Chapter Four: The Scent of Authenticity
"Our target is a slicer named Kixi."
They were all gathered in Darmas Pollaran's private room at the Dealer's Den Cantina. Darmas sat at the head of the table, dealing cards to each member of the mismatched group. Mira, directly to his right, snapped her cards up immediately.
"Two credits," she declared.
Cress, sitting opposite her, lifted his own cards awkwardly. He matched her bet. Jorgan sat to his left. He didn't touch his cards, instead glaring suspiciously at Darmas, Mira, and Corso.
Corso glared right back, though his suspicion seemed evenly divided between the Cathar lieutenant and their far too relaxed host.
Mira nudged him. "Don't be rude, Corso. Play your hand."
He grumbled, but matched the two credit bet. Jorgan made no similar move.
"Her I know," he said, indicated Mira. "But who the hell are you, and why should we trust you?"
Darmas grinned expansively. "I'm just a retired businessman, Lieutenant, doing my part to give back to the Republic."
"What kind of business?" Jorgan asked.
"Now, Lieutenant, you wouldn't ask me to breach any confidentiality agreements with my former associates, would you?"
Jorgan's scowl grew deeper, and Mira saw veins standing in his neck beneath the fur. She decided to cut in, if only to keep him from having an aneurysm.
"What matters is that Senator Kayl turned to Darmas, and that he referred her to us," she said firmly. "Past that, we're not here to swap bios. We're here to figure out where the Guild is storing these weapons."
"And Kixi is the key," Darmas said. "To the weapons, and I suspect to other business you all may have on Coruscant." He smiled at Mira. "I know, for instance, that Skavak met with her not long after he landed."
Mira rolled her eyes. "Another of his conquests?"
"I rather doubt that," Darmas replied. "By reputation, he doesn't cavort with aliens. Not even near-humans like Kixi."
"Lucky for them," Mira muttered.
Darmas turned toward Cress and Jorgan. "As for you two? I suspect Kixi may have access to information regarding your former squadmates."
Cress frowned. "Surely they're long gone in Imperial space?" he asked.
Darmas shook his head. "Not so quickly, I don't think. A man like Harron Tavus didn't go through life without making a few investments and collecting a few debts. I doubt he'd head off to his new life without collecting. Particularly if his special gift to the Empire proved to be… well, somewhat less than advertised."
The ZR-57, which Cress had rendered inert. Information that should be highly classified, that even most of the Senate wouldn't know.
"You know a lot," Cress observed, eyes narrowing.
"I have friends, and I keep my ear to the ground."
"I guess retirement gives you plenty of time to listen."
"As you say, Sergeant." Darmas shifted his gaze to address the full table. "But we aren't here to talk about me, or the little tidbits I've picked up. We're here to get you into the Migrant Merchants' Guild's territory. And for that – " He flashed a grin. "Well, I'm afraid you're going to need a change of wardrobe."
"These idols are remarkable."
Kalisa Gehnso knelt in front of a crude platform in the Flesh Raider encampment, atop which were three rudimentary objects. Caecinius saw nothing remarkable about them. They were misshapen, barely managing to stand where they had been placed.
They were also disgusting. The first idol was carved out of bone. The second was also bone, but had rotted flesh roughly fitted around it. The third appeared to have been constructed from scraps of wood and metal, with bits of flesh and blood nailed to the wood.
Kalisa did a bioscan. Her reaction told Caecinius that the flesh and bone had not come from a simple animal. Nor had the offerings surrounding the idols: bits of bone and teeth, and a rotted tentacle that he suspected had once been a Twi'lek's lekku.
"I think that about covers the question of finding common ground," he said. "They aren't attacking just out of starvation. Whatever culture they have is centered around their raids."
"But these carvings show that they have a culture," Kalisa countered. "That means a level of intelligence that we hadn't previously credited them."
She proceeded with her recording, capturing the idols from every angle.
"Wouldn't that be easier if you just picked them up?" Caecinius asked.
"Easier, yes. But their placement may have as much significance as the idols themselves. Plus, we don't want to disturb their sites and provoke an attack on us, or on the village. The longer the current calm holds, the better." She shrugged. "I'm also far from eager to touch them."
She glanced back, noticed that he was scanning the surrounding mountains.
"Is something wrong?"
He hesitated. He didn't want her to take any rash action, but it would be best if she was prepared.
"We're being watched," he said. "I've been sensing it for the last hour. It doesn't feel like Flesh Raiders."
Kalisa closed her eyes, reaching out with her own senses. "A Twi'lek," she said. "Someone followed us from the village."
Caecinius nodded. "We should go on with our work for now. But be mindful. The Council may be trying to improve relations, but the villagers don't exactly love us."
Kalisa agreed. She pointed toward the rest of the Flesh Raider camp.
"If we're continuing our work, you should look for more evidence about their daily lives," she said. "The Grandmaster was clear that you weren't just here as a bodyguard. Grab a recorder and get on with it."
Caecinius smiled in spite of himself. "Yes, ma'am."
Before they left the cantina, Darmas unveiled "refugee outfits" for Mira, Cress, Jorgan, and Corso. These were essentially loose-fitting rags and robes, wrapped and layered to maximize body heat in the absence of automated heating units. The only alterations were tracking units in the bottom layer and earpieces hidden in their headwraps. "To allow me to guide you to Kixi and then out again," Darmas explained.
Cress wrapped himself expertly in his rags. Then he turned to assist a fumbling Corso.
"You have experience with that," Mira observed.
"I wasn't born in the military." He didn't seem inclined to elaborate.
They couldn't get to the sector via public speeder. Their arrival would be noted instantly. Instead, Darmas had bribed them onto a dump transport heading for the Old Galactic Market's recycling plant. They would be able to get directly out into the sector from there.
Unfortunately, it meant sharing travel space with several tons of unprocessed garbage.
"It should lend you the… ah, scent of authenticity," Darmas beamed.
When the hatch to the transport opened, Mira couldn't help but recoil from the stench.
"Come now, Mirana. It isn't any worse than the month we spent hiding among that Nomad fleet."
She scowled. "Don't know that you want to remind me of that. The only reason we were hiding was because you tried to cheat a Mandalorian al'verde at pazaak. Besides, I don't see you volunteering to join us."
"Privileges of age, my dear. I've had my misadventures. Do be careful – The Migrant Merchants' Guild is well-armed, and they don't like outsiders."
She stuck out her tongue at him even as the hatch sealed up behind her.
The trip probably didn't take much more than twenty minutes, but it felt longer. Their noses slowly dulled to the garbage, but the flight itself was uncomfortable. They were cargo, left to sit unstrapped to the floor. Several sudden banks or turns left them sliding into the hull, or to each other.
"Nice friend you've got," Jorgan growled. "Remind me to thank him properly."
"Did you have a better way in?" Mira asked. "Darmas knows what he's doing."
Their earpieces crackled to life, and Darmas' voice sounded for all of them. "Thank you, Mirana. I appreciate the support."
"I didn't say you weren't an ass," she said. Darmas merely chuckled in response.
When they arrived at their destination, the hatch opened automatically and the ship turned sideways, dumping them out onto the nearest trash pile. Mira and Cress had the presence of mind to hold their breath. Jorgan was caught off-guard, and his shout turned quickly into a fit of spitting and hissing. Corso landed upside down, and had to be yanked bodily out of the heap.
Mira took in their surroundings. Save for the distant walls and ceiling, it looked like a landfill on a primitive planet. No, scratch that. The landscape of garbage mounds towering around them was more like an asteroid that had been converted into a landfill.
Darmas' voice sounded. "Welcome to the Old Galactic Market," he said. "Though sadly, most of the remaining business would not be classified as legitimate."
"We don't need a tour guide," Jorgan growled. "Just tell us how to get to our target."
"You'll find the exit to the plant up two flights of stairs to the northwest of your location. The lift is sadly in disrepair, but after that long flight I'm sure you don't object to stretching your legs a bit. Once you're outside, I'll direct you from there. Darmas out."
The earpiece went dead. Jorgan grunted.
"I'm really starting to hate that man." This time, not even Mira felt inclined to argue.
They emerged, breathing heavily from the stairs, into a square that teeming with homeless and displaced, many of them dressed even worse than they were. All looked hungry and desperate. Most were nonhumans.
Corso, who had spent his entire life on the human-dominated planet of Ord Mantell, couldn't stop himself from staring. He could identify some of the aliens from holovids and books, but others were entirely new to him.
Mira elbowed him. "Stop gawking," she hissed. "Keep your head down."
Too late.
An Advozse stumbled around the square in jerky motions, snapping and arguing with the empty air next to him. He came to a complete stop. Then, in a movement that was full of fury and power, he wheeled on Corso. His eyes were bloodshot.
"What you staring at, Humie?" he spat.
Corso raised his hands. "Not staring at anything, friend."
"Friend?" The Advozse grew angrier. In an eyeblink, he was directly in front of Corso. "I don't have Humie friends. Only thing I do with Humies is kill!"
The Advozse brought a large, curved blade out from the folds of his robe, holding it up in front of Corso's eyes. He grinned with homicidal glee. "Should have stayed up top where you belong!"
Mira reached into her robe for her blaster. Cress acted first, however, bounding to the Advozse and patting him firmly on the back.
"Hey, friend!"
The Advozse grunted. As Cress's hand moved away, Mira saw the hilt of the knife sticking out between the alien's shoulder blades.
Cress clapped a hand over the Advozse's mouth to stop his scream, jerking his neck back and to the side at the same moment. Then he guided the dying alien to a stone pillar, easing him down into a sitting position. By the time the sergeant stood back up, the Advozse was still, his head leaning down over his chest. To a casual observer, he would look as if he was sleeping off a stupor.
"Let's move," Cress said.
They moved out at a shuffling pace, spreading out to avoid drawing attention. This time, Corso kept his eyes glued to the ground in front of him.
They didn't stop until they had put three full blocks between themselves and the Advozse. Then Cress turned to Corso and punched the young man hard in the stomach. Corso fell the floor, gasping for breath.
"You think you're in a damn zoo?" Cress hissed, his voice an angry whisper. "These people have already lost everything, and most of it was taken by people who look a lot like you. Keep your damn head down!"
"I'm sorry," Corso gasped. "I didn't mean…"
"You being sorry won't help that poor sod, will it?" Cress snapped. "He's dead because of you."
"That's enough, Sergeant," Jorgan growled. "He gets it. Now let it go."
Cress hesitated. Then he extended his hand. He didn't meet the young man's eyes as he helped him back to his feet, and he turned away immediately.
"He was clearly on spice," he said. "Probably a fixture around here. If we're lucky, no one will look closely at the body until we're long gone."
Mira couldn't stop herself from reaching for her earpiece when she spoke to Darmas. "Which way from here, Darmas?" she asked.
She caught Cress glaring at her, and she dropped her hand again. Well, at least Corso wouldn't be the only idiot on the team.
"Not far," Darmas replied through the earpiece. "Follow this street north. It will soon curve west. Your destination will be a warehouse located roughly two kilometers after that turn. You should reach it in roughly twenty minutes. That is, if you manage to avoid further unpleasantries."
Cress nodded and looked at the others.
"You heard the man," he said. "Let's find this 'Kixi' and get the hell out of here."