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Chapter 4

Bargain

Obi-Wan was out of place.

It was his first time on Sarna, and the cantina was rife with sundry cretins. He'd dressed to blend in, but he wore it like it burned. This matched his complexion, untypically ruddy.

The bar crowd was eclectic. Creatures of all shapes and creeds sat drinking at tables. Most were intermixed, while a few species formed circles in self-segregation. They whispered in dark corners and looked suspiciously at everyone.

"Jus' like I remember it," Miler smiled. His preternatural optimism heartened Obi-Wan.

"Been away for a while?"

"I haven't be'n here since I was a teenager."

Obi-Wan asked, "Your parents let you come here?"

Miler shook his head casually, eyes raking through the room. "Nae, my parents died when I was young. My sister an' I… found employment here."

Obi-Wan posited, "You were couriers, weren't you?"

"Aye. Weapons, spice, death sticks."

"You sold them their demise."

"They w're gonna die anyway," Miler shrugged. He pointed to an Ithorian alone at a corner table. "That's the man we're lookin' for."

"An Ithorian?" scoffed Obi-Wan. "That's unusual."

"Money's bad for yo'r conscience."

"I wouldn't know. Lead on, Lieutenant."

Miler guided him through the crowd of misfits. Some were phony tough guys, chests puffed out. Others were wolves in sheep's clothing. And still others were fools who just didn't know better.

At the Ithorian's table, Obi-Wan hung back while Miler brazenly took a seat.

"What do you think you're doing?" the Ithorian bellowed from his two mouths. "Have you no idea who I am?"

Miler grinned, leaning back. "Relax, Rondo. I wanna talk business."

The Ithorian squinted the eyes on either side of his t-shaped head. It took a few seconds, but when his memory triggered, he let out his species' equivalent of a laugh. "It's you! The Crata boy. I told you you'd be back."

Miler rolled his eyes. "I ain't lookin' for a gig, mate."

"Then what do you want?"

"Bacta."

"Bacta? You're wasting my time."

Obi-Wan stepped in, bracing his hands on the table. "We will, of course, pay handsomely."

Rondo did his best to appear disinterested. "How handsomely?"

"One vile. A thousand credits."

Miler coughed upon hearing the number. "Did ya say a thousand?" At Obi-Wan's glare, he quickly recovered: "Aye, that's right. One thousand. What'll it be, Rondo?"

They could see the gears turning in his eyes. Rondo wasn't sentimental, but Miler had never failed him. His current gaggle of sycophants was far less faithful. Rondo's eyelids pealed away—the smile of his people.

Out of the crowd emerged two male Twi'leks: one blue, the other green. Miler noted the expensive blasters holstered on their hips. Sharing a look with Obi-Wan, they moved back from the table.

"What do you want?" griped Rondo. "I'm in the middle of a transaction."

The Green Twi'lek smiled politely at Obi-Wan. "My sincerest apologies. This shall be quick, I assure you." Obi-Wan arched a brow but said nothing. He watched the Blue Twi'lek loom over Rondo.

"Neecho was not happy to learn you cheated him."

Rondo sobered. He'd long known the Twi'leks to work for themselves. "Neecho? Whatever he's paying you, I'm sure we can reach an agreement."

"Neecho is the brutal kind, but he always pays the wage he owes," the Green Twi'lek said. "I do not blame you. As I do not pity you. Greed is a fine god, but it kills its disciples."

The Blue Twi'lek pulled his gun, pressed it to the center of Rondo's head. Rondo's eyes crossed to look at the barrel. "Wait!" he cried.

The Force slowed time for Obi-Wan, so he watched in single frames the carnage unfolding. A cerulean bolt of light burrowed from the blaster into Rondo's skull. From the inside out, the Ithorian's head burst into segments. Miry hunks of flesh dispersed in the air. Thin loops of muscle, colored green by his blood, dripped languidly from his neck into his own lap. Half his face remained, jagged bone marking its edges.

The Green Twi'lek nudged Rondo backward. The dead Ithorian slid to the floor.

The crowd parted to allow the Twi'leks' exit. When the bounty hunters passed, everyone in the bar returned to their affairs. Not even the cantina employees fussed with the carcass.

"I think that went well," Obi-Wan deadpanned.

Miler marveled at the corpse. When he was a kid, the small-time gangster had appeared invincible. It was too sentimental to call Rondo a father, but Miler would have died if not for his recruitment. That had to count for something.

"Word'll pass to the Sith," Miler said.

Obi-Wan agreed, leading the way to the exit. He had a sinking feeling he'd let down Padme. This was their only good lead. He had to hope she'd persist without treatment. Now his focus was getting off-planet.

A Man sprang from the crowd, blocking their path.

"Excuse me," said Obi-Wan.

"Hey, hold on a sec! What's the hurry?"

Miler said dangerously, "Ya got one shot at movin'. Or I'll do it for ya."

The Man stared unfazed. His hair, lazily slicked back, wasn't recently washed. His schemer's smile didn't light his face, but rather cast it in shadow. The lines by his eyes seemed very well earned. "Oh, calm down, tough guy. I'm tryin' to help you out."

"Is that right?"

"I heard you talking to Rondo."

"And?" Obi-Wan asked patiently.

"And I'm ready to make a deal."

"You have bacta," Miler concluded.

"Close enough," the Man said.

"Either ya have it or ya don'."

The Man rolled his eyes. "Look, I hate to break it to you, jack, but Rondo didn't have any either."

"How do you know?" Obi-Wan demanded.

"Because I'm the one who supplied him. With kolto."

Miler frowned. "Kolto's less strong. Smells worse, too."

"Yeah, well, beggars and choosers, right?"

The Man was constantly shifting. His half-buttoned shirt barely covered a blast scar. On his hip was a pistol, ten-years obsolete, seated loosely in a too-new holster.

It didn't take the Force to see him for what he was. But Obi-Wan knew it was Padme's last chance. "All right," he said carefully. "How much?"

The Man's voice was hushed, forcing the two fugitives to bend toward his mouth. "I don't want your money."

"What do you want?"

"I have incentive to get off this rock. And I need help doin' it."

"You don't have a ship?"

"No. Not like it would matter, though. Only Sith have clearance."

Miler demanded, "Then how exac'ly are ya plannin' t'leave?"

The Man smiled surreptitiously. "We'll talk about that while we get your kolto."

Obi-Wan couldn't penetrate The Man's mental artifice, for he was trained to avoid readings. Breaching his barrier required force that could kill him.

"Very well," said Obi-Wan. "But we'll not be marks in a foolish scheme."

The Man replied innocently, "This ain't a scheme, and I ain't a fool."

"There's still plenty of hours in the day," quipped Miler, following them out of the cantina.