Disclaimer: Not mine. The Universe belongs to George Lucas. I'm just playing around in it for a little while. I'm not making any money off of this, and this is purely a creative exercise.
Chapter 2:
Nar Shadda. As the Jezebeth streaked between the tall towers that gave Nar Shadda its nickname of "the vertical city," Moira stood in the small room Teer had transformed into her quarters, decidedly unhappy with the image she saw in the mirror, I really hate this place. The moon hung in a low orbit over the Hutt's homeworld, and their general lawlessness had rubbed off on their tiny neighbour. Its towers housed countless cantinas frequented by the dregs of society. Of the millions who were on the tiny moon at any given time, Moira was pretty sure she could count the number of decent beings on her head tails. They would shoot you in the back for the money in your wallet, and generally nobody would really notice. It was the kind of place where anything could be bought and everything had a price; regardless of how illegal, immoral, unethical or fattening it was.
And interestingly enough, those were the things Moira liked about the tiny moon.
No, what she hated was the fact that just about the only identity a Twi'lek could adopt which would not attract any attention on this Sithforsaken place was as a decorative bit of fluff hanging off of some rich dilettante's arm.
This was a role she hated playing. She hated having to appear vacuous and helpless. She hated putting on the façade that she was incapable of taking care of herself.
Most of all, she hated having to be defined by her species. Ironic, really, considering how often she needed to be defined by her species. Most people considered Twi'lek females to be far beneath their contempt; not worth the energy it would take to pay attention to them. The few who actually saw her often couldn't describe her beyond "well, she was Twi'lek." Her very species made her, for all practical purposes, invisible. Definitely a good thing in her line of work.
But that didn't mean that she had to like it.
Teer, on the other hand, played a very convincing rich dilettante. Most people discounted him as being one of the many pirates which frequented the moon. Givin pirates, while uncommon, were not in any way unheard of. In fact, what few Givin pirates existed were almost without exception very good at it. Their capacity to survive in a hard vacuum made capturing craft more-or-less intact much easier.
"Moira, we're about to make a landing." Teer's voice sounded over the speakers in her room.
"You all ready, Teer?"
"Well, that depends."
"On what, exactly?"
"Are you wearing the same outfit you wore the last time we were here?"
"Careful, Teer, I know exactly where to shoot you so that it'll hurt the most." She tried to sound angry, and failed miserably. That was just Teer being Teer. He was also, probably, trying to put her at ease, knowing just how much she hated this place.
"And where, exactly, would you hide a blaster on that outfit?"
She looked again at herself in the mirror, trying to suppress a shiver that ran down her spine at the wanton sex-object she'd transformed herself into. Teer was, unfortunately, right. This outfit left practically nothing to the imagination, and exposed far more of her pale green skin than she would have preferred.
I really, really hate this place.
Moira's mood hadn't improved much twenty standard minutes later. If anything, it had worsened.
It was bad enough having to dress up like a common prostitute, but the looks. It seemed as though everyone was attempting to undress her with their eyes. Which, considering her current attire, took very little mental effort.
I really hate this place.
"Easy, Moira." Teer's voice could be gentle when he put the effort into it. He knew how much she hated this place; how much she hated what she was forced to become every time she came here.
In his voluminous robes, Teer almost seemed regal, and he had the acting talent to put on the attitude to match. His tough exoskeleton and skeletal features made reading any expression on his face nearly impossible; but his every motion, his every word implied that those around him were not worthy of breathing the same air as he was.
Moira realized that her body was tensed and stiff, and she forced it to relax. She focused for a moment upon allowing the tension to flow out of her, in spite of the fact that she would dearly have loved to shoot the next person to look at her.
Instead, she put on her best sultry smile and pulled herself close to the small Givin; running her fingers over his bone-white scalp.
"Much better." Teer's voice sounded amused.
"Don't get any ideas."
"Who, me?" Teer had mastered the art of sounding innocent.
"So, tell me again why we come here?" She casually scanned the crowd.
"A number of reasons, not the least being that this is where we come to get paid and get instructions for our next job." He paused, "but for my money, seeing you in that slinky outfit is a good enough reason on its own."
"Teer…" Moira's voice took on an ominous tone.
"Hey, you can't blame a Givin for fantasizing a little bit."
"Care to bet on that?"
"Only as long as I'm holding your blasters." Much unlike Moira's apparel, Teer's robes left plenty of room for a pair of blasters. It made him a convenient place to have a weapon concealed.
Moira never went anywhere unarmed; partly because she lacked the strength or skill to defend herself in the event that she was. She was deadly with a pair of blasters, but without them, she had the intimidation factor of a newborn Shaak. It was a reasonable payoff. She'd never considered brute strength to be as valuable an asset as speed and agility. Sure, your average Wookie or Defel could tear your arm off, but they would generally find it difficult to do so if they couldn't lay a hand on you. Moira had lost count of the number of times her life had been saved simply by not being where an attack landed.
Never walk into a room you don't know how to walk out of. Her mentor's voice again rang in her ears. She'd been little more than a child when he'd taken her in, and she grew up learning what he called "the art of invisibility." She'd never learned his name, but she'd spent nearly ten standard years under Tatooine's suns learning how to blend seamlessly with any crowd, and in any setting. She learned to fight and defend herself, and she learned how to recognize the vulnerability of any security system, and how to bypass it. He taught her how to analyze a machine or a device and sabotage it, and how to make educated estimates at how long it would be out of commission. He taught her to leave no residual presence at the scene of the crime, but to place just the right evidence to point at someone else.
She had no memories of her father, and in many ways, her mentor stepped into that role. He was human, and his association with the Empire was a closely-guarded secret. He was one of the few imperials who didn't buy into the party line that "non-humans are sub-human." "That's a load of Dewback-shit," he'd said to her. It was shortly after the death of the Emperor that she'd left Tatooine, never to return. She'd never seen her mentor again, and she often wondered what had become of him.
"He's here." Teer's voice drew her out of her reverie, and she looked in the direction he nodded.
The man looked horribly out of place. He seemed awkward and uncomfortable. But he didn't look Imperial. He spotted them immediately and sat down across the table from them. It was a different man every time they came here, but it was always easy to pick them out, if you knew what to look for.
He looked across at the two aliens in front of him. Moira noticed that his nose scrunched as he looked at them, as if he had smelled something terribly unpleasant.
"I'm to tell you that you did a magnificent job on Naron," he spoke first, "their talks with the New Republic broke down two days ago, and they have since solicited the help of the Empire. The remainder of your pay is being deposited in your account as we speak."
"Teer?" Moira turned to the Givin.
Teer produced a small datapad, and tapped a few buttons. Then he looked up at her and nodded.
"Thank you," she told the man across from her.
"You think that the Empire would renege on this?" The man sounded indignant.
"I always assume anyone would renege on anything. That's why I'm still alive." Moira's brow furrowed.
He cocked his head, "very well."
A long silence hung in the air between them, "so, are you going to tell me the next job, or are you going to make me ask?"
"Why do you assume that there is a 'next job?'"
"Because you would have left by now if there weren't."
He nodded, "Very well," he slid a datacard across the table. "This assignment is higher risk than your previous ones, so we'll pay you twice your normal fee."
"Half now, half on completion?"
"As always."
"What's the job?"
"Do you accept?"
Moira frowned. The Empire had never offered to pay her more before. They must really want this job done.
She nodded, "transfer the money."
"Very well." He nodded.
"Money's transferred." Teer announced.
"Everything you need to know is on that data card. As always, …"
"I know," Moira held up a hand to cut him off, "we never met, this conversation never happened, I've never seen you before."
He stood up, "and good luck." He turned on his heel in a nearly stormtrooperesque fashion and stalked out of the cantina.
Why do I get the feeling that I'm going to need it?
"So, where do I set a course?" The Jezebeth rocketed out of Nar Shadda's gravity well as Moira perused the contents of the data card.
"He wasn't kidding. This is higher risk." Moira's face betrayed the concern she felt.
"Can we do it?"
"Oh yeah, we can do it. It'll just be a little harder than we're used to."
"So, where to?" Teer asked, eagerly.
"Coruscant."
"Coruscant?"
"Yeah," she smiled, "when was the last time you visited the Imperial palace?"