Chapter Three

"The most fatal mistake you can make is not knowing what you're going up against."

These words echoed incessantly in Bide's mind. It was such a basic concept, yet so utterly important-or so his master believed. And, by now, Bide had learned that his master never wasted any words. Despite his outwardly rugged, brutish appearance, Ja'neel was surprisingly sophisticated. His eloquence was on a level beyond that of any being that Bide had met in his travels, and his knowledge of politics and the way beings think was simply astounding. On the other hand, Ja'neel was also the most devastatingly powerful being he had ever encountered: his skill with a lightsaber was unmatched, and his knowledge of the Force was almost as impressive. Bide often wondered what the Zabrak saw in him, someone whose abilities were dwarfed when compared with his own.

"Now arriving at Topeka station. All passengers, please remember to take all of your belongings off of the rail-car when you depart. Thank you for riding with us, have a wonderful day."

Bide rose from his seat and walked over to the door of the rail-car. The door was transparent, allowing Bide a view of the countless skyscrapers that lined the skyline of Coruscant as they whizzed by. They became clearer as the rail-car lowered its speed, preparing to stop at the next station.

"Disgusting," he spat lowly. He was always sickened by the ruination of planets by so-called "technological marvels". Why anyone would prefer miles of six hundred foot tall buildings to a vast expanse of grasslands and forests was beyond him. The sooner he could leave this planet, the better. The transparent door opened with a hiss, and Bide felt himself being pushed from behind as busy city-goers funneled out of the car. He disregarded the rudeness and began scanning the crowd gathered at the platform. They all seemed innocent enough, waiting for their scheduled rail-car to arrive. All of them were doing just that, or so he guessed; all of them except one, that is.

His name was Jorb Kleen, a connoisseur of items that were difficult to come by. That is to say, he dealt exclusively with contraband goods: he was a notorious black market dealer. But Bide knew that Ja'neel was not interested in death-sticks, exotic animals, or exotic women. Rather, he was interested in expanding his network of connections in the galaxy. Ja'neel was borderline obsessive in his use of time; every single second meant something to the eccentric Zabrak. He would not waste his time scouring the galaxy for long-forgotten Sith artifacts as many of his predecessors did. Instead, he had sent Bide to make a deal with Kleen: whenever an item happened to come into his possession that was possibly of Sith origin, he would contact Ja'neel and would be paid handsomely for his services. That was the plan, anyway. Kleen was a businessman, and a damned good one. Bide didn't doubt that he would spring on the possibility of a higher bidder if the opportunity arose. It was Bide's job to make sure that he saw that option was... not in his best interests.

There he was: average height, a little on the skinny side, noticeably receding hairline. He was totally inconspicuous, though on a planet with trillions of beings it was not incredibly difficult to do so. Kleen had been anonymous contacted and informed to meet a "business liason"—at least, that is what Ja'neel had called him—at Topeka station. He had been suspicious at first, since the specifics of the deal were never mentioned, but Ja'neel was a smooth talker; in no time at all, he had him accepting the deal. Bide approached him.

"Always too damned crowded here, isn't it?" he said.

"Usually is," Kleen replied. He had bags under his eyes, and his face was covered in five o'clock shadow. It was pretty obvious to Bide that Kleen was not very happy to be here right now.

"Maybe we should go somewhere we could talk," Bide offered. "Alone." Kleen's gaze fell from Bide's face down to his waist. He held it there. Confused, Bide looked down. "Oh," he said suddenly, realizing why Kleen had been staring. Bide hadn't noticed that his hands were shoved deep into his pockets.

Always keep your hands where your contact can see them. And make sure you can always see his.

He had forgotten one of Ja'neel's more important instructions. Off to a great start. He slowly removed his hands from his pockets, flashed Kleen an apologetic smile, and gestured with an open hand towards an alleyway. "After you." Kleen grinned and let out a low chuckle. He turned and walked into the alley-way.

It was a typical Coruscant alley, littered with trash and coated in a thin layer of unidentifiable substances. It reeked of pollution and Force knows what else, and Bide felt his eyes begin to water. Perhaps this was not the best choice of location for the meeting-perhaps there was still time to change it. Ja'neel told him that one's body language could make or break a deal. If Bide couldn't even handle a smelly alley, what would make Kleen think he could handle any sort of black market trading? He was about to open his mouth to address Kleen when he felt the familiar sensation of cold durasteel touch his neck.

"I wouldn't move if I were you," the cold voice of his assailant stated. Kleen turned around, wielding a hold-out blaster, which he pointed at Bide's stomach.

"The Jedi will pay handsomely for a Sith sympathizer," he said. He took out a communication device from a pouch on his belt and clicked a button. Static.

"Kriffin' buildings," he swore. "Don't get any service here. Search him and cuff him while I call the Jedi with our location. Boy, oh boy... I can smell the credits already. We're gonna be filthy, stinkin' rich, Jurn." He laughed as he walked towards the end of the alley, away from Topeka station.

Bide felt his hopes and dreams crumbling beneath him. Had he failed his master already? It was too soon. He hadn't gotten a real chance to prove himself.

Center yourself. Use your emotions; control them. Do not let them control you. They can be a powerful weapon, but they can also be a deadly enemy.

Ja'neel was right. He would accomplish nothing if he gave up already. He was strong, he could handle himself. And, if he played his cards right, he could still get the deal set up. Calmed now, he spoke:

"Jurn, is it? So, you and Kleen work with the Jedi?" He felt his assailant pat him down, searching for any hidden weapons. His hand brushed loosely against Bide's lightsaber hilt, hidden against the inner thigh of his right leg. Bide held his breath. When Jurn continued his search, he let out a sigh and smiled. This man-or perhaps it was a woman?-was inexperienced. Nervous. He could feel it now. The anxiety, the strained attempt at keeping calm. But it was difficult to sense; at least, more difficult than with most beings. Jurn's mind was veiled. He was blocking-or attempting to block-any mental intrusions. No wonder Bide hadn't felt Jurn coming: he was Force sensitive. He had been masking his presence.

Bide saw Kleen return his comm device into his belt and turn back towards the alley-way. Jurn cuffed Bide's hands, and pressed the barrel of the blaster more firmly against his neck. Things were about to get very interesting.