Jag glanced behind him at Tek, still twitching nervously. Maybe Jaina was right. Maybe it was a mistake to bring him. "Follow my lead and don't say anything," he muttered to the younger man. He caught himself at that thought. Tek was only a few months younger. He suddenly understood Jaina's reflex to keep calling him a kid.
The building was a refreshing change from the desert outside. There was air circulation and vegetation in here. Jag dropped into the character of a spacer, knowing full well that he looked years older than twenty-three. He strode to a circulation desk across from the door, mimicking how he had seen Han Solo and Lando Calrissian walk.
The man behind the desk didn't try to hide his sneer. He was dressed neater than anyone had a right to be when on Tatooine. His hair was slicked back with excessive amounts of gel. "May I help you?" he asked in an oily voice, somehow managing to look down his nose at Tek and Jag even though they were both taller than him.
"I hear you're having problems with the Tuskens," Jag said, sliding into a Corellian accent.
"And you think that you could possibly assist? I am doubtful."
"I know how to shoot bloodthirsty scavengers. I can hit a target ten out of ten times."
"Or so you boast. For proof of each one you kill, you get fifty credits."
"Only fifty? If you know what's good for you, you'll give me a hundred."
"We will pay you fifty, or we won't pay you at all."
"Fine. I'll renegotiate when I get back, bringing the chieftain's staff." The man's only response was a dubious snort. He very pointedly turned away from them, hinting in no subtle way that they should leave.
"Come on," Jag muttered.
"Now what? Do we go kill Sand People?" Tek began asking outside.
"Sadly, no. We're with two Jedi, remember? We can't attack without a reason. But if they set upon us first, we'll be defending our lives, and that's considered a plausible excuse. If we're lucky, it'll come to that."
"Colonel Solo would have your head if she heard you say that."
"So take care that she doesn't hear it. If something accidentally slips, it'll be your head that rolls, not mine."
"What's that stink?" Tek asked abruptly. Jag sniffed and noticed a sharp scent beginning to drift past. He recognized the tang of ozone, suggesting recent blaster fire. Tek gestured down an alley. "Smells like it's coming from over there."
Jag nodded and drew his blaster. Tek followed suit. The alley was shadowed and dark. As they went farther in, Jag became aware of a stench like burned meat. Then he saw them.
The two Rodians were first, both bearing still smoking blaster wounds. "Emperor's black bones," Tek hissed. Jag swallowed. He felt a bit sick. Before him on the ground lay the Chiss officer. He rested his fingers against his neck, but there was no pulse. The being's red eyes stared dully up at the sliver of sky above. He was dead.
The building was a refreshing change from the desert outside. There was air circulation and vegetation in here. Jag dropped into the character of a spacer, knowing full well that he looked years older than twenty-three. He strode to a circulation desk across from the door, mimicking how he had seen Han Solo and Lando Calrissian walk.
The man behind the desk didn't try to hide his sneer. He was dressed neater than anyone had a right to be when on Tatooine. His hair was slicked back with excessive amounts of gel. "May I help you?" he asked in an oily voice, somehow managing to look down his nose at Tek and Jag even though they were both taller than him.
"I hear you're having problems with the Tuskens," Jag said, sliding into a Corellian accent.
"And you think that you could possibly assist? I am doubtful."
"I know how to shoot bloodthirsty scavengers. I can hit a target ten out of ten times."
"Or so you boast. For proof of each one you kill, you get fifty credits."
"Only fifty? If you know what's good for you, you'll give me a hundred."
"We will pay you fifty, or we won't pay you at all."
"Fine. I'll renegotiate when I get back, bringing the chieftain's staff." The man's only response was a dubious snort. He very pointedly turned away from them, hinting in no subtle way that they should leave.
"Come on," Jag muttered.
"Now what? Do we go kill Sand People?" Tek began asking outside.
"Sadly, no. We're with two Jedi, remember? We can't attack without a reason. But if they set upon us first, we'll be defending our lives, and that's considered a plausible excuse. If we're lucky, it'll come to that."
"Colonel Solo would have your head if she heard you say that."
"So take care that she doesn't hear it. If something accidentally slips, it'll be your head that rolls, not mine."
"What's that stink?" Tek asked abruptly. Jag sniffed and noticed a sharp scent beginning to drift past. He recognized the tang of ozone, suggesting recent blaster fire. Tek gestured down an alley. "Smells like it's coming from over there."
Jag nodded and drew his blaster. Tek followed suit. The alley was shadowed and dark. As they went farther in, Jag became aware of a stench like burned meat. Then he saw them.
The two Rodians were first, both bearing still smoking blaster wounds. "Emperor's black bones," Tek hissed. Jag swallowed. He felt a bit sick. Before him on the ground lay the Chiss officer. He rested his fingers against his neck, but there was no pulse. The being's red eyes stared dully up at the sliver of sky above. He was dead.