiar, but he needed another listen. The figure was hidden behind the taller men.
The two looked to each other then back down to the shorter one.
"Alright then," one said. "Entertain us."
"Smart choice."
The men sat back down, joined by the third.
Stepping out of the shadow, Fix narrowed his eyes to get a better look at him.
But the returning droid attendant had other plans.
"Here you are sir, rum on the rocks, spotchka, and Onderonian apple juice. Shaken."
"Yes, yes, thank you." Fix waved the droid off, dropping a few credits in the tip jar attached to the droid's frame.
Attendant stepping away, he finally could get a good eye on the man, for curiosity's sake. Lifting the rum to sip, he saw his face clearly.
It was him.
The rum glass dropped to the table and shattered, spilling alcohol across the floor and onto a nearby Duro.
His side of the cantina briefly paused, and Fix turned his head to avoid being noticed by the man. The Duro was unhappy, raising his fist and shouting.
The droid attendant returned, apologizing for giving Fix a faulty glass. Juuna soon followed, shooing the droid to the bar.
"If this was your way of getting me to come over here, you're strangely creative," she smirked.
Fix couldn't move, he couldn't blink, he could barely breathe.
"Are you okay, Fix?" She asked him, wiping off the alcohol with a wet rag. He watched it absorb into the fibers of the cloth, wishing it was waterfalling down his throat instead.
He said nothing.
"Fix?"
He buried his face in his hands, shaking his head.
"What's the matter?"
"How often does that man come in here?"
"What man?"
"The one talking to the two in black, at the bar." He didn't look, but she turned to glance over.
"Oh, him? He's been coming in every few days. This is the first time he's spoken to anyone though. Usually he just hangs out in the corner and watches everything, then leaves."
"Do you know who he is?"
"I don't know his name, but he looks remarkably similar to you. Do you know him?" She asked.
"I think so, yes."
"Do you want me to say something?"
"No!" He whispered sharply. "I just need to watch him for a bit, is that okay?"
She looked rather disgruntled, but chose to refrain from letting any further emotion show.
"That's fine," she said, pacing back to the bar in silence.
Fix's entire reason for coming here was to drum up the courage to speak to a beautiful woman.
Yet that had been thrown out by the man sitting at the bar, wrapping up his round of drinks with two new acquaintances.
They finished up their conversation with a bit of apparent tension, the two men gathering themselves and hurriedly making for the door, lifting their hoods over their heads.
Fix watched them exit, while the other man remained seated, counting credits to pay Juuna.
He glanced down at a device planted on his wrist, appearing to be a chronometer.
After a few seconds, he also got up to leave, nodding to Juuna as he did, and passed between a few tables as he hustled for the door.
Fix felt Juuna's eyes lingering on him. He didn't want to leave, but the drinks she owed him would have to wait.
As she came from behind the bar to approach him again, Fix whisked himself from the booth and out the door in pursuit.
Juuna stopped in her tracks, watching him go in disappointment.
The oceanic air hung low under the stars as Fix surged out of the cantina and into the silent night. The streets of Ahto City were quiet, as usual, a far cry from the cantinas that dotted the cityscape.
He paused outside the establishment, looking to his right, then to his left.
Seeing no one, he pondered how to proceed. Until he heard it.
The sounds of scuffle, in the distance. He used his ears and followed the noises until he heard the echoes of men shouting.
Fix picked up the pace and started running, knowing he'd most likely find the ones in question at the source of the ruckus.
Barreling around a corner, he heard the sounds stop, and footsteps running off. He swore, and banked a right around another corner, and then he saw it.
A faint trail of blood smeared across the side of a building. He traced his index finger through it. It was fresh.
The next thing he heard was the charging of a pistol.
Within a second, he felt it's cold metal presence etched upon his head. He closed his eyes, fearing the worst.
"Always clear your corners, trooper."
Fix knew the voice better than any other in the universe. He had heard it countless times over thirteen years.
It was his own.
"Didn't think in the moment," Fix stammered.
"Most never do," the voice growled. "I noticed you when you came into the cantina. Why are you here?"
"I wanted to talk to you."
"Are you with the Imps?"
"No."
"How can I be sure?"
"My chip was removed five years ago."
Silence.
The pistol dropped back.
"Interesting. You too?" The voice asked.
Fix spun around slowly, bringing him into the eyeline of another clone, far more gruff in appearance, hosting a cybernetic replacement eye, his hair was cut short, and blood drained from his nose.
It was a face he came to know well during the first two years of the war.
"Commander Wolffe..?" Fix said slowly.
The man's sole working eye narrowed in suspicion.
"How do you know me?" The pistol budged slightly at his waist.
"I served with you."
Wolffe fell silent.
"I was a member of the 404th Battalion, under Or-..."
"Orren Kara, yeah." Wolffe said, holstering his pistol. "He was a good man. Learned a lot from General Plo. Shame they're lost to us."
"You got your chip removed?" Fix asked.
"It's a long story. I'll explain later. Right now, I'm just happy to see a familiar face, especially one that isn't trying to execute me for treason."
Fix winced at the mention of treason.
Blaster fire echoed through the Quermian throne room.
He shook it off with a twitch of his face.
"You okay, trooper?" Wolffe asked, patting Fix on the shoulder in solidarity.
"Yeah. Sorry."
"We need to get a move on," Wolffe wiped his nose, which was still leaking a bit of blood.
"What were you doing?" Fix asked.
"Those men were Imperial Agents. Not to be taken lightly." Wolffe shook his head in dismay. "Only one person has ever bested me in a fistfight, I'll be damned if I have to add those two punks to the list too."
"Who was it?" Fix asked, as they proceeded around the next corner to the central spaceport plaza.
"Name was Cody, he led the 212th. Used to spar between missions. One hell of a fighter, man he was good."
Fix mused upon the name, but realized more pressing matters existed.
"Hold on, why were you brawling with Imperial Agents?"
"I'll explain, we have to get off the street. Where do you stay?" Wolffe asked.
"East side, I'll lead us."
Wolffe obliged and followed after him.
The walk wasn't long, moving at such a brisk pace as the two clones were.
Ahto City was like a graveyard at night, eerily silent, with only the permeating yellow lights flashing every few seconds, casting an unsettling glow across the exterior of homes and shops.
That warning still lingered in the back of Fix's mind.
Arriving home, Fix moved to unlock his door with a resident card. Wolffe looked around the district apprehensively.
"You live here, trooper?" He asks, somewhat impressed, as Fix detected from his inflection.
"You can just call me Fix, and yes, I live here."
"Sorry.. Fix. You never dropped your nickname did you?"
"Nah. I see you haven't either."
"How can you tell?"
"You never corrected me when I called you Wolffe."
"Right.. Old habits die hard I guess."
"We're clones, of course they do."
"Meaning?"
"It runs in the family, Commander," Fix said with a smirk, opening the door to his inner garage promptly.
Stepping inside, Wolffe looked around at the holding bay, which contained various broken machinery, speeder parts, even a few pieces from starships. Tools and carts were lined up orderly against the wall across the bay, and a small interior living quarter was sanctioned off in the far corner.
"Let me get you a medkit," Fix said, and disappeared into the adjacent living space.
Wolffe browsed the hardware on the bay floor, inspecting Fix's handiwork. He nodded smugly.
Impressive.
"I don't have much in the way of medical supplies," Fix said, returning rather quickly, "but you should be able to stop the bleeding with what I do have. Got some gauze and anti-hemorrhage spray in there. Be ginger."
Wolffe nodded, taking the gauze and leaning down to let the blood flow from his nose.
"You a medic or something?"
"I was a combat mechanic actually, and a part-time pilot," Fix answered, watching him struggle with the gauze.
"That why you opened up this shop out here?"
"That's right."
"You seem to be good at what you do," Wolffe remarked.
"I make ends meet."
"Don't we all."
"You seem to have gotten in dirty with the wrong people," Fix said.
"Do what you gotta do, I guess."
"Better be careful, Ahto City is one of the strictest places in the galaxy for crime. If any camera caught you, they're looking for you now."
"I'm sure they are. I try and make my move and those Imp bastards spring a trap."
"You gonna tell me why you were after them now?"
Wolffe took a whiff of the anti-hemorrhage spray up each nostril, wincing in pain as he did so. Plugging his nose with thinly wrapped gauze, he took to mouth breathing for the time being. Gathering his thoughts, he mustered an answer in rather sharp form.
"They're traffickers."
"Traffickers? Of?"
"Weapons. Supplies. Hell, even kolto."
"Bullshit," Fix said. "The Selkath have the kolto locked up under heavy surveillance. Any movement into the harvesting bays and you'd be prosecuted in forty minutes."
"Not these guys. They're good. They have connections deeper than I thought possible," Wolffe replied, steadying his swaying head by leaning against a black wall behind him.
On closer examination, he noticed the black wall wasn't actually a wall. It was in the outline of a ship, the largest object in the bay, taking up half of the floor space. It was well wrapped in tarp and secured at the floor via hooks.
"What's this?" Wolffe asked, looking to Fix as he ran his hand along the exterior of the tarp.
"Nothing. Just a pet project," Fix looked to change the subject. "So, these agents. If they are smuggling weapons, and kolto, why?"
"They work for one of the sector governors in the Mid Rim, near the Colonies. One of the Moffs."
"Moffs?"
"Yeah. It's who the Emperor puts in charge of governance in designated regions. Twenty of 'em, I think. Then there's the Grand Moff."
"I'm guessing he's the big guy," Fix said with the faintest hint of a simper.
"From what I gather, he's smart as a whip and just as cunning. Very powerful." Wolffe pressed lightly upon his nose, drawing back in pain.
"Leave it alone," Fix said, like an annoyed parent.
Wolffe shook his head and continued.
"I've been tracking these guys across local systems in this sector. Whoever their Moff is, they have extraordinary power, or some sort of ruthless will to get things done outside of their own system, and under the nose of other Moffs."
"Why would a Moff want this stuff?"
"It's not your typical black market or aftermarket weaponry. This is heavy-grade, former Republic equipment. Stuff the Empire - their own Empire - discontinued and outlawed a few years ago." Wolffe paused to take a breath. "Large-scale munitions, capital ship ordinance, walker ordinance, mortars, bulk shipments of DC-15s, thermal detonators, mines, you name it. Enough to power a small army."
"They've used Manaan then?" Fix asked, intently focused and insanely curious.
"It seems they've used some of the sub-levels of the spaceport as a staging ground, and either they or their Moff paid off the Selkath to turn a blind eye. 'Tough on crime' till that crime pays well enough, I suppose."
"And because they turned a blind eye, it makes it easier to smuggle out kolto as well," Fix said.
"Now you're catching on."
"Kolto hasn't been used for widespread medical use in.. well, I'm not sure. A long time last I heard. Bacta is the thing now."
"It still has uses in experimental treatments. Whatever they're cooking up, it's growing in scale by the week."
"So what's your plan here, Commander?"
"I need to expose them to the Manaan government. The Moff paid them off, but that was under the table. Once they're exposed to the public eye, the political pressure will be too great."
"You seem to know enough about politicking your way around," Fix joked.
"Been doing this a while. And if you serve under a Jedi long enough, you catch on," Wolffe replied.
Fix nodded in agreement, thinking about Orren, wherever he could be in that moment. He'd be of great use to them.
"You're not gonna be able to take them on alone, and with a bloody nose," Fix said amusingly.
"No, I'm not."
Wolffe straightened his posture, and leaned off of the tarp.
"But with your help, Fix, I might."
Fix blinked. He had left this life behind, he wasn't a soldier anymore. He had a job here, a business. To wade back into that muck that was a soldier's life means bringing back the memories he'd tried so hard to bury. Quermia. His dead brothers. Order 66. All of it.
But Wolffe was a brother, for better or for worse, and something greater than both of them was happening here.
Naturally, he felt compelled to try and stop it.
"Fair warning," Fix began, "the Selkath love to crack down on anything deemed out of place. We'll have to move carefully."
"The first shipment offworld is in fourteen hours," Wolffe said, glancing down to the chronometer on his wrist.
"So what do we do?" Fix asked.
"We interrupt the shipment, and hope the authorities come crashing down on us."
"That may be a bit difficult right now."
"Why?"
"In case you haven't noticed, there's a storm coming."
"Damn. You're right." Wolffe stroked his chin in thought. "We'll have to move fast. And I mean, fast."
Before they could continue, a rap came at the door to the inner garage.
"You often get visitors at this hour?" Wolffe asked.
"No."
"Should I go hide?"
"That may be wise, go inside that door and wait for me," Fix motioned to his living quarters, and Wolffe hurried over.
Answering the door, it opened to reveal two Selkath guards. Their amphibious features greeted Fix with frigidly cold stares.
"Your name Fix?" One of them asked, in a rather broken sounding Basic.
"Yeah, why?"
"Mind if we ask you a couple of questions?" The other said, his Basic a bit more well-constructed.
"Uh, sure, yeah." Fix stepped outside, closing the door and subtly locking it behind him.
He followed the two through the sea of machinery in the outer garage to the open air of the plaza.
One of the Selkath removed a holo-puck from his pocket and held it up. On it, was Wolffe's face, spinning clockwise.
"You know this man? He looks awfully similar to you." The second guard said.
"Never seen him in my life."
"Are you absolutely sure?"
Fix, knowing the city's extensive camera network may have caught them walking together, felt he had no other choice. They would abate for now, but return later with hard evidence, and possibly an arrest warrant.
At that time, he hoped, it would be after their job was complete.
"Positive," he finally answered.
"Very well," the first said. The holo-puck disappeared back into the pocket of his companion and they turned to leave. "Thank you."
"My pleasure," Fix said, blank-faced, as he watched them return towards the center city.
Turning back to his garage, he felt a small splash of water on his hand.
And then another.
Looking up, he was greeted by something most unwelcome.
The first raindrops of the storm to come.
A/N: If you haven't noticed already, I'm trying to carve each of these chapters around the individual characters and their subplots, kind of like the Game of Thrones books. While I don't aim to get nearly as complicated (or disappointing in TV form) as that series, I will draw these threads together towards the end in the best way that I can. I'm not a pro author, but I do take inspiration from several of them.