Chapter 18: Deal with the Devil

The black hood was yanked roughly off Atton's head and a bucket of water splashed into his face, thrusting him back into consciousness with a coughing fit. Wha . . .

He was tied securely to a chair, head lolling down against his chest. The zeltron . . . the Exchange.

Speaking of which, the zeltron in question leaned against a heavy metal table, crossing her long legs seductively. He leered up at her. "Hey, beautiful. I like your taste in foreplay, but I'm afraid I haven't caught your name yet."

Someone he couldn't see suckerpunched him, snapping his head around to the left. Blood splattered from his nose and dribbled down his chin. He ignored whoever had hit him and looked back up at the zeltron with a grin, while the dripping blood stained his teeth red. "I like it, but it's no fun unless you're the one doing the touching, beautiful."

She looked sharply off to the side at whoever had hit him, then turned back to him. "Aren't you the tough guy." She leaned forward provocatively. "But let me tell you, honey, we're in my world now, and we play by my rules. You wanted to find the Exchange, well, now you've found us. But let me make your situation crystal clear to you. I can do anything I want to you. I can break every bone in your body for my amusement, sell you off with the slavers to the flesh markets of Nar Shadaa, put you down in the pit fights three thousand floors down on Coruscant, throw you to the rakghouls on Taris, or simply torture you every day for the rest of your life. You are mine. Now talk."

Atton considered her for a moment. "You know, I'm feeling a little tight here, why don't you come over and give my shoulders a rub? I'm sure that will get you more in the mood for what we both know you really brought me here for, gorgeous."

The zeltron frowned. "Normally, I'd break you for that. But your connection to the Jedi might prove useful, so I'll have to settle for less entertaining methods. Stick him."

Atton felt something jab into the side of his neck, and his whole body seized up as the pain began.

"Well, it's been almost twelve hours and still no word. It looks like Atton has finally taken off. I guess I'm not surprised."

Kreia did not deign to respond, and Marina shrugged. "You ready?"

"I am always ready, little one."

Marina ignored the flash of irritation at the borderline pejorative, and definitely possessive, pronoun. "Then let's do this." She knocked on the door.

The door cracked about three millimeters. "Who is it?"

Marina put on her smile. "Relax, we're friends. Chodo sent us. The TSF are investigating your case, but we need to get you to safety."

The man, who Marina could only assume was Batono, hesitated, then shook his head. "You're bluffing. Chodo wouldn't have sent anyone that wasn't TSF."

Definitely him. Great. Well, Lorso was right about what an idiot this guy is, at least. And if she was right about that, she might be right about how paranoid he is, too.

"Normally no, he wouldn't have. But Chodo's concerned about the security protocols his people set up for you, and we've gotten word that Czerka's agents are closing in on you, even as we speak. So can we talk about this inside? I don't like being so exposed out here."

"H-he, he said that? Well, okay then. Quick, get inside."

Marina and Kreia stepped through the door sideways, as Batono was unwilling to open it any wider than that, and he slammed it shut after them and locked five separate security locks and two deadbolts.

"Great. So, what's the plan? Czerka means business, you know that. Are Republic troops on the way? The SIS?"

Marina made herself at home on the couch, putting her boots up on the coffee table and loosening her custom blaster pistol in its holster. "Batono, why don't you sit down for a second, we need to have a talk about these, ah, security arrangements of yours. You see, Czerka's people are smart, they're clever. The way they'll come after you depends on the kind of information that they're after. So why don't you tell me what it is they want, and then we can figure out the best way to protect you from them."

Batono shook his head rapidly. "No, no, no, I couldn't possibly tell you. Besides, it's not Czerka that you need to worry about, it's their hidden allies, the ones protecting them. They're the ones that put all those mercenaries on the station, and they're getting ready to make their move."

Marina pursed her lips in obvious thought, then shook her head slowly. "You know, I think you're bluffing. You didn't actually find anything, did you? You're just running away from some petty crime, and taking advantage of the poor ithorians after they trusted you. You know, I have half a mind to just walk out of here and leave you to what's coming to you."

Batono scrambled, speaking with nervous speed. "No, that's not true, not at all! I do know, I just can't tell you! It's too dangerous!"

Marina leaned back on the couch, hands behind her head, and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I've heard that one before. You're bluffing. Unless you can give me something, I'm not giving you squat." She kept her body relaxed, but she watched the man closely as his internal struggled raged. It was anyone's guess if the man's paranoia or self-preservation instincts would turn out to be stronger.

And then, after about twenty seconds, he cracked. "Alright, I'll tell you one thing. It's not everything, but it's important enough that you'll know I'm not bluffing."

He paused, and Marina repressed a sigh as she prompted him. "And that is . . ."

Batono swallowed, looked around the apartment quickly (as if someone else could have snuck in on them), then said in barely over a whisper, "Czerka is smuggling weapons, and I know one of their conduits."

She didn't bother to repress the sigh. "Batono, everyone knows that Czerka is—"

"You don't understand," he cut her off urgently. "They're not smuggling weapons in. They're smuggling weapons out."

Marina froze for a second, then her thoughts started to race. Smuggling weapons out? If that was true, where were they coming from? Certainly not on the station, and that left . . . and now someone slipping a hell of a lot of firepower onto the station was starting to make a frightening amount of sense. Uh oh.

The pain eased at last, leaving Atton gasping for air. His body slumped, muscles like water after what felt like hours of helpless tension, and he was drenched with cold sweat. Snot and tears mixed with the blood on his face, and he spit to clear out his mouth a little. Just breathing raked against his throat left raw from screaming. He blinked hard, trying to get his brain to work again.

The zeltron put a single finger under his chin and lifted his face to meet hers. She sat in front of him, her chair flipped around backwards and spreading her thighs. In her left hand she twirled the holdout blaster they'd taken from him. "Well now, how did you like your first baby step into the rest of your life? I hope I haven't spoiled the mood for you, handsome. Now, why don't you tell me about this little toy of yours. Where did you get it?"

She could hurt him, but pain he knew, pain he could deal with, for a while at least. Pain was an old friend. Oh everyone cracked eventually, he had no illusions about that. But if she wasn't really willing to really break him yet, then he had an angle.

Atton forced himself to grin and ignored the blaster, instead speaking in a reasonable tone with a hint of a patronizing edge to it and laced with a touch of lust. It was a tone he knew well. "Oh, honey, I appreciate that you're making an effort, but you're doing it all wrong. You don't start with pain, they just shut down and hold out as long as they can just to spite you. You have to get in their head first, confuse them. Sex appeal is a simple way, and it works every once in a while. But there are better ways. Untie me, and I can show you things you've never imagined." He eyed her up and down appreciatively, forcing the lust through the fight-or-flight instinct, relaxing his muscles while he had the chance before the pain came again.

The zeltron frowned, biting down on a luscious lip uncertainly.

He pressed the advantage while they wrestled for control.

"Come on, babe, give it another try. Get inside my head, figure me out, find out what frightens me, tease me with what you might do to me next. I'll give you a hint and tell you what's on my mind right now." He slid his head to the side, rubbing her finger along the edge of his cheek while his eyes drifted down to her chest.

And then she cracked.

"Who are you?"

He laughed, though the sound came out half-gasp. "Just a drunk fool chasing pretty faces and looking for an introduction to the local nightlife. Now, do you want to keep playing, or shall we talk a little business?"

Marina went out the door first, checking both ways down the hall, before signaling to Kreia and Batono to follow her. They set out at a brisk pace, moving quickly but unhurried, and they made rapid progress, though Marina twice had to put a hand on Batono's shoulder to keep him from breaking past her in a dead run.

It didn't take long to make it to the docks. She stepped past a protocol translator droid to the counter. "Transport to the entertainment module for three ple—"

She whirled as the startlingly loud crack of a blaster bolt carried over the rumble of the crowd, silencing them in the half-second before the screaming started. And in that silent half-second while she was turning she heard something heavy, no someone hit the floor. She completed the turn and stared as the harmless protocol stood over Batono's body with a smoking blaster pistol. It turned to towards her, weapon still in hand, and broke her out of her stunned surprised. She opened fire at less than a meter away, hitting the droid three times before it crunched to the ground in flaming wreckage.

She grabbed Kreia's arm, who for once was more stunned than she was, and charged into the startled, screaming, and scattering crowed. But even as her eyes scanned the crowd searching for more threats, her thoughts kept churning.

Sithspit, what the hell was that!? Whatever it was, it wasn't Czerka, and it sure wasn't the TSF. That means it's the exchange, but they just slaughtered a huge chunk of Czerka's military personnel without a problem, why are they going around protecting them at the same time? It just doesn't make any sense!

And it didn't have to. They just had to find a way out of here.

They slid into a cantina far away enough from the killing that the commotion caused only a ripple. Kreia was moving without assistance, and they dropped into a cantina booth gasping for air. For a while they just sat there, watching each other, sensing each others' surprise and shock while their breathing slowing came back under control.

The alarms of the small, super-light skimmers the TSF used hurled past and were gone.

"We face a dangerous foe, young one, more dangerous than I had expected."

"How . . . I mean . . . didn't you sense anything?"

Kreia shook her head slowly, her composure once more firmly in place. "The attack was a careful one, a planned one. We may sense the thoughts of sentients through the Force, but we do not feel the intent behind the actions of a machine, however human the malice behind it. The machine is cold, empty—it forms a break between the connections that bind us. Without the breakwater of others to give advanced warning, we are left to rely only on our own connection to the Force, the ripples that reach out to touch our own lives. This attack was not aimed at us, and it struck true to its target. Whoever set their hand to this attack knew well the strengths, and the weaknesses, of a Jedi to plan it so."

Marina sneered in a strange mix of anger and fear. "Yeah? And who might it be this time?"

Kreia was nonplussed by Marina's raw emotions. "I do not know. It appears that whoever's hand it is that guides the Exchange may be more than they seem."

"Wonderful." Marina signed and rubbed her temples in stressed frustration. "Well, what do we do now?"

Atton Rand stalked slowly up to the airlock of a cargo bay, while Luxa's weapons cache floated on its anti-grav pallet behind him. Once again, he suppressed a shudder at the thought of the zeltron. He might have won their little contest of wills, but she wasn't above injecting him again just to prove she could. Twice.

Yet in the end, she'd set him loose and even told him her name. And now, he had his angle on the Exchange, even if he had to play delivery boy for now.

He waved to the camera and the speaker next to the airlock door buzzed to life. "Good, you have come alone. The doors will be opened. Please enter and await further instructions."

The door hissed open and he stepped in cautiously, hand hovering over his blaster pistol while he scanned the room. There were two of them, a trandoshan and a rodian. They were twitchy and heavily armed. Not smugglers then. Bounty hunters. Not what he'd been told.

The two stepped closer but kept a distance between them, the trandoshan on his left, rodian on his right. "So, Luxa has chosen to send one of her underlings instead of coming herself. I should not be surprised the Exchange would treat those not of their membership with such disrespect. But business is business, is it not?"

Atton pulled the pallet up beside him, settling it down casually between him and the trandoshan, giving him at least rudimentary cover from one of them if it came to it. "Indeed." He pulled out the datapad Luxa had provided and tossed it to the rodian, testing both his reaction and reflexes. The rodian cough it easily, and without taking his eyes off Atton. Not good. "That datapad has the account number. Transfer the credits, and you get the case here. The pallet, too, if you want it."

The trandoshan was drifting further left, trying to free up his sight lines, and Atton shuffled his feet, creeping towards the rodian and keeping the trandoshan blocked.

The rodian pocketed the datapad without looking at it. "I see. Let us . . . finish our business then."

The trandoshan sucked in air in his species approximation of a chuckle. "Indeed. You've made our job quite a bit easier. We would not have thought our fortune so good that the Exchange would deliver us one of the associates of our target. And now you will die."

Atton sighed. "Now, are you sure you want to—" He dropped to a knee mid-word and drew his blaster pistol. The rodian's first shot went high, and he popped the alien twice in the chest. He dove forward, feeling the trandoshan moving around the pallet behind him, and the crack of blaster fire from a heavy rifle proved him right. He flipped a flash-bang grenade over his right shoulder then slid out to the left, blaster pistol raised, and keeping his head down below the top of the pallet.

The flash-bang went off in an incredible explosion of light and sound. The pallet offered a little protection, but it still left his ears ringing.

The trandoshan acted instinctively, shying away from the explosion and half-blinded, stumbling right into Atton's sights.

"He said what?" At last, something seemed to have to broken through Jana Lorso's formidable control.

Marina sipped from her mug of caf in yet another cantina booth to hide her inappropriate smile at the thought. But then her thoughts returned to the news that upset Lorso, and smile died stillborn. "He told us that your superiors are running a smuggling business behind your back, smuggling weapons out of Citadel Station. That, with the fact that your people have so aggressively moved to take over ground operations in several sectors, suggests that they've got some sort of weapons factory down there."

Lorso stared at her with wide eyes for several seconds, then nodded her head slowly. "I . . . I think that you're right, that the weapons are being made here somewhere. It doesn't make any sense, otherwise. This is a terrible place for a staging ground, with the Republic's focus here, not to mention the senates, so the only reason to run that risk is if they're being made here."

She paused, frowning. "But they can't have put a factory on the surface of Telos. It's simply not possible. I've been through every single manifest, looked at all the material we have access to here. I'm sure they could sneak some, maybe even a lot, past me, but to get anything like a real factory going, they'd need heavy machinery, and that's bulky, expensive, and almost impossible to hide. And even if they could, they'd need a huge labor force, either of droids or sentients, and there's no way they could sneak that past the TSF. And that's not even considering the huge overhead just for repairs, smuggling spare parts, getting fuel for whatever they're using to power it, and maintaining it against the atmospheric corrosion."

Kreia nodded, for once interjecting in Marina's conversations. "Indeed. Yet still, the weapons are there. And all that we have learned indicates that they come from the planet below."

Lorso bit her lip, thinking hard. "I know. But how? The factory must be there, but they haven't built it, so . . . by the stars, did they find a factory down there? But that's . . . that changes everything. Everything!"

Marina frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

Lorso looked up at her strangely, but shrugged. "I don't know how you could not have heard about it, what with all the Republic propaganda during the war, but Telos was utterly destroyed by the Sith armada, by Darth Malak himself. It was a defenseless world put to the torch, and it showed everyone just what a bastard their new flag captain, Karath, was, as he set the tone for his tenure. But this . . ." She kept staring at Marina, her thoughts running a million klicks an hour. "If this is true, then Telos was a legitimate target after all. The Republic lied to us, to everyone, about it in order to drive up recruiting. If this gets out, while the Republic is so weak . . . Stars, it would doom the Restoration project overnight, could very well destroy the Republic overnight. But why? Why would Czerka do this?"

Kreia smiled. "Why indeed? Can you not think of a better cover? This Czerka, they are cunning. They hold a blade to the Republic's heart, to do with as they wish, while they arm themselves with weapons and credits to face the future."

Marina shook her head. "Maybe, but they're running an awful risk to do it. The Republic has to be their biggest, most reliable customer."

"And it is precisely they who will do anything to prevent their crime from being discovered."

Well, Kreia had a point there. "But where does that leave us? And, now that I think about it, that says some very interesting things about why the Exchange might not be willing to let Czerka get incriminated in all this, doesn't it? Could it be that they're trying to protect the Republic?"

Kreia nodded. "If they are wise, then that would be their course. The Exchange, like all criminals, are a parasite upon society, taking more than they provide. And if the host dies, the parasite cannot last long alone. It seems we must go to Telos if we are to find answers."

They both looked at Lorso speculatively.

Lorso glanced between the two of them, then sighed. "Alright, you've held up your end of the bargain. I'll transfer you the credits and arrange transport to the surface. And then," she added grimly, "I'm getting off this station. The mercenaries are gearing up for something big, and I don't want to be around when it kicks off."

"Still in one piece? I heard something about a violent disturbance in the residential module. Nothing to do with you, I hope."

Atton gave her what might charitably have been called a smile. "Ah, were you worried, babe? Don't sweat it. The bounty hunters wanted to renegotiate their deal with you. I made my position clear, and they disagreed. It took a little effort, but I made my position clear in the end."

"And just what position was that?" Luxa asked, glancing pointedly at the weapons pallet floating at his side.

He grinned. "Winner take all."

She stared at him through narrow eyes for a second, then shrugged. "I see. That's unfortunate, but they paid the price for trying to take advantage of the Exchange. I've got some more work for you, if you're up for it. A matter of a rather sizable debt owed to the Exchange."

Atton sighed dramatically. "Let me guess. Gambler's down on his luck, almost out of credits and doesn't know what to do. Then bam, there's a credit line all ready to go. His luck's got to change, right? So he makes a few more rounds of Pazaak—and he's desperate now, desperate to win—not knowing that the deck's stacked against him and those twenties are never coming. Next thing he knows, his luck still hasn't changed. In fact, the only thing that has changed now is he owes his life's worth to some Exchange boss and he's getting intimate with a stimmed-up goon with a fist the size of his face."

Luxa grinned. "Hey, that's the business. I can't be responsible for your lack of control."

Atton blinked. "My lack of—oh, never mind. The point is, my 'lack of control' means that when I don't feel like taking a job, I don't. I've passed your little test, and right now, I'm only interested in one kind of job." He leered at her and took a half-step forward. She tensed and almost, almost took a step back.

Atton laughed. "Unfortunately, it's of the business variety." He let the amused mask slip from his face, revealing the hard lines beneath it. "What's your game with Czerka?"

Luxa, already slightly off-balance from his quicksilver mood changes and threat of violence, couldn't quite hide her reaction to the question, and responded a touch too casually. " I don't know what you're talking about."

"That's crap. You killed Czerka's people, then covered up the crime Czerka were committing. They're too valuable for you to burn, but they're up to something the Exchange can't stomach. I have my own issues with Czerka. You dish, and I'll help with deal with them. That's my offer, take it or leave it."

The zeltron considered him closely for a few moments. "How about a counter-offer. You don't give a shit about Czerka, you just want a ticket off this rock. My boss, Loppak Slusk, is the one who stole your ship. You help me deal with him, and you'll get your ship back, and maybe even find out what his 'deal' is with Czerka."

Atton paused, considering the zeltron. If someone with as much control as Luxa was being kept out in the cold on this Czerka thing, that meant there was a higher degree of operational security than the Exchange normally liked to operate with. That, coupled with the subtle way they were maneuvering here, might mean that Slusk, or whoever was running him, was more capable than your average Exchange boss. Assuming Luxa was telling the truth, of course.

He crossed his arms and watched her eyes. "What's your problem with this Slusk?"

Luxa couldn't quite hide her sneer. "What, besides his being your typically slimy quarren? Slusk works for Goto, out of Nar Shaddaa. Now this Goto; he's rigid, ruthlessly efficient, and all he sees are numbers. Goto keeps the squid around because he maintains a steady flow of income... yet it's only half of what I know it could be. I should be the Citadel's boss—but Goto doesn't allow breaks in the chain of command. I can't go over Slusk's head, so I've got to take care of him myself. And I want your help."

Now that was interesting. This Goto sounded like the real deal. And Luxa might be trying to throw him off, but it sure sounded like her problem with Slusk was personal, not professional. If she couldn't be objective about that, then she was going to struggle being the boss instead of the enforcer, and this Goto would probably eat her alive. But Luxa's long-term survival wasn't really his concern. In fact, he'd take a personal pleasure watching her die after she'd had her fun with him, but that wasn't something he was likely to get to watch, sadly.

"What did you have in mind?"

Luxa leaned against the weapons pallet, crossing her long legs. "I can get you into the Exchange suites in Residential 082. More than a few guards are in my pocket, so there shouldn't be too much resistance inside. And hey, I'll throw in a bonus; get your Jedi friend to help you out, and when Slusk's out of the way I'll clear up this bounty matter on top of getting your ship back. Deal?"

Alarm bells went off in Atton's head. Why in the galaxy would an Exchange enforcer want a do-gooder Jedi wrapped up assassinating a crime boss? She was just as likely to finish off Luxa as well. Only . . . well, Marina wasn't exactly your normal Jedi, but how likely was Luxa to know that? Or to depend on it, at least? No, Luxa was up to something, and he could only think of one thing.

He smiled, his hard eyes meeting hers. "Now that's the kind of job I'm interested in. Keep talking."