Morning came, and they were still on Taris, and when a warm hand closed around Aithne's shoulder, she curled up into it before she came fully awake. And then she wanted to scream. "Hand off or you lose it, flyboy," she growled. "Five more minutes." She shook him off and rolled over, away from him.
"No can do, Moran," he said. "Up and at 'em. Every minute we waste is another one the Sith could find Bastila, and we've finally got what we need to go after her."
Aithne sighed and rubbed at her gritty, gluey eyes. She sat up. "Breakfast first," she told him.
Carth tossed a ration bar her way. Aithne grimaced. "Some breakfast this is," she said. "I'd like to lodge a complaint and file for a better mom for my wake-up call."
Mercifully, Carth was already fully dressed, ready for action. Unmercifully, that meant the return of the glaring Jacket of Doom. "Not a morning person, I take it," he said, grinning at her.
Aithne stretched and yawned. "No, and morning people make me reach for my vibroblade." She grabbed another combat suit they'd picked up shopping yesterday and shot another scowl at Onasi, just because. Because he was there. Because that grin was cuter than any expression that had a right to appear on a paranoid Republic major's face when she was trying to stay Professional.
"How very early it is," Carth intoned, eyes twinkling. "By all means, let's wait to save the galaxy till noon."
Aithne groaned. He really was a morning person, wasn't he? That was typical. Just typical. She retreated from the grin and the jokes and the horrible, confusing cheery friendliness and changed inside the fresher. When she came out, she pointed at the flight jacket.
"That," she said, with some vindictiveness, "is gonna have to go. Since you stole Genda's armor instead of Sarna's or some other person's, you get to wear the clown suit." She heaved the Sith duffel up with one hand and hurled it at him, just like he'd hurled it at her last night.
He caught it. "And we're explaining you in the combat suit how?" he asked.
Aithne hesitated. The answer was obvious, really, but it was also embarrassing. Yet another ding in the Be Professional plan. "I could be a bounty hunter informant," she suggested. "Taking you to a criminal or Republic hideout."
Carth snorted. "Yeah. Okay." He understood all right. No Sith would actually follow a bounty hunter informant down into the Lower City. If he thought she knew something, he'd take her in and interrogate her for what she knew. If a Sith in uniform went with a woman out to the Lower City, the real reason was probably something a little more unofficial and innocuous. Relatively speaking. Well. The Sith weren't big on discipline or on moral fiber.
She was hot again, wishing she had taken Sarna's armor or some other person's. This was just . . . awkward.
"We should stop by the clinic to pick up some medpacs on the way down," Carth suggested.
Aithne acknowledged this. He'd said the Undercity was dangerous. She sighed. "Keep on the neon," she said then. "You can change in a bath house someplace later on. In fact, you having a spare set of clothes is probably a good idea anyway. From everything we've heard, once we're in the Lower City, people will react better if you're dressed like you and not a Sith."
The civvies turned out to be a good idea before they ever hit the shuttle to the Lower City. The proprietor of the clinic nearest their hideout, Zelka Forn, was very nervous about attracting Sith attention for some reason. He was a nice man. They saw a couple aliens in his clinic—in the xenophobic Upper City—and he promised not to upcharge them for being off-worlders. Aithne found herself promising Forn to look out for a serum he wanted—a cure for the rhakghoul disease, a fatal and untreatable illness that infected inhabitants of the Undercity. Apparently, the Republic had developed the cure just recently before the Sith had taken over their base, annihilating them all. Now the Sith were reserving the life-saving serum for their own patrols instead of replicating it and eradicating a plague that was the scourge of everyone in the substructure of Taris. Because, of course, the rhakghoul disease itself was just another tool to them: something else they could use to keep the citizens of Taris immobile, shut up and quiet in their separate districts.
As Aithne and Carth made to leave the med clinic, Forn's assistant stopped them. He told them to take the cure, if and when they procured it, to the Exchange, from whom he could extract a nice finder's fee. Aithne sneered at him, but she didn't bother turning right around to Zelka and outing his assistant as an operative or contact of the intergalactic crime syndicate. Truth was, depending on how things shook out on Taris, a bounty on the rhakghoul serum might be just what the doctor ordered. She hoped things didn't shake out that way. If the Exchange wound up with the serum, about as many people would receive it as had it now, and they'd pay through the nose to get it. Still—their main objective was to get off Taris, not to solve the whole planet's problems.
Carth ducked into a bath house after that. He was a bit hesitant coming out. "Come on, flyboy," Aithne called, pounding on the doorway of the men's room. "Don't worry about how you look. There's not a man in the galaxy who can rock that armor."
Carth stalked out, his helmet under one arm. He glared. "Your boyfriend doesn't bother to clean the inside of this getup," he complained. "Smells like Sith."
"And sweat and Tarisian ale, I imagine," Aithne added. "Suck it up, Carth. Twenty minutes here, twenty minutes back."
"And then carry it on my back the whole rest of the way," Carth grumbled.
Aithne shrugged. "There's a cost to saving the galaxy."
"Yeah, you pay it next time."
"I paid it last night. It's your turn."
The shuttle to the Lower City wasn't far. The Sith on guard let them board without much trouble. As Aithne had suspected, she didn't care about papers, so long as Carth looked like he had business—whether or not that business was something her CO might have ordered or approved of. She smirked and called something lewd after Aithne as the two of them got onboard the shuttle, and Aithne endeavored not to blush too much. Or to chop off the woman's head.
Took them another five minutes to find another bath house for Carth to change in—this one with smoky windows and peeling paint along the front, looking very unlike a place anybody should go to relieve themselves or try to get clean. Aithne looked down the streets while she waited. The light from Taris's star reached down here, but only just. These were the bottom reaches of the Tarisian metropolis, below the walkways and clean air up above, and they were lit mostly by swinging, flickering streetlights from various ceilings. The effect wasn't too different from the interior of Coruscant. Cavelike. Grim. And Aithne knew at a glance as much as she did from Carth's datapad journal entries that the same kind of people lived here.
Aliens. The poor. Folks who lived hand to mouth, by their wits or on the other side of anything strictly legal—or legal by any definition. Smudges of soot stained the walls of the buildings here. Carbon scoring. And smears of dry and wet stuff suspiciously like blood.
She was relieved when Carth came out, back in the glaring Jacket of Doom. He glanced around. "Nice place they've got here, huh?"
Aithne shrugged. "Is what it is, I guess."
They started forward into the dim, but they didn't get too far before they ran into a firefight. Two groups of people, lined up like players in a ballgame, except every one of them had a gun or a shock stick. They hurled insults at each other, from which Aithne gathered that the members on both sides represented two different swoop bike gangs, the Black Vulkars and the Hidden Beks. After a brief skirmish, the Vulkars defeated the Beks, and turned to Aithne and her companion. "More strangers!" shouted a Vulkar. "Attack!"
"Friendly," Aithne grunted, ducking under a shock stick and feeling her hair frizz. She scythed her left vibroblade around. One advantage of fighting Lower City folk, anyway. The Black Vulkars weren't in armor. She could use the cutting edge of her weapons instead of precision thrusts with just the points. Took more force, but a lot less planning, and it was always her preferred way to fight.
After about a minute and a half, she stared down at the six bodies on the pitted, dirty street. "Well, Onasi, we've walked straight into a gang war. This should be a lovely time."
"Seen a lot of those, have you?" Carth asked, looking over. His eyes were suspicious again, and Aithne sighed.
"I've been around. I never do illegal jobs for crime syndicates or gangs—swoop bike, prison, or street. But I've been asked to go a lot of places. That doesn't make me a thug: just a mercenary. And not even a violent one, when I can possibly help it."
Carth made a face. "Yeah, well, I don't think these Vulkars are going to give us a whole lot of choice."
Unfortunately, his words proved prophetic. The Black Vulkars were violent bullies, attacking with little to no provocation. Aithne saw many frightened families paying them off. The Beks seemed nicer, but they were exactly what their name implied: "Hidden." It soon became clear that the best place to go for information on anyone was the cantina, where the owner, Javyar, maintained a general ban on violence, though it was broken every now and then, and the Exchange ran a bounty office from the premises.
Accordingly, Carth and Aithne showed up at the cantina just in time for lunch. But, of course, they arrived just in time to witness an epic break of Javyar's violence ban. Three Vulkars faced down a short man in an odd hat and goggles. He cut an unimpressive and almost comical figure, but something about him got Aithne's back up, even before the Vulkars mocked him, saying he couldn't possibly be the famous bounty hunter Calo Nord.
"One," the man said, in a short, clipped voice.
"Get back, Carth," Aithne warned, holding an arm out, backing her and Carth into the entrance hall. She watched the Vulkars keep on at it, like they didn't think that he would do it.
Nord counted two, and then three, and the second he hit three, he lobbed a flash grenade at the offending Vulkars. Five or six people screamed. Several others gasped. Aithne got her arm over her eyes just in time, so she saw it when Nord gunned down his harassers, one by one, with a lightning speed that rivaled even Carth's.
Nord left his table and his drink. He turned his goggles toward her as he passed, and Aithne looked into the reflective lenses and thought of a shark. She let him pass without comment. So did the bouncer that supposedly was there to restrict violence. Three seconds after Nord had left, he called a waiter to dispose of the bodies.
Aithne and Carth found a table a ways away from the bloodstains, in the room where the band was playing. "I'll buy, if you want," Aithne offered. Carth nodded.
They waited for their food in silence, and when it arrived, they ate in silence. It was a lot better than Onasi's ration bars, but Aithne still wasn't sure if it was worth the bloodstains and air of tension. Everyone in the room was armed to the teeth, she noticed. There were no families here. No kids, and the people that seemed to be on dates didn't seem to be on the nice ones. The eyes of the denizens of Javyar's cantina looked hunted, haunted, like any step they took could be their last. The bounty office in the room catty-corner to theirs probably didn't help, Aithne thought.
Carth broke the silence first. "Hey, check it out," he said, pointing back toward the main room, where an angry-looking Twi'lek had emerged out of the bounty office. She was a kid, Aithne thought, both surprised and concerned. A teenager, anyway, and a young one. Rutian coloration. She wore a black cowl-neck tank and a gray puffer vest and a black headdress and lekku rings over her headtails. And she was being chased by a couple Rodians.
Aithne put a hand to her vibroblade.
"No, wait," Carth told her "I want to see how this plays out."
Aithne frowned. She didn't like it, but she guessed the girl did look more angry than she did really scared. "I told you to leave me alone," she snapped at the two Rodians. "So give me some space, bug-eye! Your breath smells like bantha poodoo!"
/Little girl should not be in bar,/ one of the Rodians observed menacingly. /This no place for little girl. If little girl smart, she run away home now./
The kid flushed purple and put her hands on her hips. "Who you calling a little girl, chuba-face?" she demanded. She was using Huttese loaner words, but surprisingly speaking Basic.
/Little girl needs lesson in manners,/ the other Rodian sneered.
It was an obvious threat. Aithne started to move again. This time, Carth grabbed her hand, holding her back. She stared at him. He wasn't just going to sit there and let these thugs bully a kid, was he?
But the kid seemed thoroughly unimpressed. "Just a sec, boys," she told the Rodians, holding up a finger. "Zaalbar . . . a little help here? I need you to rip the legs off some insects."
And that was when the Wookiee who had been minding his own business at a table by the wall stood up. /Mission, I'm busy,/ he complained in his native language. /They just brought my food!/ He sounded young too, Aithne thought. Not as young as the Twi'lek, relatively speaking. Wookiees weren't quite as long-lived a species as the Hutts, but they could live for centuries. This one wasn't a child. But maybe a young male, about as old as Trask Ulgo, for his kind.
His words weren't all that scary, but Aithne just bet that to everyone else in the room, he sounded just terrifying. Not many people understood the growls and whines that made up Shyriiwook, the Wookiees' native language. Carth for one looked pretty blank, and to Aithne's gratification, about as surprised as she was, for all he'd been the one so sure the kid could handle herself.
The Twi'lek looked sympathetic, but she gestured beside her anyway. "Quit complaining, you can finish eating later. Besides, you need the exercise, so get over here."
The Rodians looked suddenly nervous. Aithne didn't blame them. Not many people wanted to mess with a Wookiee. Those who did rarely lived. /We want no trouble with Wookiee,/ one stammered.
/Our problem with you, little girl!/ said the other, bigger, stupider looking Rodian. He raised his blaster, and suddenly the Wookiee, Zaalbar, was at his elbow, looking straight down at him.
"You got a problem with me, then you got a problem with Big Z," the Twi'lek girl, Mission, said. Zaalbar roared his agreement. "So, unless you want to take on my furry friend, I suggest you greenies hop on out of here." She gestured at the door pointedly. Aithne sat back in her chair, dropping her hand away from her vibroblade.
"I admit it," Aithne murmured. "You were right."
"Didn't think I'd be right this way," Carth replied, still staring at the two-meter high Wookiee.
So were the two Rodians. Finally, one said sulkily, /Little girl lucky she has big friend/. And, shamed, hardly daring to look from side to side, they skulked out of the cantina.
Aithne raised her eyebrows. "What do you say? Shall we meet your friends?'
"Most interesting people in here," Carth answered. "And we've got to start asking someplace about Bastila."
They finished up their meal and crossed over to the table where Mission was sitting waiting for her friend. Aithne slung down into a chair beside the girl, and before the girl said a word, she lifted her hands.
"Hey, no trouble," she promised. "The name's Aithne Moran. The man in the stupid-looking jacket is my friend, Carth Onasi."
"Lay off the jacket already," Carth muttered.
"When you do," Aithne returned without missing a beat, or taking her eyes off of the Twi'lek. The girl, who'd looked wary when they first sat down, smiled slightly, then relaxed. She took Aithne's extended hand and shook.
"Charmed. You know, I know pretty much everyone in this part of the Lower City, but I never seen you here before. Guess that makes me and Big Z your official welcoming committee!"
The Wookiee grunted and raised a hairy claw, but really seemed more focused on his lunch. Clearly, the girl was the talker. Not surprising, considering the language barrier.
"You showed a lot of guts dealing with those Vulkars, kid," Carth told her. "You got a name?"
"My name's Mission Vao and this big Wookiee is my best friend, Zaalbar," Mission told them. "I'd offer to give you two a tour of the neighborhood, but the streets down here aren't safe. But if there's anything else that you need . . ." she gestured, indicating that she was at their disposal.
"Mm," Aithne hummed. "Don't get me wrong, those Rodians were harassing you, and I was a half second from tossing them out on their antennae myself, ask Carth, but I kinda want to know the answer to their question too. Your folks don't mind you hanging out in here?"
"Nah, I've got street smarts," Mission boasted. "They know me and Big Z can take care of ourselves. Long as I'm home in time for dinner, they don't care what I do."
The answer came easily, but Aithne knew a lie when she heard one. Like everybody else in here, Mission Vao had a weapon on her hip. Even stores in the Tarisian Undercity didn't sell those to kids her age, and no parent or guardian worth anything gave them away. Mission Vao was a runaway, a gang member, an orphan, or two or three together, lying now because she didn't know Aithne and Carth from pimps or slavers. If that was the case, though, she probably could take care of herself, so Aithne forced her hormones and general sense of human decency down, stopped snooping, and decided to take advantage of the friendliest person they'd met on Taris offering help no strings attached.
While Aithne was circumspect in her questions, as suspicious in some ways of Vao as Vao was of her, she quickly determined Mission didn't know anything worth knowing about Bastila or the escape pods in the Undercity. The kid did have a lot of quality intel about the lay of the land in the Lower City. She was able to tell them that Calo Nord, the murderer from the entrance hall, was one of the local Exchange boss's newest and best bounty hunters, and to tell them about the nature and origins of the ongoing gang war. The leader of the Vulkars was an ex-Hidden Bek named Brejik, out for a twisted revenge on Gadon Thek, the leader of the Beks, whom Brejik felt should have ceded his power after an accident a while back. Mission assured them that unlike Brejik, Gadon Thek was a good guy, and that he might be willing to help them with their questions about recent goings-on in the Undercity.
Mission admitted that she and Zaalbar had a loose association with the Hidden Beks, or at least were on friendly terms, so Aithne knew Vao's information wasn't necessarily objective. But on the whole, her story sounded both complete and plausible, and she didn't seem the type to lure a couple of strangers in to an enemy. Aithne and Carth agreed they should look up Gadon Thek at the Bek base. Unfortunately, that meant taking leave of Mission and her friend.
Mission seemed disappointed with Carth and Aithne got up to leave. "You're going?" she asked. "Yeah, this dive is pretty boring," she agreed. "I guess we'll wait for Big Z to finish his lunch, then go and see what we can find someplace else. Look me up if you ever want to talk, ok?"
Aithne could tell that, friendly and capable as the girl seemed, not a lot of people took the trouble to talk with her. "We'll do that," she lied. She shook Vao's hand again, and Zaalbar, who had been eating more or less steadily since the conversation started, raised his hair claw in farewell just like he had in greeting, though he didn't say a word.
"She's a bossy, lying little snot, but I like her," Aithne murmured, looking back over her shoulder at the duo as she and Carth walked away.
"You mean about her parents?" Carth asked. "Come on. If you were her, would you tell a couple of nosy strangers in the cantina the only soul you had looking out for you was a Wookiee?"
"I didn't say I blamed her for the lying," Aithne said. "Wish we could help her somehow. Both of them."
"Didn't look to me like they need it, really," Carth answered. "My guess is they look out for one another. Not a whole lot of people in the galaxy who could understand a word Zaalbar says, and Wookiees are aliens who can't easily learn another language. So, she's his mouth, and he's her muscle. It works."
"I guess. But it's no way for a kid to grow up. Take it from someone who did."
"You were an orphan?" Carth asked.
Aithne shook her head. "Not as young as she is, but younger than I should've been. Younger than I liked."
Carth regarded her. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment. "That's hard."
Before they left the cantina, Aithne checked in at the bounty office about possible criminals they could take out, both for credits and to boost her reputation. When she found out one of them had been placed by a misogynist fart in space to kill a girl who had just defended herself from unwanted advances, Aithne was able to settle that right in the cantina. She got the fart in question to withdraw the bounty and left with leads on two others much less objectionable.
Then she and Carth left for the Bek base. It was late in the afternoon by this time, and Carth was getting worried. Fortunately, the Bek base turned out to be within easy walking distance. Aithne didn't have a lot of trouble getting the doorkeeper to let them in; the Beks really did have an open-door policy compared to the Vulkars.
The base was clean and organized-looking for the Lower City. Beks walked around quietly, greeting one another with a friendly word or clap on the back. Aithne knew immediately she'd chosen correctly in approaching the Beks for help. Identifying Gadon Thek was easy too. He was standing behind a desk in the main room—a powerful-looking man in light armor, listening to a readout of swoop bike specs instead of reading them. The accident Mission had told them about had deprived him of his sight a couple of years ago.
Aithne walked toward him, but before she got too close, she heard the distinctive noise of a blaster being cocked. She turned to see a purple Twi'lek woman aiming a blaster rifle square at her heart. "Hold it right there," the woman growled. "Who are you and what is your business with Gadon?"
Gadon's head swiveled toward the sound of the disturbance. Aithne blinked. His eyes were indeed the milky blue of the blind, but she got the impression he could see her anyway. Looking closer, she detected ocular implants. He would be able to see at least the outlines and heat signatures of her and of Carth. He held up a hand to his bodyguard.
"Calm down, Zaerdra. Nobody is going to try anything here in the middle of our own base. It would be a suicide mission!"
"You're too trusting, Gadon," said Zaerdra. "Brejik and his Vulkars want you dead. Anyone we don't know is a potential threat, and it's my job to make sure you're safe!"
"You aren't wrong, ma'am," Aithne said with a small half bow. She looked back at Gadon. "Your security's lax. But I also gather that's the reputation you want to foster: friend of the people; leader to those in need; and runner of the best, fastest swoop gang this part of Taris. So, I'm guessing you've taken precautions against your enemies that might not be easily apparent. Your bodyguard can relax. I'm not here to assassinate anyone. I'm here because I've heard good things. I'm Aithne Moran; this man with me is Carth Onasi. And we need your help."
Zaerdra was still tense. Gadon noticed she hadn't lowered her blaster. He looked annoyed. "Well, Zaerdra? Is she wrong? Do you want us to start attacking strangers on sight, Zaerdra, like the Vulkars do? I will never let it come to that! Now step aside and let them pass."
Zaerdra frowned but nodded and lowered her weapon. "As you wish." Turning to Aithne and Carth the Twi'lek said, "you can speak to Gadon if you want, Ms. Moran, but I've got my eye on you! You try anything and you'll be vaporized before you can say Vulkar spy!"
Aithne bowed again. "I wouldn't expect anything less," She walked over slowly to the desk, and Gadon looked at her, trying to take her measure.
"You talk a good game, stranger. You'll have to forgive Zaerdra. Ever since Brejik and the Vulkars began this war against us, we've all been a bit on edge, and the problems with the Sith haven't helped things. But how is it that I can help you?"
Aithne swallowed. She looked at Carth. So far, they hadn't asked anyone directly about the Republic escape pods. Doing so was a risk, and it wasn't one they'd be able to come back from. She knew Onasi knew it too; his jaw was tight, and his eyes were wary. But he nodded, gesturing that she could go ahead.
"We need to know about those Republic escape pods that crashed in the Undercity," she told Gadon Thek.
Gadon tensed, then became very intent. Whatever he'd been expecting her to say, that had not been it. "The escape pods? You know, I've heard the Sith have been asking around the Upper City about them as well . . . but you don't look like you're with the Sith."
Zaerdra, not understanding, snapped, "They might be spies, Gadon. They might be working for the Sith!"
Gadon shook his head. "Calm down, Zaerdra. If the Sith thought we knew anything useful they'd have a battalion of troops kicking down our door. No, I think these off-worlders have their own agenda."
"So," Aithne said. "We're not Sith. Your door is bootprint free. But would you tell us: Do you know anything useful?"
Gadon's mouth curved up. "I suppose I could tell you what I know. It's not like it could do any harm to me or my gang." The curve became an actual smirk. "But it might cause problems for the Vulkars, and that's okay in my book."
Aithne tilted her head. "Might be okay in our book too. They tried to kill us enough times on the way, I might positively enjoy causing them problems."
Gadon nodded in approval. "The Vulkars stripped those pods clean within hours after they landed," he told them then, without further roundaboutation. "It's too bad we didn't get there first, considering what my spies reported the Vulkars found. A female Republic officer named Bastila survived the crash. We Beks don't believe in intergalactic slavery, but the Vulkars aren't so picky. They took her prisoner."
Carth clenched his jaw, turning white. Terrible images swirled in Aithne's head of all the things that might be happening to the key to the entire Republic war effort. Aithne didn't care too much about that aspect of it. But no one should have to endure slavery, and young women perhaps most of all.
"And what will become of her?" she asked, carefully.
"Normally the Vulkars would take a captured slave and sell them for a nice profit to Davik or an off-world slaver," Gadon explained. "But a Republic officer is no ordinary catch."
Carth touched Aithne's shoulder, leaning so his mouth was near her ear. His lips brushed her hair as he whispered. "They still think Bastila is just a Republic officer. That could work to our advantage. Maybe she'll even figure out a way to escape from the Vulkar base on her own."
"You want to count on that?" Aithne murmured back, keeping her breathing steady with an effort.
"I'm blind not deaf, son," Gadon told Carth. As Carth straightened, alarmed, Gadon raised both his hands, holding them palms outward. "No, I don't want to know who Bastila really is or how important she is to whatever your mission may be. But you should know, girl, that she's too valuable to leave with the Vulkar scum at the base. Brejik's probably got your Republic friend hidden away somewhere safe until the big swoop race. You'll never find her."
Aithne narrowed her eyes. Part of her wanted to view that last sentence as a challenge, but the rest of her knew the swoop race remark was more essential. She put her hands on her hips. "Why's she being brought out at the big swoop race?" she asked.
"I'm afraid your friend had become a pawn in Brejik's game to take over the Lower City," Gadon told them. "He's offered her up as the Vulkar's share of the prize in the annual swoop gang race. By putting up such a valuable prize, Brejik hopes to win the loyalty of some of the smaller gangs. Their numbers will allow him to finally destroy me and my followers."
Aithne understood then. "So. It's in your best interests for us to rescue Bastila, but you're saying our only opportunity will be at this race. How do you propose we go about it? Carth and I alone can't fight all the gangs."
"Though it seems we've done enough today to make a dent," Carth muttered.
"The only hope you two have of rescuing Bastila is to somehow win the big season opener of the swoop race," Gadon said, looking pleased that they'd caught on.
Well. They were a swoop gang, Aithne thought. Made sense it came back to swoop racing. "And you're going to help us with this," she finished.
Gadon grinned. "I might be able to help you with this," he corrected her.
Aithne sighed and let her arms fall. "Alright. What do we have to do?"
"The swoop race is for Lower City gangs only," explained Gadon. "I might be able to sponsor you as a rider for the Hidden Beks this year. If you win the race, you'll win your friend's freedom. But first you have to do something for me."
"Besides making sure the Vulkars don't get the loyalty of the smaller gangs?" Aithne asked, a bit peeved.
"I don't know that you'll win," Gadon pointed out.
Aithne showed her teeth. "If that's what I have to do, I'll win," she said simply.
"My mechanics have developed an accelerator for a swoop engine," Gadon told them. "A bike with the accelerator installed can beat any other swoop out there! But the Vulkars stole the prototype from us. They plan to use it to guarantee a victory in this year's swoop race. I need you to break into their base and steal it back."
Aithne frowned. Gadon was clever, that much was clear. What's more, he knew how to maneuver. She'd known coming into the base he had a handle on public relations, and now she saw he knew how to make use of even unforeseen assets and people. She leaned forward and put both her hands on the desk, looking up into Gadon's face. Zaerdra tensed again, half-raising her weapon, but Gadon held up his hand.
"Before I do this, I need you to promise me two things, Gadon Thek," Aithne said.
"What?" Gadon asked, suddenly wary.
"First, I want you to swear the prototype is the invention and intellectual property of your engineers. I want you to promise me that, on your honor, we won't be the original thieves."
Gadon regarded her. "I can understand your suspicions," he replied after a moment. "But everyone in the Lower City knows my reputation. Like you yourself noted, it's something I take great pride in. My word is my bond. I swear: That prototype is Hidden Bek technology."
Aithne considered for a moment, then nodded. She believed him. She held out her hand to shake. "Next, I want you to promise that when I bring you the accelerator, once your gang wins, you will hand over Bastila to us, a free woman."
Gadon took her hand. "I swear," he said again.
They shook. "Then we have a bargain, Gadon Thek. Now. How am I supposed to get into the Vulkar base?"
Gadon nodded. "Getting into the Vulkar base won't be easy. The front doors are locked tight. But I know someone who might be able to get you in the back way: Mission Vao!"
That didn't go over too well with Zaerdra. Apparently, Mission was a sort of mascot around the Bek base. Zaerdra knew her well, and she didn't want Mission doing anything so likely to make the kid a target for the Black Vulkars.
But Gadon was adamant: "Mission's explored every step of every back alley in this part of the Lower City. Plus, she knows the Undercity sewers better than anyone. If anyone can get inside the Vulkar base, it's her," he said.
Frankly, Aithne was more on Zaerdra's side of the question, but Gadon didn't have any other leads. "Where can I find her?" she asked.
"She and her Wookiee friend Zaalbar are always looking to stir up a little excitement," said Gadon. "They like to go exploring in the Undercity, despite the dangers. Your best bet is to look for her in the Undercity. But you'll need some way past the Sith guard post at the elevator."
"We have a Sith uniform to disguise Carth," said Aithne.
"And you, what, used a stealth field generator?" Zaerdra asked, smirking and looking down at Aithne's plain leather belt.
Aithne felt herself blushing once again and bit back an angry answer. But Gadon was already talking. "A simple disguise might have worked in the Upper City, but security here is much tighter. Under quarantine, they aren't even releasing criminals into the Undercity anymore. You'll need the proper papers to get past the guard. Luckily, my gang ambushed one of the Sith patrols headed down to the Lower City. They never made it, and their security papers fell into my hands." He gestured at some official-looking documents on the desk in front of him. "Since we're working together now, I suppose I could give them to you in exchange for your uniform. With the Sith security papers, you won't need a disguise anyway."
Carth handed Aithne his sack of armor. "It's ugly armor. No big loss," he joked.
"And there goes Yun Genda's dreams of one day recovering his lost equipment and making it off the pig list. Or out of the torture chamber," Aithne sighed. "I suppose I shall have to reconcile myself to having my retinas burnt out by the Jacket of Doom."
"Jacket of Doom?" Carth demanded. "Come on, sister, isn't that going a little far?"
Aithne widened her eyes at him and said nothing.
Gadon chuckled and reached out a hand for the duffel. "Thanks for the uniform. You won't need it with these security papers anyway." He slid the papers over to Aithne, who put them in her back.
"Well, Carth, I guess we've got a date in the Undercity," she said, bowing to Zaerdra, who gave her a stiff little nod back and waved her gun for them to leave.
They started out of the base. "Can think of better places for a date, beautiful," Carth commented.
Aithne grimaced. "So can I, and since we're going to meet a teenage Twi'lek—no date. Bad word choice. But honestly, I don't think we should head out tonight at all. It's been a long day, and we'll need to be rested before we hit the Undercity."
"You're right," Carth agreed. "I just—hate losing time."
Aithne shrugged. "We know where Bastila is. We also know we can't get to her right now. We have a plan. That'll have to do for the moment."
"We going out, or is it ration bars for dinner?" Carth asked.
Aithne considered. On the one hand, she still had a feeling they'd need all the credits they could lay hands on before they managed to get off this planet. On the other, tomorrow could be another long day, and supplies might end up being more important. "Let's get takeaway," she said. "One last meal that tastes like food before tomorrow. Got a feeling we might not get one then."
"Right, so you want seaweed, fish, or fish?" Carth asked. Taris didn't have any land devoted to agriculture. Everything they ate was sourced from the planet's oceans. Aithne smiled faintly.
"Still better than a ration bar, flyboy."
The next morning, they were in the Lower City bright and early. They had to pass a set of Lower City apartments to get to the elevator to the Undercity, though, and in front of the apartments there was a bit of a to-do. One of Davik's agents, harassing a couple of Black Vulkars about their tribute to the crime lord. The Vulkars were being stubborn, and so the agent called out a mercenary. There was nothing too strange about any of this. What was strange was that, when the Vulkars caught sight of the merc, instead of fighting him, they paid the agent and ran. It was the first time Aithne and Carth had ever seen the Vulkars flee a fight, except for the time in the cantina they'd been running from a Wookiee.
Aithne frowned. Then she took a closer look at the merc. There was a tattoo she recognized on his upper bicep. "Onasi," she said to Carth, nodding her head. "He's Mandalorian!"
Carth's fists tightened. He went for his blaster. This time, Aithne was the one stopping him. "Don't even bother, Carth, you'd lose," she told him. The Mando's muscles bulged out from under his civilian tank and vest. He was well over six feet tall, with scars crisscrossing all over his body. His gray hair was still cut military-style, though, and he had a big repeating blaster rifle at the ready. "He's not wearing armor. You know what that means?"
It was clear Carth did know what it meant. "He fought all the way to the end. To Malachor V," Carth breathed.
"And wears it like a badge of honor to this day," Aithne agreed. Something in her gut thrilled, a respect almost akin to awe. "Come on. Let's meet him," she told Carth.
"Are you crazy?" Carth demanded.
"Probably."
"Su'cuy, Mando," Aithne called.
Beside her, Carth, already angry, went absolutely rigid. But the Mandalorian mercenary turned super fast. He looked her up and down. "You're not one of us," he guessed. He had a voice like gravel. "What are you, some kind of translator? Fought in the Wars, did you?"
"He did, anyway," Aithne said, gesturing at Carth. "That's probably why he's glaring at you like he'd like to dip you in acid, and me for opening up a civil conversation. I've just been around."
"I don't have time for any civil conversation," the Mandalorian growled. "Davik's got me working on a special assignment. Keep your Mando'a inside your head; you'll live longer."
He shouldered his way past Aithne without a backward glance. Aithne wasn't offended. Despite the threat, it was almost civil for a Mando and an Exchange thug.
"You want to tell me what the point of that was?" Carth asked.
Aithne shook her head. "I don't know," she answered, still almost feeling a pull toward the Mandalorian mercenary's black-clad back. "Like Nord's bad news, he's not. And I don't think we've seen the last of him."
"He's a Mandalorian working for a crime boss, and we don't have time for him any more than he has time or interest in us, thank goodness." Carth said. "We need to get to the Undercity. If you want to tell me on the way how you picked up Mando'a, I'd like to hear it."
"I've done jobs for Mandalorians on occasion," Aithne answered. "They don't all speak Basic that well. Some of them are really fanatical about the language provision in the Resol'nare. Think it means they can't speak anything else. I've done other jobs in their territory against them. You knew I was a merc from the start."
"Didn't know you'd done jobs for Mandalorians, though, did I?" Carth muttered. "Did you pay any attention to what they did?"
"Certainly, I did," Aithne answered calmly. "The adoption of war orphans, the work they did on the infrastructure of worlds they conquered, and the general decrease in crime they promoted. I saw the atrocities of war they committed too, but those weren't limited to Mandalorian perpetrators, especially once the Revanchists got involved. But I don't know what you're frowning about. The Republic got its systems back. They freed the slaves. Democracy returned! We're still waiting on the law and order, but I guess we can't have everything. You want to argue about it some more once we're on the elevator?"
Carth stared at her. "For a woman trying to be trustworthy, you sure have some strange ideas."
"If I have to try and be trustworthy, I've already messed it up," Aithne rejoined. "And honestly, I don't think it matters whether I'm worthy of trust or not, since you've said you don't trust anyone. I might as well forget the whole thing and just be honest."
The two of them walked in tense silence toward the Undercity elevator—Carth's angry, Aithne's resigned. It was a depressing start to what was sure to be an even more depressing day, Aithne thought.