"I'm looking for the Red Kaltralt room."
The Lurmen bartender looked up from pouring a noxious ochre liquid into a cup that could only be generously described as clean. If it felt any suspicion towards its hooded inquisitor, who wore a cloak that was securely closed across the front – hiding all indicators of build, gender and even species – the Lurmen's large yellow eyes gave no indication. It merely raised a furred arm and pointed with extraordinarily long fingers towards an unlit portal that was cut into a small wall in the far back of the cantina. With a nod of thanks barely perceptible under the loose fabric, the hooded stranger turned and began to wind its way through the randomly arranged, tightly spaced tables that were crowded with patrons of a wide variety of species. They were spacers, laborers, and cons of all types, drawn to Mygeeto's largest spaceport by one thing – the lucrative and tightly regulated crystal trade.
The stranger passed through narrow gaps in the mass of sentient beings, ducking flailing limbs and bending around prostrate bodies with a grace that was distinct even under the billowing cloth. Reaching the small doorway untouched, it disappeared from view of the general cantina and entered a hallway that was properly lit with elegant wall sconces and had clean floors that didn't grab at boots with sticky residue. Several meters ahead a stairway ascended out of view. The stranger spared the surroundings only a brief glance before continuing up the stairs. Things remained well lit until reaching a landing which was darkened considerably, and which led to a continuing stairway on the other side. As the stranger crossed the midway point of the landing, two imposing Ubese emerged from the shadowy corners to grab the interloper's arm and yank off its cloak.
"If you wanted me to take something off for you, you could've just asked," Mission Vao commented with a smoothly practiced flirtatiousness. The guards ignored her, one searching her cloak for objects while the other ran a weapons scanner over her snug black combat jumpsuit. Her tone probably lost something behind those vacuum-tight suits and helmets the Ubese always wore. Regardless, they would find no reason to stop her – she had come completely unarmed as per the recommendations of all who knew the individual she hoped to meet, and despite her own instincts.
Apparently satisfied with the results of their investigations, the one with the scanner waved her through. Mission took a few steps towards the continuing stairs before pausing and turning back with an outstretched hand.
"May I have my cloak back?" she asked with edged politeness.
The Ubese looked down at the garment still held in its hand before looking back up at Mission and then handing it to her. She snatched it back and slung it loosely over her shoulders as she twirled away, leaving the hood down and her lekku exposed.
When she reached the top of the stairs a door slid open in a seemingly blank wall, revealing a startling contrast to the cantina below. Floating lamps and chandeliers were strategically scattered throughout the huge room, some at eye level and some hovering halfway to the ceiling fifteen meters above. They bathed the ornate carpet and impressive furnishings in an abundance of warm light. Artworks ranging from beautiful to utterly perplexing stood freely about in the room and hung on five of the walls. The sixth and largest wall, however, made the rest of the space seem an afterthought.
Stretching from floor to ceiling, one seamless pane of transparisteel provided an unobstructed view of the striking crystalline landscape of Mygeeto. The city was built into an enormous crystalline butte and the owner of the Red Kaltralt room had acquired some of the exorbitantly priced real estate cut into the sides, space that was generally dominated by landing bays and shipping organizations. In the midst of her awe, Mission almost failed to notice the room's sole occupant, though once she spotted him she knew she would never overlook him again.
In the middle of the expansive view was a lone desk, as ornate as anything else in the room. It sat somewhat low, necessitated by the stature of the Lurmen behind it. He was short, somewhat fat, had carefully preened and bejeweled fur, had a tail that was wrapped from the tip halfway down in some sort of shimmering fabric, and he was simultaneously the most puzzling and adorable looking sentient being Mission had ever seen.
"Dom Kartok, I am grateful for the privilege of meeting with you," she said with great humility and a bow. She held herself bent over for a few moments longer than necessary because she needed the time to compose her face and suppress her giggle. This was the most powerful crime boss on Mygeeto?
Mission returned to an upright position and found herself looking downward slightly to make eye contact with Kartok. She wasn't exactly towering at a little over 160 centimeters in height, but her host was short even among his own species. Nevertheless, she had to give him credit; he held himself with much greater stature than his frame (or his gaudily decorated fur) should have allowed. With an elegant sweep of an arm, he gestured to one of the two regally appointed and decidedly squatty chairs facing him across the desk. As Mission worked hard to gracefully descend into a seat less than half a knee height off the ground, she realized this and all the rest of the furniture in the room was too low even for average Lurmens. It seemed that Kartok liked to resort to petulant tricks, making his guests physically uncomfortable to give himself a bargaining edge. She would also resort to equally childish tricks to marginalize him in her own mind. To start, she angled herself in the seat so that if she cocked her head to one side she could always see part of his tail. She swallowed the giggles that threatened to return. Cheap ploys didn't work on this Mission.
"Miss Holunta, I am pleased to welcome you into my company." Kartok spoke with clear Basic, the chirping purr natural to Lurmen verbalizations almost completely absent. He remained standing behind his desk. "Potential new clients always bring a smile to the successful businessman."
"I can indeed see you are quite successful and, I am told, extremely fair." Mission presented the obvious statements as genuine praise. Well, no one had told her Kartok was fair, but then no good smugglers were. "It is for these reasons that my client's interest was drawn to your Mygeetan operations."
That, and they'd struck out everyplace else.
"Excellent! I am pleased to have captured your client's notice. Tell me, what are their needs?" So far everything Mission had heard about Kartok was checking out – professional, direct, and not to be trifled with, as his Ubese guards confirmed. Mission adjusted her lekku to a position that indicated comfort and confidence, though the Twi'lek body language was probably lost on the Lurmen. She leaned forward slightly to reply.
"My client requires an annual yield of 230 kilos." Kartok's face appeared completely apathetic at the paltry number, though it could have just been the fur, so Mission pressed on. "All at grade Bacca five, unrefined."
This got Kartok's attention. Though he hid it well – or maybe the fur did – Mission noticed his posture change slightly and his eyes widen, making his already huge yellow eyes even larger. The Galactic Mining Council had set standards of quality for crystals to be used in non-decorative applications, based on homogeneity of the crystal structure, the density of foreign particles, and the types of imperfections. Bacca five was a rarified grade of crystal, extremely difficult to find naturally, even on a planet such as Mygeeto. Their export was even more tightly controlled than lower grades because of their potential for use in exotic weaponry or energy modulation systems – which frequently powered exotic weaponry. The ruling Hutts had a distinct interest in keeping their competitors from ending up with such systems.
"Bacca five is an almost… prohibitively expensive quality of crystal, Miss Holunta. Who is your client that they have such wealth?" Kartok asked with a look of suspicion… but no, Mission decided, that look meant something else.
He wasn't suspicious? He should be.
"My client, of course, wishes to maintain their anonymity," she replied smoothly. Leaning forward, she upped the ante. "And my client is willing to negotiate a ten-year contract, which they hope will help secure a bulk discount rate. They are willing to offer 180 million credits, annually."
Bastila had actually approved 250 million annually on the recommendation of the Jedi Order's accountant, one Arvan Carrick, whom she had never met. She didn't know where the Order was getting all this money from, but 250 mil a year sure wasn't going to end up with this slime ball. She could get a better deal than that.
Karok finally seated himself and leaned back slightly in his chair, one hand absently stroking the tufts of fur radiating from his cheeks. He was surprised, and that surprised Mission. No decent businessman would admit surprise at a generous offer – they expected generous offers, negotiated hard to ensure large profit margins, and never, ever acknowledged in any way that they were getting a fair deal. Yet his surprise was palpable, which meant either he had little skill at negotiating – impossible for someone with enough wealth to employ Ubese – or he had been so expectant of a low-ball offer that this far-from-modest proposition caught him completely off guard. And if he had placed so much trust into what he believed could be expected from this interchange, then he must think he had very, very good information on 'Miss Holunta.' And that worried Mission. A lot.
She had put a lot of effort over the years into cultivating her 'Miss Holunta' persona, working hard to ensure that her reputation was that of a sourcing agent who represented only the wealthiest clients. Kartok should not have been anticipating a low offer from her. Could he have connected her back to the Jedi Order?
"Well, Miss Holunta, that is an attractive offer indeed," Kartok said after a few moments more. He stood once more before continuing. "I thank your client for their generosity, and for their willingness to do business with me. However," he leaned forward and braced his palms on the desktop, "I am afraid we cannot conduct business together. For this, I am truly sorry."
Mission believed his sincerity. It must be hard to walk away from the profit she was offering him. Her warning instincts were growing louder by the moment, but she adopted an expression of curiosity and a charming smile.
"And may I ask why not?"
"I have for some time been in an agreement with a client who wishes to have all my production of high-quality crystals sent exclusively to them. They, of course, pay very lucratively for such a privilege, which I am pleased to offer them."
Mission smiled coyly. "I'm sure a skilled entrepreneur such as yourself could find a small surplus in your impressive production capabilities, an amount which wouldn't be missed. It is well within my client's means to offer a more aggressive per-unit rate than what you are currently receiving." Now she hoped Bastila would forgive her if she exceeded their crystal budget. This was their last lead.
"Ah, Miss Holunta, you are shrewd indeed. You understand how things work in this business, and you know my weakness! Where there is money to be made, there is always more money to be made with someone else."
"My client would love to be your 'someone else'."
"And I would love to have them! However, my current client offers certain things that go beyond the concerns of my bottom line."
"Such as stability and security?" Mission queried, seeing an opening. "My client can offer these as well – a ten-year contract, which I have already mentioned, and at a rate which exceeds what I already mentioned."
Kartok nodded. "You are right, Miss Holunta, stability and security are absolutely a large part of it. However, my time scale exceeds even an entire decade. And, to be frank, the risk I would take at crossing them… well, that in itself has financial value as well. Especially if I crossed them to do business with the Jedi Order."
"I'm not sure what your sources have told you, Dom Kartok, but I certainly do not represent the Jedi Order. Do they even still exist?" Mission forced an amused smile – her years of street-living never failed her – even as her heart raced. He had connected her back to the Order! This was not good.
Kartok's face soured slightly. "Now, Miss Holunta, I detest arguing over what we both know to be facts." He sighed slightly, now adopting a regretful look. "And I detest even more that I must not allow you to leave until agents of my client can arrive to question you. I have been assured that they only want information out of you, nothing more."
Mission didn't panic. Panicking was for street urchins. On Taris, even at the age of fourteen, she had been a street queen. Instead, she concentrated with all her mental might on a simple thought. If this message didn't get through, all that training Bastila had forced her through would prove as worthless as a Selkath on Tatooine – which is exactly what she'd said at the time.
"This is how you treat your potentially lucrative clients, huh?" Mission stood, her posture making it clear she had no intention to flee. Unarmed, she wouldn't be getting very far. "You could have at least offered me a drink."
Kartok laughed. "Very good! I believe I would have enjoyed very much working with you, Miss Holunta. It is a shame that is not to be." He procured two ornately chiseled tumblers from a desk drawer, along with an equally ornate bottle of a gold liquid. Force, she hoped it was brandy and not urine – it would fit her luck that this planet liked its urine drinks.
Kartok made a generous pour in each of their glasses and handed one across to her. Without a second thought, she tipped it back. It was actually pretty good, smooth with a lingering warmth. As she withdrew the tumbler from her mouth, she surreptitiously bit down with one of her sharp Twi'lek canines and was pleased to feel it scratch beneath her tooth. Excellent – it wasn't Mygeetan crystal or some other exotic substance. Just plain glass.
"You have excellent taste in brandy," Mission complimented with an unconcerned air that must have thoroughly delighted her indulgent captor.
"Thank you," he replied with a slight bow. A chirp sounded from the control panel on his desk and he punched a button, opening the door through which she had entered. It opened to reveal four figures wearing gray combat suits with black armor over the chest and black helmets not unlike what the Ubese wore. Their hands were the only indicator of species – two were human, one was a Rodian and the last she didn't recognize. They were armed, but only with vibroswords strapped over their backs. That was unusual. Two of the newcomers took up positions by the door while the other two approached Mission.
"I'm truly sorry it had to come to this, Miss Holunta," Kartok said when the two black figures were mere steps from Mission's back.
"Not as sorry as you're gonna be," Mission growled back.
She shifted her grip on the tumbler to the thick bottom. Kartok's face formed a look of some surprise and he started to say something, but she couldn't hear what he said over the sound of shattering glass as she brought the tumbler down against the corner of the desk. Spinning around, she drove the jagged remains of the glass into the neck of the nearest would-be captor. As he doubled over she pulled the vibrosword from the sheath on his back, fluidly continuing the motion all the way around into an upward swing that sliced open his chest. She pirouetted, letting the spin propel the sword into the arm of his partner, outstretched as he attempted to draw his own weapon.
As Mission finished her spin facing an astonished Kartok, the two individuals at the door had just started across the large room. Brandishing the sword caused the Lurmen to duck under the desk, giving her space to vault over it and dash towards – where? She was in a room with only one exit – as far as she could tell – and she no longer had the element of surprise. She didn't like her odds in a sword fight with two opponents who felt so confident with their melee weapons that they didn't feel the need to carry blasters.
And great, now the door was opening to let in more sword aficionados.
Mission found herself getting backed against the massive windows as the group, now eight strong, closed in around her. She felt ghostly fingers of panic coil in her gut when her back hit solid glass. She tried to focus enough to send one last desperate message but fear was overcoming her in a way she hadn't experienced since her youth. It was as if these strange foes radiated certainty of her doom. She was preparing to drop her sword when something went 'thunk' against the pane behind her. Looking down she immediately found the source of the noise – a dull black object was affixed to the glass just behind her knees.
Mission brought her sword up in a defensive stance and then threw it clumsily towards her nearest opponents. It missed, but the gap created as two of them twisted out of the way of the weapon was enough for her to leap through. They turned to follow her but it was too late – just as she dove over Kartok's desk, the glass wall behind them erupted in a maelstrom of flames and crystalline shards.
The blast of heat and roar of the explosion subsided almost as suddenly as they had arrived, replaced with the much lower howl of wind rushing past the cliff face into which the window had been set. Mission stood from her sheltered position and the air rushing past her made her shiver. The room was much colder now.
Mission moved around the desk, her boots crunching on fragments of glass. The eight would be captors were dead – or at least unconscious – so she turned her attention to the pathetic figure cowering under the desk. He had been on the wrong side of things – literally – and was not completely spared from the explosion. She smelled burnt fur and could see he was bleeding from cuts in several locations.
She stooped to let him know he was coming with her and coincidentally barely avoided a round of blaster fire over her head. Peering over the desk she could see more black-clad figures piling through the door; apparently, these guys weren't so obsessed with swords.
"You're damn lucky," she growled at Kartok, who merely whimpered in response. A nudge at the back of her mind – one which she had learned to pay attention to – sent her sprinting towards the gaping hole in the glass wall. Without hesitation, she leaped through and into the open air, blaster fire following.
In hindsight, she wished she could have seen the looks on the thug's faces as she disappeared over the edge.
Wind scratched her face as she fell freely. After only a second she felt herself drifting unnaturally to her right and towards a rapidly ascending speeder. She tried to angle her body appropriately but still managed to smack her ankle hard against the craft as she landed roughly in the front passenger seat.
"That hurt!"
Dustil Onasi gave her a wry glance as he banked the speeder hard for a descent to the more sheltered canyons below. "It could have hurt a lot more."
"Force powers my ass. I bet your dad could have done better," Mission grumbled, through it was belied by a genuine smile. A windowed canopy closed over their heads and her shivering slowly stopped.
"So… how'd your meeting go?"
"You're hilarious." Mission sighed and slumped further into the seat. "He knew I was there for the Jedi Order. I don't think he had my personal identity figured, but he sure made the important connection."
Dustil's frowned. "That's not good. Why is it so hard to find lightsaber crystals? We're going to have new Jedi running around with blasters and vibroswords." A beep sounded from somewhere and he glanced down at a scanner display. "That's also not good – we've got followers. Three of them, four klicks back."
"Are they gaining?"
"Not sure yet. Maybe, slowly. They're don't seem to be a lot faster than we are."
Mission nodded and patted the dash. "When you rent, rent the best." She paused thoughtfully. "How much was the deposit again?"
"Hang on," was Dustil's only reply. She braced herself just in time for them to enter a near-vertical dive towards the canyons below. The speeder shuddered slightly, the only indication they had just experienced a near-miss. Considering they'd felt anything at all, their pursuers must have some big guns.
Dustil leveled them out as they reached the canyons. While he started winding their way through the narrow crystalline confines, Mission keyed the canopy opening sequence and reached into the back seat for a gun. She braced herself on the back of her seat and armed a heavy rifle, wondering in the back of her mind if Canderous would have approved of their weapon selection.
"They should be in sight now!" Dustil warned her, having to shout over the wind now tearing around them again. A few moments later one and then another two black speeders drifted into sight, pursuing from above the winding crevasses. Why was everything black with these guys? Mission squeezed off a round of blaster fire that passed harmlessly between the speeders, then noticed her black gloves cuffed over her black jumpsuit.
Oh, right. Because black was the color of intimidation and ass-kicking.
Well, she wasn't intimidated.
Dustil jerked the speeder into a diverging canyon just as their primary route erupted into a fireball of rock and crystal. Mission let out an embarrassing yelp as she was pitched against the side of the speeder. "Watch it, flyboy!"
"Maybe hit something for once!" Dustil returned without any real recrimination. Mission resumed her firing position, unleashing a steady stream of fire as the speeders above swung into view. It didn't seem to be having any effect against their hull plating. She had just begun to investigate overpowering the weapon for a few rounds when the overcast sky disappeared.
They had entered a naturally formed tunnel. The space was eerily lit – some of the translucent crystal was conducting light from above, creating a diffused glow.
"Does this have an exit?" Mission asked.
"We'll find out quick," was Dustil's glib reply.
Mission was about to return to a normal seated position when she noticed at least one of their pursuers had followed them into the tunnel. She grabbed the detpack launcher Dustil had used to create her exit and set the charges to maximum yield and proximity detonate. As their pursuer neared she plastered a dozen or so charges against the walls and ceiling in their wake. The first charge to go off didn't appear to cause much damage. The next few were above their pursuer, however, and the explosions dropped large fragments of rock and crystal onto the speeder. By the time the last few charges went off the speeder was careening into the tunnel walls, ultimately ending in a hurtling fireball.
Dustil grinned without taking his eyes off the path ahead of them. "Nice work."
"That's why they call me the best."
"Who calls you that?"
Dustil was saved from a hearty slap by jerking the speeder upward abruptly as the tunnel ascended towards a skyward-facing exit. "Grab the controls!" he ordered Mission before gripping the windshield to rise out of his seat. His hand went for the lightsaber on his belt.
"What are you doing?" she cried as she used the copilot's controls to hold the speeder to their winding ascent route.
"They're waiting for us out there!"
Mission was opening her mouth to ask how he could know this when they suddenly leaped clear of the tunnel and into the open air. An instant later they were surrounded by a withering hail of blaster fire and rounds from light laser cannons. She continued their climb knowing it would be the most difficult vector for their enemies to track with their weapons. A skittering sound to her left informed her that Dustil was actively deflecting fire.
"So much for our cover, lightsaber boy!"
He didn't respond. A second later a violent crack tore the air and shook their speeder, and Dustil's body came flying forward to slump across the dash. His impact pushed the controls out of Missions hands and set them into a steep dive. Swallowing her panic, she grabbed his body and pulled him upright into the pilot's seat.
"Dammit Dustil, not now! Wake up you dummy!" She jerked his body and was startled when it actually worked and his eyes snapped open.
"What the -?" he mumbled, utterly confused for a brief moment. Awareness swiftly returned to him; he twisted rapidly to grab the controls, pulled the speeder out of its descent, and threw them into a jarring evasive pattern. Mission heaved a sigh of relief and slumped back into her seat for a moment until a stray thought entered her head.
"Our cover's definitely blown now, lightsaber boy," she reiterated acridly.
"What was I supposed to do? They were going to hit us otherwise!"
"You couldn't have done that hand-absorby thing that Vandar does sometimes?"
"I'm not at Master Vandar's level," Dustil retorted irritably. "And there were a lot of shots. And that last one was a laser cannon!"
"And you'd better not scare me like that again!" was Mission's disjointed response, the fear of seeing Dustil knocked out just now catching up to her.
"You're sweet, Blue," was all he said as he dove towards a new canyon. They were showered by fragments of blasted rocked as they descended into the trench. Their pursuers followed them in – though they wouldn't get a clear shot through the winding courses, they could at least keep their quarry within sight and make sure they didn't lose them into more tunnels or divergent channels.
Coming around a bend, a massive rock outcropping was revealed in the center of their path. They took a quick and dangerously exposed route over it, bringing themselves above the canyon walls. From there they could once again see in front of them the steep crystalline bluffs of the city's edge, dotted with landing bays and freight traffic.
"We've got to get back to the city," Mission shouted over the roar of the wind.
Dustil nodded. "The canyons will get us close." They descended again just as their pursuers found a clear shot. It impacted obliquely against the rear of the speeder and ricocheted off and across Mission's right arm. She fell forward with a cry, gripping her wound.
"Mission!" Dustil shouted with alarm.
"I'm okay, it's just a graze," she assured through clenched teeth.
"I can take away some of the pain."
"No! Focus on getting us not killed."
Dustil gritted his teeth and upped their speed just a hair more, throwing himself deeply into the Force, letting it guide his every move. Without warning, he swung them into a side canyon that angled parallel to the city.
"Why are we going this way?" Mission asked. She received her answer almost immediately as a missile impacted into the canyon they had just left. Moments later what appeared to be a moderately sized assault craft roared overhead and began a wide banked turn. Her gaze followed until it was obstructed by the canyon walls.
She turned to Dustil with a somber expression. "We're not going to last much longer out here with that thing around." He simply nodded in response. "Maybe we should surrender. I'm positive they want us alive."
Dustil seemed to be thinking about that when his mood suddenly brightened. "They wanted you alive?"
"Yeah, seemed like it. Wait, why?"
"Shoot one of the engines."
"What? No!"
"We need to do it before that ship gets a bead on us again! They need to see that we're damaged and they might be able to capture us," he explained.
"This is insane," Mission grumbled as she reached into the back seat and grabbed the largest blaster they had remaining.
"Wait for my command," Dustil ordered while splitting his attention between their heading and the topographic scanner on the dash. They had to be oriented towards the city before blowing the engine – course corrections were going to be real hard after that.
"Ready," Mission announced.
"Shoot the starboard engine… now!" Dustil started them climbing out of the canyon as she opened fire on the engine panel, immediately perforating it. Several blasts later only faint smoke was issuing from the compartment.
"This isn't doing much!"
Dustil flicked a couple of switches, redirecting more power to the damaged engine. "Try it again!"
Mission sent two more blasts at the engine and was immediately rewarded with a rocking explosion and had to shield her face from the momentary blast of heat. A thick plume of smoke was streaming behind them. She looked around and spotted the assault craft off their port, flying straight for them.
"Looks like they're still on an attack vector," she reported. She turned back to watch the sacrificed engine and noticed the other speeders now closing in on them but maintaining a fair distance. "Hang on – the guys in the speeders figured it out. They're in a containment formation."
She slid back into her seat, one hand covering her undressed wound, and watched the approaching landing bays. She let out a faux sigh of relief – at least they weren't going to end up smeared all over the Mygeetan landscape. "So now what? They're going to be all over us when we land."
"I wasn't planning on landing," Dustil replied.
Mission's brow set heavily in annoyance. "This is going to be a terrible idea. Is 'The Force' slang for 'stupid juice that all Jedi drink'? What is it with your ideas?"
"They're working so far. If you don't have the balls to follow me, you can stay with our friends," he retorted, jerking a thumb at the speeders behind them.
"I have bigger balls than you do, lover boy. You can follow me. And if this idea of yours works, maybe you won't have to sleep in the cockpit tonight."
Dustil smirked. He adjusted several power supply controls then locked the autopilot onto their present course. "We've got about 30 seconds. Get ready."
Mission followed instinct and poised herself to stand in her seat. "What are we doing?" she asked, half-knowing what he intended while worrying about the rapidly nearing city wall, now several hundred meters away.
Dustil stood upright and checked that his lightsaber was securely clipped to his belt before reaching for Mission's hand. He looked her straight in the eye. "Do you trust me?"
"Duh," she replied with complete seriousness.
"Jump."
Later, Mission would wonder whether it felt so effortless to leap from the speeder because they were about to hit the side of a crystalline butte, or because she so utterly trusted Dustil. She hoped it was the latter. In that moment, however, she focused solely on propelling herself clear of the doomed speeder, praying that the impact and subsequent explosion wouldn't send any shrapnel through her body.
She felt a wash of relief when Dustil's hand grabbed hers. At least they were going to die together.
They plummeted down and forward and she had to admit that Dustil's knack for timing did have them lined up to smear themselves all over the landing bay floor instead of the cliff face. She had just noticed that their descent seemed to be slowing when a tremendous crack sounded overhead, followed instantly by a great whoosh of air and heat and then flaming pieces of small debris.
So much for their deposit. To be fair, it probably didn't cover the cost of replacing the entire speeder.
Perplexingly, a second explosion followed the first one after a second or two. Mission was wondering what that could be when Dustil pulled her close against his chest and twisted his back to face the landing bay. She was just formulating her anger at his overt coddling of her when they hit the floor and all thoughts were drilled from her head.
They tumbled across the landing bay, careening in different directions despite Dustil's attempts to protect her with his body. As she spun and then skidded, Mission was sure every part of her body that could slam against the hard metal did, at least a couple of times. When she finally stopped moving the first thing she did was mercifully take a moment to blackout, only to come round again a few seconds later. Through spinning, dotted vision she saw Dustil a dozen meters away, painfully climbing to his feet and staggering in her direction.
"Come on, we've got to hide." Mission's eyes snapped open to see Dustil stooping over her, bracing himself on his knees. She must have blacked out again.
"No, just let me sleep," she groused with a tongue that felt far too thick in her mouth.
"Come on," he growled, pulling the battered Twi'lek to her feet and doing his best to ignore her pained groans. Mission was about to protest more but spotted the figures jumping from speeders hovering at the mouth of the landing bay, which was now obstructed by flaming wreckage. Instead, she did her best to hobble along and asked a question.
"I never thought a personal speeder could make such a boom." Her voice was weak – she realized she was still short of breath.
Dustil's face, rigid with pain, broke into a restrained grin. "I started an overload in the power distributor. The blast took one of their speeders with it."
So that had been the second explosion. "That's hot," Mission commented earnestly. "Looks like you've earned a spot in my bed tonight."
As they merged into the crowd of beings gathering to witness the burning spectacle, Dustil replied "And you know, I think I could actually sleep through your snoring tonight,"
She was too dizzy and missed his ribs on the first try, but her fist landed true on the second.
"Ow! Damn Mission, that hurt."