Hunter stood beside Wrecker as the Jedi bartered with a male Twi'lek. Tech had wandered a short distance away and was working on his datapad, seeming completely oblivious to his surroundings . . . which was pretty much normal when he was working on one of his projects. Hunter made a mental note to keep Tech in sight at all times while on Nar Shaddaa. Judging by what he'd seen, Tech was the kind of person who'd get slugged over the head and robbed within seconds.
At the moment, though, he was safe enough, because Crosshair stood beside him, arms folded as he gazed over the crowd, looking generally menacing behind his helmet.
Hunter turned to check the market behind them. This was not at all like that small spaceport the Bad Batch had visited on Nal Hutta. There, people had wandered about the streets during the day, not seeming in any particular hurry. Here, no one was wandering.
He rested a hand on his pistol as he watched the citizens more carefully. They all seemed to have some definite purpose in mind – everyone was either walking hurriedly towards or away from various booths and stalls. Most of the civilians seemed to have a clear destination planned – hardly anyone paused to glance at the vendors' wares until they were actually at the stands; no one even acknowledged the existence of anyone nearby unless they were dealing directly with that person. The instant their business was concluded, each person would turn away, checking his or her surroundings first before leaving the market as quickly as possible.
Hunter stepped away from Wrecker as he continued to observe the action. The civilians were acting as though they were in constant fear of danger, and yet there was no visible threat. Even the market vendors, who seemed comparatively relaxed, kept a constant watch on their surroundings; their alertness was habitual, rather than strained, but it was still very noticeable.
At the edge of the plaza, a human woman in a frilled dress sauntered out of a building and leaned against the wall. Her nonchalant attitude caught Hunter's attention, and he glanced curiously at her. She seemed to realize he was watching, because she returned his gaze despite his helmet. Putting a hand on her hip, she eyed him for a moment, as though waiting for him to make a move.
Hunter had no idea what she wanted, but something about her bold gaze made him uncomfortable. He looked away for an instant to check on his squad, and when he looked back, the woman was wandering across the square, occasionally pausing to speak with various men.
Hunter wondered whether she realized she was drawing attention, and whether she was in danger because of it. She was acting completely unlike everyone else. . .
"Hunter?"
"Yeah." He turned to see the Jedi standing beside him. "You finished?"
"Got another vibroblade. What's got you so interested?"
"The civilians." Hunter looked back over the plaza. "They act like they're in enemy territory."
"Yep." Quinlan slipped a new vibroblade from its sheath and examined it. "Because they are. You notice anyone watching you?"
"Two of the vendors."
He started to lift his hand, and Vos said, "Uh, don't point them out. I can see 'em, I just wondered if you had. Anyone else?"
"Just that woman," finished Hunter, folding his arms. "But she wasn't being subtle about it. Look – it's like she wants to stand out."
Vos followed his gaze to the woman and looked from her to Hunter and back. "Yeah, she's trying to get attention," he said, as though it should be obvious.
"Why?" Hunter accepted the vibroblade from the Jedi and glanced at it. "I thought that was a bad idea around here."
For some reason, the Jedi clapped a hand to his forehead and groaned. "Oh, come on. I am not explaining this."
Hunter raised an eyebrow at his weird behavior and handed the knife back.
Muttering under his breath, the Jedi slid the sheath onto his belt and rolled his eyes, then jerked his chin at the distant figure of the woman. "She's a streetwalker."
Hunter blinked. . . . Oh.
"Oh," he said aloud.
"Yeah." Looking relieved that he didn't have to say anything further, Quinlan gestured to the others. "Hey, Crosshair, Tech, Wrecker, come on. You guys need disguises."
Wrecker stared down at him. "We need what?"
"Disguises. Clothes that don't stand out like that armor."
Tech put away his datapad. "Didn't you say we'd fit in because we look like bounty hunters?"
The Jedi nodded, his gaze flitting continuously between the commandos and their surroundings. "We shouldn't stand here. Let's get moving."
Hunter motioned for Tech to follow the Jedi, then fell back to guard position. He was becoming increasingly aware of the attention his squad was drawing. Perhaps it was because there were five people in a single group – most people here were alone – but as they walked through the marketplace, more and more eyes were focused on them.
"Don't turn around . . ." Vos began.
Hunter tensed and reached for his knife.
"Oh, man," grumbled Wrecker. "Now I want to turn around."
"Okay, yeah," the Jedi apologized. "Guess that was kind of a bad way to start. Did any of you see those guys at the north end of the market just now?"
"The ones in black?" Crosshair said.
"Yeah." The Jedi glanced over his shoulder. "Hey, why didn't you mention them?"
"We weren't their target."
"How'd you know?"
"They barely looked at us."
"Huh." Quinlan paused at a crossroads and turned left.
Maybe the Jedi had memorized a map before coming down here. Hunter cast a brief glance over his shoulder, but no one was following. "The guys who attacked us were dressed in black."
"They were bounty hunters," said Vos.
Tech gave a confused hum. "I'm not entirely sure I understand. What is so unusual about that?"
Instead of answering, the Jedi froze briefly, then stepped towards the blank wall of a huge building. "Look."
The commandos obeyed. Six men in black clothes were running towards them. As they moved, the few people on the road nearby scattered to either side.
Wrecker took a quick step forward, but Vos caught his arm. "Wrecker – they're not after us."
The men hurried past. Only the leader cast a short glance in their direction, but seemed to dismiss them as unimportant to his mission. A few seconds later, they had disappeared into the depths of another alley.
"Those weren't the same ones," Crosshair commented.
Vos set off again at an increased pace, and Tech blinked after him for an instant.
"Hurry," said Quinlan over his shoulder. "We've got to finish this and get back to the Rimmer's Rest before the place is too packed to move."
Would it kill Vos to explain himself once in a while? Hunter caught up with him in a few swift strides. "Vos. . . would you explain about the bounty hunters?"
"Right. Sorry. So, we've seen four groups of guys wearing black. The two that went after us, and two others. And I haven't seen any of the citizens wearing anything black."
Hunter considered. He hadn't actually observed that last point. "So?"
"So, if I'm right, there's some sort of code here. Other places have gangs with their own insignia, emblems – whatever. Kind of like you guys with your skull, actually."
"Yes," Tech said from behind them. "But we aren't a gang."
"Point is, in places with gangs, insignias stand for something. They're pretty useful at times."
"How?" asked Wrecker.
Quinlan kicked a crushed metal can and sent it skittering along the walkway. "Some small-time crime lord caught me once. I escaped from his prison, took a badge from one of the guards, and used it to get off the planet – and to disrupt a few of his operations. None of the civilians wanted to say 'no' to me."
"Hm," said Hunter. "And you think the black clothes are a similar type of code?"
Quinlan stopped next to a wide metal door. "Exactly. I think wearing black is a sign you're on a job, and everyone has to get out of your way – also, it shows that you're under the protection of some local power, so people better not interfere."
"Whereas the armor . . ."
"Makes you an unknown threat, but also up for hire, free for attack – whatever."
"Okay." Hunter eyed the door. "If that's the case, wouldn't the civilians start wearing black, just for the protection?"
"That's the thing. Those pirates were all in groups." The Jedi opened the door and stepped into a dimly lit room. "And did you see any civilians with someone else today?"
"No," said Hunter in sudden realization. "They were all alone."
A Nautolan male with wrinkled blue skin got to his feet, left hand already on the gun he wore at his side. "You here to buy or to rob me?"
"Buy," said Quinlan. "This was marked as a good place."
"Yes." The Nautolan eyed them, then released his weapon. "You're off-worlders."
Vos gave him a friendly smile. "Is it really that obvious that we're new here?"
The man sank back into his chair with a dismissive wave. "You're walking targets."
Crosshair looked at Hunter, who shrugged.
Quinlan gestured between himself and the clones. "You got anything black?"
"I thought you said you were new here," the Nautolan said, then pointed at a nearby door. "It doesn't matter, though. Black costs extra. Help yourself."
They entered the second room, which was full of shelves, and Vos closed the door behind them.
Hunter said, "That Nautolan . . ."
"Don't worry, he's one of the 'safe' ones," Quinlan explained, eyeing a variety of clothes that hung from a closet pole. "He's been in business for some years. You don't get that here unless you're scrupulously fair. But don't be fooled by the feeble old man act. I'll bet he's got this whole place rigged with traps."
"Right . . ." Hunter raised an eyebrow. "Everyone's an enemy, huh?"
"Until proven otherwise," agreed the Jedi. "What, you don't think that?"
"We're usually given a target," said Hunter as Wrecker starting toward a shelf with larger-sized clothing. "And we watch out for guards or surprise attacks when in enemy territory. But acting like everyone's an enemy . . . Well. Seems like that would get complicated pretty quickly."
"Yeah, it's complicated," said Vos. He stared at a shelf for a moment, then snatched several tunics, apparently at random, and tucked them under one elbow. "But the work I do is dangerous, and if I make a mistake I'll be killed. So it pays to be a little paranoid."
Hunter thought about that for a moment. Being constantly on the alert for an attack from everyone around you seemed like a stressful way to live. Maybe the Jedi, even now, was watching the commandos, unconsciously alert to their every move, despite the fact that they were all on the same side – maybe even despite his Force-senses telling him they were allies. Hunter eyed Quinlan in a new light. "Vos, I'm beginning to understand why Cody says you're a little crazy."
The Jedi, who was now in the act of sorting through a collection of belts, looked up at him, offended. "You're only beginning to understand?" He paused, then snorted. "And Cody said that?"
"Yeah. Kind of odd, considering." Hunter glanced at Crosshair, who was examining a full-length, hooded cloak. When Crosshair caught his gaze, he turned away in apparent disinterest. Hunter smirked.
The Jedi didn't appear to have noticed. "I should be righteously insulted," he mused, slipping both sheathed vibroblades onto a leather belt. "I'm not a little crazy, I'm completely crazy. Still, all things considered, I'm flattered Codes said that."
All four commandos stopped what they were doing and stared at him.
Quinlan Vos snickered at their shock.
Hunter blinked resignedly. He said that on purpose, just to see our reactions.
Wrecker let out a bark of laughter. "You probably don't want to call Cody that to his face, Vos!"
"Hm," said Tech, with an amused smile. "If you do call him that –" He looked at Crosshair.
Crosshair finished, "– make sure we're there."
"No promises." Quinlan checked the stack of items he held. "Besides, I already called him that once. He didn't say anything. Just gave me the eyebrow of death."
Wrecker winced. "Ouch."
"Yeah, and Obi-Wan looked like I'd just told him Yoda was a Sith. Skywalker and Rex thought it was hilarious, though." Quinlan grinned.
Skywalker? Wait, that's Rex's general, isn't it? Hunter visualized Cody's face upon being addressed so casually by a higher-ranking person and held back a grin. "Vos, I could be wrong . . . but I was always under the impression that all Jedi were really –" He hesitated, but there was no good way to say it. He should have kept his mouth shut, but it was too late for that now. "– dignified," he ended.
"Oh, yeah," said the Jedi, completely unoffended. "You're wrong. Well, I've got everything I need. What about you?"
Wrecker held up a black jacket. "I dunno, how much do we need?"
"I'm all set," Hunter said. "I've got black clothes back at the ship."
"Boots, too?" Vos asked.
"Well – no, I figured these would work fine."
"Armor's too distinctive. Unless you want to paint it."
Hunter sighed and went to look at the boots. "No, I don't want to paint it." He glanced quickly at the selection, then took four pairs. "I assume galactic standard sizes are the same even out here."
"Should be, yeah."
Tech looked up from his perusal of one counter. "Everything looks completely new."
"It is. This is a high-end store – or what passes for high-end around here, anyway."
After a brief moment of thought, Tech snatched up a black vest and a fitted black cap. "This should be everything."
Crosshair joined them, several articles of clothing draped over one arm. "Ready."
"Good," said Quinlan, then paused with the door half-open. "Hang on. I should have enough cash, but it's better to have loose change. Hunter, you'd better trade in your credit chip."
Hunter nodded, approached the storeowner, and held up the chip. "Can you give me change for this?"
"If you didn't buy more than a thousand credits' worth."
Hunter tilted his head. He honestly had no idea what the prices were – mostly because nothing was marked.
Running a practiced eye over the clothing, the Nautolan nodded. "I can let you have that for – oh, let me see . . ."
Let you have that . . . ? Hunter gestured. "I thought this was for sale. Don't you already have a price set?"
"Prices change," said the Nautolan, limping over to his counter. "Inflation."
Hunter rolled his eyes and turned to Quinlan, not bothering to lower his voice. "I thought you said he was one of the 'scrupulously fair' ones."
"He is," said the Jedi assuredly. "He's just being difficult."
The Nautolan chuckled and gestured for the items. He glanced silently at them for a moment, then pronounced, "Seven hundred credits."
Hunter cast a hesitant look at Vos, wondering if he wanted him to bargain, but the Jedi nodded. "Works for us."
"Good." The elderly Nautolan accepted the chip and gave Hunter three hundred-credit pieces. "And don't come back in here and try to steal your money back. I've got traps everywhere."
"Told ya," said Quinlan to Hunter in a rather loud undertone.
Tech looked annoyed. "We would never steal it!"
"Yeah," said Wrecker. "What's the point? It's your money now."
The Nautolan eyed him strangely, then looked at Quinlan as though speaking to the only sensible person in the room. "What was it I said? Walking targets?"
Quinlan nodded sympathetically. "Tell me about it."
Crosshair reached over to the counter to get the clothes and elbowed Quinlan hard in the ribs. By accident, of course.
Hunter thought about correcting him – Vos was a general! – then remembered what Vos kept telling them about acting their parts. Well, orders were orders. . . So, under the pretense of collecting Tech's things, Hunter reached over to the counter and shouldered Vos firmly out of his way.
"Insubordination," muttered Vos out the side of his mouth.
"We're not soldiers, " Hunter muttered back.
The Jedi opened his mouth, paused, and shut it again.
The commandos stuffed their new belongings into their packs, which were mostly empty, since they weren't carrying rations and water as they usually did. They left the store with a final nod to the old Nautolan, who was watching them with a rather humorous look in his black eyes.
"Where to next?" Wrecker asked, slamming the door behind him. "Rimmer's Rest?"
Vos winced. "Yes, but don't talk that loud. If someone wants to ambush us, knowing our destination will help them a lot."
Wrecker slumped, mortified. ". . . Sorry."
The Jedi stared around for a long moment, as though looking for something, then turned back to the big clone. "It's fine, just be careful. Now, let's get going. I'm starved."
Rimmer's Rest was already crowded when they arrived – not so crowded that there were no tables available, but crowded enough that Hunter was uncomfortable even before he'd fully walked through the door.
Unbothered by the large number of people, Vos sauntered over to a booth close to the door. "Good spot here."
Hunter wanted to ask how in space the Jedi intended to gather information from the people in this cantina. Between the loud, incessant music, the raised voices, and the slamming of eating ware, he could scarcely hear himself think. And yet somehow the Jedi intended to gather information on a crime lord who was, by all accounts, secretive.
Wrecker slid cautiously into the booth, as though afraid he'd break the table if he leaned on it too hard, and sat on the short side of the three-sided bench. Crosshair and Tech got in on either side, then Hunter slid in next to the sniper.
Quinlan flopped into the space next to Tech. "Look, lose the helmets," he told the commandos under his breath. "And try to look relaxed. No one here is going to pay attention to you unless you look out of place."
Hunter glanced at the rowdy group surrounding him and raised his eyebrow.
"I didn't mean act drunk," the Jedi clarified. "Just act like you belong here." With that unhelpful bit of advice, he slipped out and vanished in the direction of the counter that ran half the length of the cantina.
Hunter removed his helmet and set it on the bench in easy reach, then told Tech to stop running scans on the cantina's security system, since he was pretty sure that qualified as 'looking out of place'.
Tech obeyed, then turned halfway in his seat and set to work intently observing everyone around him instead, which – wasn't much better, honestly. Even Hunter knew that if someone looked up and caught Tech's studying gaze, that person would most likely take it as a challenge.
"Tech," he began. "Maybe you shouldn't –"
Tech turned back around and leaned across the table toward Hunter. "Look, it's the Ithorian we saw getting robbed."
Hunter glanced past him. The Ithorian was sitting by himself at a small table a short distance away, and was staring into the bottom of an empty glass, looking injured, lost and miserable. No one around him was paying the slightest attention.
"Wish we could do something to help," muttered Wrecker. "He doesn't look good."
"Hm," said Crosshair, his sharp gaze flitting around the room. "No one's watching him at the moment. . ."
Tech brightened. "Hunter, would you give me some credits?"
Hunter gave him a patient look. "I don't know if that's a good idea."
His youngest squad mate frowned. "Maybe not, but why don't you give me some credits anyway."
"Yeah." Crosshair elbowed Hunter slightly. "Tech's just paying for information."
Tech cast Crosshair an appreciative look. "Exactly. I'll ask about – the Besalisk who attacked you."
Hunter still didn't think this was a good idea, especially since Tech seemed determined to be the one to help the Ithorian. Then again, the Ithorian was only a few meters away, and really looked like he could use some help . . .
Hunter gave a reluctant nod. Tech hopped up and came to his side of the table, and Hunter slipped a hundred-credit chip into his hand. "Be careful."
Tech gave him a knowing smirk and left. Hunter narrowed his eyes. Self-assured little monster – he knew perfectly well he didn't need to be careful, since Hunter would be keeping an eye on him.
#
Tech approached the Ithorian's table and slid into the chair across from him without being invited.
The Ithorian looked at him blankly, then leaned back in obvious fear. "I have nothing left. Please, tell Dverik he already has all my money. I cannot pay him anything else!"
Tech had intended to give him the credits, ask about the Besalisk, and leave, but now his curiosity was aroused. "I'm not from Dverik. I don't even know who he is."
A faint look of hope crossed the Ithorian's eyes, but was quickly replaced with wariness. "Then I don't understand. Why are you here?"
Tech hesitated. "My friends and I saw what happened earlier. We want to help."
The Ithorian stared at him in disbelief. "No one wants to help."
"We do," Tech said firmly. "Those men in the booth near the door – see them?"
He nodded.
"They're my teammates."
"Your teammates." The Ithorian sounded hopelessly confused now, and Tech thought that perhaps he was going about this the wrong way.
He glanced around to make sure no one was looking – except for Hunter – took the Ithorian's empty glass, slipped the credit chip inside, and handed it back.
The alien blinked slowly at it, then stared at Tech again. "This is payment for a job, maybe? You wish me to do something?"
Strange. The Ithorian seemed to have a good grasp of Basic. Maybe Tech just hadn't explained properly. He put his forearms on the table and leaned forward. "No, it's not payment. It's a gift. You don't have to do anything."
The Ithorian closed his eyes briefly. "You must forgive me; I still do not understand. I have never seen you or your friends before, and am a newcomer to this planet. Why would you want to help me?"
"Because you need help," Tech replied, slightly confused himself. "Why else?"
With a sudden movement, the alien reached forward. "My name is Chopa."
Tech shook his hand. "I'm Tech."
"Tech," said Chopa slowly. "My deepest thanks. I work in a supply shop near the airfield. Please, if there is anything you or your team need, I will be happy to bring it to your ship for you."
Near the door, Quinlan Vos returned to the booth, looked around, caught Tech's gaze, and paused with a questioning sideways tilt to his head. Tech blinked at him and went back to his conversation with Chopa. "Thank you, we might take you up on that."
"Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"I'm curious about this Dverik. Would you tell me about him?"
"He is a human . . . I cannot give you much help as to his appearance – you humans look so much alike to me." Chopa paused. "Though he does have a strange orange mark on his left wrist."
Tech pulled out his datapad and waved for him to go on.
"He came to my house a month ago, offering protection," said Chopa. "I did not require it – I did not realize. When I came back from the shop the next day, men in black clothes were shooting lasers through my walls."
Tech rolled his eyes. "And of course, once you paid Dverik for his protection, the attacks stopped."
"Yes. But lately I have run out of money. He charges more and more."
Tech nodded. "Chopa, would you mind telling me how much you owe Dverik?"
"Several thousand credits, if I wish to live out the year," said Chopa unwillingly.
Tech typed out the detail about Dverik's orange tattoo, then glanced up. "And you cannot move to a different sector?"
"Even if I did, another criminal would soon try the same thing." Chopa shook his head. "At least here I have a steady job and some . . . chance."
"I see." Tech looked again at Quinlan, who was still watching him, then cast a quick smile at Chopa. "But Dverik really runs things around here?"
"In this town sector, he is the crime leader."
"How many would you say he is threatening?"
"Hundreds, I expect. I myself know very few in this city, but three of my fellow workers are also paying him."
"Any idea where Dverik lives?"
Chopa looked alarmed, and he leaned forward and lowered his voice to an earnest whisper. "You cannot – you are not going after him?"
"Do you know where he lives?" repeated Tech.
"I – yes."
Tech grinned humorlessly.
The Rimmer's Rest is an actual cantina in the game Dark Forces II, although I ended up re-designing it a bit so that it had space for more than a single bar and no tables. :)
